I'm Alone
by AmbroseVox
Summary: As the Human-Covenant War rages on, a tight-knit band of marines find themselves fighting side by side the dedicated crew of the super heavy cruiser UNSC I'm Alone, but the ship's commanding officer shares a bond of fury and anguish against one of the marines, which will ignite a personal conflict that could divide the titanium world they live in and last throughout the war.
1. Chapter 1: Skopje Night Lights

Chapter One: Skopje Night Lights

* * *

Most nights on Skopje were moonless and starless. Like any other night, a blanket of pure, unbreakable darkness hung over the vast urban networks that sprawled across the terraformed grasslands and valleys. Rain steadily cascaded downwards. It was as dark as it could get. Yet, despite the natural blackout, the cities always cast a pale glow skyward. One such city was Lionel, the oldest colony populace center on Skopje. A few yellow and white lights from its many skyscrapers, warehouses, factories, and residential areas attributed somewhat to the ghostly glare, but in the middle of the night there were few folk who weren't asleep. It was a quiet old place. The real source of the refulgent light came from the building yards nestled along the coastline of the city. These sites were the most brightly lit and alive with activity no matter what time in the day it was. These lights ranged from orange sparks emanating from tools, white beams from projector lights, and a dark yellow ambiance from staging lights set along worker's platforms and walkways that lined the silver armor plating slowly being built into the shape of starships. The yards and their lights could be seen from any part of Lionel City. Always accompanying the dull radiance and flashes was an eerie orchestra of noise that drifted over the gentle breezes coming from the sea. It was composed of harsh yelling, the metallic clatter of heavy machinery, the whir of engines, the hiss of steam and laser precision welding tools, the rattle of drills, and the occasional bout of laughter from a crew on break drifted in from the yards.

Once slow and hushed, Lionel City's shipyards were constantly tasked and had been so for the past twelve years. Instead of luxury liners and colonization vessels, frigates, destroyers, and even cruisers were being produced as fast as possible. The Covenant threat was far away from Skopje and the other Inner Colonies, but with reports of the genocidal devastation being delivered unto the Outer Colonies a sense of trepidation and fear gripped the tens of thousands of Lionel residents who listened to the familiar sounds of the shipyards at night.

The more active threat to the colonists, however, came from their other old enemy. Several contingents of Insurrectionists had begun to filter into the Inner Colonies, losing ground and influence in the Outer Colonies. Quietly, they began to spread anti-UNSC propaganda, started thieving from their outposts, and were trying to recruit colonists to their beliefs.

And such dread of Insurrectionist activity was only fueled when Lionel City heard the small fleet of Pelican dropships descend from the midnight sky.

In a small town just outside Lionel City, there sat a small apartment building. Inside, a fifteen year old girl sat down dejectedly at the kitchen table. She rested her face in the palms of her hands, briefly listening to the distant sounds of the shipyards mingling with the whist of rain. Her parents were there right now. They wouldn't be back until around six in the morning. In a normal time, they would have been considered crazy for working such backbreaking hours. But the times weren't normal anymore. Her mother and father weren't working double shifts nearly every day because they wanted the extra pay or promotions. They were there because they were both devoted to the cause, and knew that they could still be a part of the war effort even if they couldn't pick up a rifle anymore. Making sure that the titanium armor settled firmly was just as important as any other job in the UNSC.

She wondered what they would think of her right now, knowing she was in this apartment, talking with these people.

"Vivian, this _is_ the right choice," Carla said, lightly slamming her hands on the table. Her hazel eyes gazed menacingly at Vivian. Vivian knew that glare. She had seen it since she was little. Carla had always been strong and defiant. She had unceasingly defended her when kids tried to pick on her at school. That's the way it had always been-the big sister she had always wanted, who now, unfortunately, was ready to pummel her.

Vivian's more level-headed friend, Joanna, put a gentle hand on Carla's shoulder.

"Go easy on her," she said, not soothingly but not too firmly, "we're not here to scare her."

Joanna was the definition of level-headedness. They often teased her and called her the group leader, a title she ultimately despised even when they were little. But she was the oldest at seventeen, and already had the features of an adult. She was tall, with neat hair, and she wore her clothes maturely.

"Yeah, we're just here to coerce, oh I mean, help her make a decision," joked Willow, who was sitting with her feet propped up on the table. She was a wise-cracker by nature, although not particularly funny. Willow's pale blonde hair matched her pale skin. Her attitude often landed them in trouble throughout their lives. She sat up and groaned, "Look Viv, we're your friends, we've been friends since, like, before preschool. You can't ditch us like this."

Vivian frowned and murmured, "I never thought I'd be peer-pressured by you guys."

The others grumbled, glared, or rolled their eyes. Vivian pushed a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear, anxiously

"Don't even bring that crap up. That's not what this is. _This_ is more important than anything we've ever done," said Andrea, storming out from the darkness of the small living room. Vivian let herself look past her angry friend into the living room. Apparently, from what they had told her when she arrived, someone had told them this meeting had to be secretive. Vivian didn't know who that someone was, although she imagined it was probably the crook who got them all thinking this way in the first place. And whoever he or she was, they had her friends wrapped around their finger; the windows had dark curtains covering them, and the door and all of the windows were locked. The small living space was filled with a pair of couches, a few armchairs, plus a futon. The only lights were situated in the kitchen area, where they sat at the table. The apartment hardly felt like a fortress, let alone a secretive place.

Her brief train of thought was broken as Andrea approached the table, forcibly pulled a chair out, and sat down with a great amount of frustration evident in her posture.

"Vivian, we're not little kids anymore," she growled, "we're almost adults. And we're not stupid either. We know what's going on. The guy we talked to said humanity is being wiped out by the millions every single day. The people in the Outer Colonies are being slaughtered and murdered in droves. And the UNSC is hardly lifting a finger!"

Andrea's red hair matched her passionate personality. Her dark eyes had always struck Vivian, not only in their beauty but in their fierceness. Those piercing eyes had defused numerous situations before they had come to a head. They were enough to make anyone's fortitude melt. But for once she knew she wasn't going to cave in from that stare.

"Rea, that's just, just complete garbage," she started, shaking her head, "you think those aliens are just coming to each world and burning everyone alive while the UNSC ships just sit there and watch? You're an idiot to believe that kind of propaganda. UNSC people are dying trying to save the Outer Colonists, the people who we've basically hated and fought against for like, I dunno, forty years! Isn't that enough proof that the UNSC is doing all it can do? My dad told me about a ship that saved a whole bunch of people and the entire Arcadia colony. That was in 2531, and now it's 2537, and the UNSC is still dying for the Outer Colonies."

"Why're you defending them so much?" Joanna demanded.

"Yeah, I thought you said you don't like them all too much," Carla added, "you've bad-mouthed them plenty of times before."

"And that's coming from a girl with ex-marines for parents," Willow said with a wave of her hand.

"You're right, I don't like them, but I respect them enough for what they're doing and what they stand for. And so should you, so wake up guys. I mean, are we seriously have this discussion? We're just a bunch of teenagers! What do we know?"

Vivian found herself standing up and staring angrily at her friends. Her hands were gripping the edge of the table and her lips were drawn into a scowl. Joanna, Carla, Andrea, and Willow exchanged glances. They had each gauged Vivian and were now looking to each other to see what their next step should be.

"No, Viv, you wake up."

Rosanne walked over from where she had been standing at the window. If there was anyone who could be called serious, it was Rosanne. Her unflinching attitude had existed since she was very young. She wasn't quick to laugh or smile, and those rarities were only displayed for the five other people standing in the room.

She walked over and put a hand on Vivian's arm.

"Vivian, we believe in the Insurrectionists' ideals. They want independence. They want freedom. Those are rights that every human being deserves. The UNSC tried to take those away, and have been for forty years."

Vivian took a step away, pulling her arm away from Rosanne's light grasp. She rubbed her temples, aggravated, before turning back to face her.

"Rosanne, be real. The CAA was a mess! It was putting all these restrictions on the Outer Colonies while making no progressive moves. The Insurrectionists tried to be reasonable, then got fed up with performing protests and started becoming violent. They became _terrorists_! The UNSC had to respond with violence."

Rosanne shrugged, "Whatever the case-"

"There is no case!" cried Vivian, "That's the way it was! You guys are letting the Rebels brainwash you with bogus propaganda nonsense! We all know better than that!"

Then Joanna cut in, saying, "It doesn't matter! The UNSC can't win this fight against the Covenant. Even if they do, what will it be like after the war?"

Carla nodded in agreement, saying, "The UNSC will be so afraid of Insurrection afterwards they'll start putting those same restrictions on the Inner Colonies."

"The people we spoke to have the right of it," stated Andrea. "The best thing to do is gather food, equipment, and basically whatever supplies we need to sustain ourselves and hunker down in remote areas and sit it out.

Willow leaned forward, smiling, "And the Covenant will just bypass us, they won't even notice or bother with little groups. We can live a free, safe life."

Everyone continued to make their points but Vivian shut her eyes tight, shaking her head. She drowned out their voices. It was too much for her. Rosanne, Joanna, Carla, Willow, and Andrea had been her closest friends-her only friends-since they were three years old. They had been bullied, picked on, and humiliated together. They had had sleepovers, dinner parties, movie and game nights, study sessions, and had become their high school's high honor students together. Now, Vivian felt betrayed by them. Having each other's' backs was the group code and here they were trying to convince her to leave all she knew behind. That all but decimated their unspoken rule.

What made it even worse was that Vivian sympathized with them and the people they wished to join. She had always been interested in any history that could be researched, and with the Insurrection period still in effect, there was plenty of information on it. The Colonial Administration Authority had made the Outer Colonies' lives a living hell. No person, no matter their beliefs, should have to carry the enormous weights of ridiculous regulations and apathetic authority on their shoulders. Vivian couldn't abide violence but when protests and negotiations fail, what else is there? One could sit there and take it on the chin, or fight back. She believed in freedom and independence. History proved that peoples and nations had achieved those goals often through war, a war that usually followed lengthy peaceful methods. And more often than not, these underdogs won in some way. Wouldn't it be ideal to join them, follow their strategies, and live in un-doctored freedom where there was a chance annihilation would give them a miss?

Yet something tugged at the back of her mind. A thought, an idea. Was the UNSC not one of those underdogs right now? Here was the UNSC, fighting on the behalf of all humankind to preserve their colonies and their way of life from a race of aliens who believed it was their mission to destroy them. That made them a defender of freedom, or perhaps a guardian of something even greater. Not just the right to say, do, think, and live the way one wanted to, but the right to exist. That was a form of freedom fighting that humanity as a whole had never faced before. A fight for the future.

Vivian opened her eyes and sighed, causing the others to quiet themselves. She looked at every one of her friends, five girls she had known since she was a toddler that had grown up with her into teenagers. They each stared back at her with hopeful and expectant eyes.

Taking a deep breath, Vivian said, "No."

The others' brightened faces darkened and their brief exhilarated expressions deflated.

"Why?" Joanna whispered, "The UNSC can't win. We can survive if we go with the Insurrectionists."

"And do what? Steal ships, weapons, food, and supplies that people all over the galaxy need?" Vivian shook her head, "No, I won't have a part in that. I know I'm not a soldier, but if I was I know I'd be behind the fight for freedom and independence, but I wouldn't be willing to target innocent people and their property and their necessities just because they are under a different flag."

Willow moaned, "Viv, normal people wouldn't get hurt, they'd-"

"Oh, yeah? Didn't you pay attention in history class? Millions of innocent people who were just trying to get by were killed by both the Insurrectionists and the UNSC. The Rebels aren't any better than the UNSC, and the UNSC is no better than the Rebels, except for the fact UNSC don't target Insurrectionist civilians on purpose."

The others shifted uncomfortably, their eyes darting away from Vivian.

"But I won't stop you," she continued, "and I won't fight you. It's your choice. You can choose a side and leave your families behind for some Rebel snake charmers."

"And you won't?" Rosanne murmured. "You'll just stay in the middle?"

"Yeah, that's right," Vivian stated menacingly, glaring at Rosanne. The latter's mouth opened a little in hidden astonishment, before it pressed once more into a tightened line.

There was a long pause. After some time, Carla sighed.

"Viv, we don't want to do this without you. We've been together forever, done everything together. We don't want to go without you."

Vivian suddenly felt terribly sad. Part of her felt that it was a guilt trip, but Carla was one of the most honest people she knew and she could feel the genuineness in her voice.

"And I don't want you to go. And I don't want you to leave your families behind, especially at a time like this. I certainly don't want you to leave _me_ behind. But," Vivian offered a somber smile, "I love you guys. You're my best friends and I respect you all enough to let you make your own decisions."

There was a long, dreadfully painful silence. One by one Vivian's friends seemed to sag in their seats. Their stiffened postures sank and sadness clouded their eyes. Then, they all managed to smile. Their eyes were watery, their lips trembled. Vivian felt her heart skip a beat. This was it. This was going to be goodbye. This was going to be the final time she ever laid on her only friends, her best friends. Twelve years of incredible bondship was dissipating before her very eyes.

 _Oh, God..._

"We'll miss you," Joanna finally croaked out, holding back a sob.

Carla nodded, "We'll think about you all the time."

Andrea wiped her nose, whispering, "We'll stay out of trouble, so don't worry about us."

"Maybe we'll send you some vid-mails from time to time when no one's looking, just like we used to do when we were grounded," Willow added, feigning a cheeky smile to compensate for the tears rolling down her cheeks.

A labored sigh escaped Rosanne's lips before they formed a smile, and she said, "Just promise that you won't forget us."

Vivian felt hot tears stream down her face as everyone got up and approached her. Rosanne grasped Vivian's hand, "Please, don't ever forget us, or why we left. Never forget."

"I won't, I promise," Vivian smiled encouragingly, before hugging her friend.

Before the others could join the embrace, there was a _click_ , and door to their apartment flew open, slamming against the wall. The six teens all jumped and gasped as a tall figure wearing aged ballistic armor with a grayish hue to it entered the room. He wore a balaclava that covered his whole head and had two holes cut in it for his eyes.

The others tensed at his appearance, while Vivian stood in confusion.

"Ward, what's wrong? Why'd you barge in here? I thought you were keeping watch while the meetings took place," Joanna said quickly.

"That's why I'm here. We heard a whisper from some of the sympathizers in Lionel City. The UNSC is sending some kind of strike force here, they must have gotten wind of our meeting."

"How!?" Carla snapped.

"We've probably got a leak somewhere in our higher up division. It doesn't matter, I brought you these."

That was when Vivian noticed he was carrying a small crate. He set it down on the table and took the lid off. He procured five M6 series pistols. Vivian knew the iconic weapon well; both her parents had been allowed to keep their sidearms after they were discharged. The pistols were kept in a safe in the basement of their home.

But that thought was far from her mind as fear began to grip her chest. Her companions visibly paled.

"It's just in case, I doubt you'll have to use them. My bet is those UNSC pigs are taking their sweet time setting up a raid here. I'm going to escort you to the safe zone outside the town and then help you get back to your homes, alright? First you all need to arm up and take a couple clips. Like I said, just a precaution."

Everyone hesitated for a few moments. The Rebel, Ward, had dark eyes and they stared at each of Vivian's friends expectantly.

Surprisingly, Joanna was the first to pick up one of the handguns. Since she was considered to be the most passive of the group on top of being the wisest, Vivian was all too shocked to see Joanna hold it in one of her small, slender hands.

"Well, you've never done wrong by us, Ward. You heard him guys."

Everyone else, save Vivian, took up arms. Ward was holding a pistol as well. Vivian was scared. He had an even tone to his voice that just didn't match his rugged, imposing demeanor. From what she heard Joanna say, he was probably the one who had convinced them to join the Insurrectionists. Vivian's fear of him doubled to dislike. Aside from that, her growing uneasiness had sprung up from the UNSC's presence. She may have respected them to a degree but she held no great love for them, even if her parents had served. All the same, she didn't want to be caught with the Rebels and be taken prisoner. Hating herself, she accepted the fact that she had to rely on the Insurrectionists to get her out of this mess.

Ward walked over to one of the windows. The shades had been pulled down to conceal the few lights that had been on during the meeting.

"Okay," Ward stated, "I can see some of the other groups starting to leave their spots. I think we should wait half a minute to give them a little space, and then follow after them. How's that sound?"

Vivian had been watching him as he spoke while the others fumbled to get the ammunition clips for their new weapons into their small pockets. As he finished his sentence he had turned to look back at them.

Suddenly there was a breaking of glass, a massive fleshy _thump_ sound, and Ward released only a grunt as he was thrown off his feet and landed in the center of the living room on top of the coffee table.

Vivian was frozen to her spot as she heard the report of a long range rifle shot. She watched, shaking, as blood oozed from the gaping hole in Ward's chest.

"Oh my god," murmured one of her friends.

The sound of gunfire broke the silence of the night, followed a mere moment after by terrified screaming and harsh military voices barking commands.

"Shit!"

"They're already here," Carla pulled one of the curtains back, and Vivian caught a glimpse of bright yellow flashes dashing away the darkness with every blast of gunfire.

Vivian felt someone grab her roughly by the shoulders. Rosanne pulled her into the kitchen and opened the tall pantry door beside the fridge. There was enough space for a person to stand or sit in the pantry with the door closed.

"Wait, Rosanne-"

"Shut up Viv," her friend growled and roughly shoved her inside, "shut up and listen to me. Do _not_ get out of there until the noise dies down or at least moves away. No matter what happens, do not get out of there until you're positive they're far enough away so you can leave. Okay?"

Vivian nodded violently, her hair loosely falling around her horrified face.

"It'll be okay Viv," Joanna said from across the room with a melancholy smile.

"Hear that? They're coming up the steps! What do we do!?" Willow hissed.

Rosanne pushed Vivian to a sitting position and closed the door.

"Shut off the lights!" Andrea whispered, and within a moment the apartment was dark.

The pantry door had slats in the center from top to bottom. The spaces between them were just large enough so that Vivian could peer through. Her friends had become shadows in the darkened apartment. They stood as still as statues. Vivian knew who was where, even in the dark. She knew their figures all too well. Willow had her ear pressed to the locked door to the apartment, although she was mostly out of sight. Joanna stood in the back of the living room, a couple of feet away from the center coffee table where Ward's body had come to rest. Andrea and Carla were to the left of the kitchen table, directly across from the pantry. Finally, Rosanne was just behind the table, but not in the way of Vivian's peephole. Vivian thought she saw Roseanne swipe a knife from the table into her sweatshirt pocket.

The only sounds to be heard besides the rampaging bullet storm outside were the seemingly never ending pounding of booted feet hastily making their way up the apartment steps. The building itself was around seven stories tall, and they were at the very top. Vivian heard other doors being smashed to splinters, followed by quick pleas or defiant hollering then by gunfire and painful howling. Louder and louder the cacophony became. It seemed as though the entire building was shaking. Vivian squeezed her eyes shut, hugging her knees as close to her chest as she could get them.

Eventually, the noise inside the building abruptly ended. Vivian opened her eyes and surveyed the apartment once more. She heard a muffled breath from one of her friends, a sniffle from another. They remained still, and remained quiet.

The door burst open and struck Willow. Vivian saw her stumble from the impact and hit the wall behind her. A bright white light suddenly illuminated her. Vivian could see her fear-filled face perfectly.

"Freeze! Drop the weapon!"

Willow was still recovering from the impact, her face was filled with fear. Her eyes were wide, her teeth clenched. Her hair was loose and was starting to fall over her face.

"Drop the weapon!" the voice barked.

Willow was shaking. Vivian's breath stopped as she saw her friend's eyes focus. Willow snapped her arm up, aiming the pistol. Before she was able to fire, a burst from an assault rifle was fired. Despite the yellow flashes from the barrel hurting her eyes, Vivian saw the rounds striking her, bloodying her torso. Her body slid down the wall, hit the floor, and crumpled to the side.

Someone darted into the room and raised their assault rifle. A flashlight was attached to the underside of the barrel and it flashed onto Joanna. The attacker began firing. In the brief flares of yellow light from the rifle, Vivian could see that the soldier wore dark green ballistic armor with rigid alloy coverings over camouflaged fatigues. The burst he had fired found its mark in Joanna's gut, which tore her open. She let out a brief, sharp cry before she doubled over, dead.

"Murderer!" one of her surviving friends shouted. The attacker swept his rifle from left to right, emptying his clip into the kitchen. The white light beaming from the under barrel flashlight followed with it. Bullets tore into the wooden cupboards, sliced through metal surfaces, and shattered glass cups. Even as the rounds flew through the pantry door right over her head and splinters rained down on her, Vivian watched as Roseanne, Andrea, and Carla were riddled. In the light, she saw blood and bits of flesh fly from their bodies, watched them shudder as round after round hit them. But what Vivian saw the most clearly out of everything that was occurring before her, was the shooter's young face. The soldier wore a helmet and goggles, but his lower face was uncovered. She saw that his lips were parted and his perfectly white teeth were gritting together as he swept his rifle across the room, his upper body shaking from the recoil of the assault rifle. When he finally ran out of ammunition, Vivian's three remaining friends all collapsed to the floor.

It was over in less than fifteen seconds.

Vivian wondered for a moment if she had died, if one of the bullets had landed in her brain or her heart. She realized after a few seconds that she was indeed alive, and that she could not begin to comprehend what she had just beheld.

"Ah Jesus, Jesus Christ..." she heard the killer murmur to himself.

Darkness had returned to the room, but the silence only stayed briefly. There was a moan from in front of her, and she realized that Roseanne was still alive. She heard the UNSC marine slowly make his way over to her, reloading his rifle. His leather boots crunched over glass and shards of wood. Finally he stood over Roseanne, who was a undetailed black form in Vivian's vision until the marine flicked on the flashlight attached to the underside of his assault rifle's barrel. Roseanne was revealed, her clothes stained red, blood flowing from several large dark red, pulsing holes in her body. The marine still remained shrouded in darkness. He detached the flashlight and slung his rifle over his shoulder. He kept the light on Roseanne and with his free hand reached into his back pocket.

Roseanne grabbed and then raised her pistol quickly and the barrel came into the man's face. But he was faster. He snatched her wrist and point it upwards as the pistol went off. Roseanne groaned in pain. The marine then said, "Almost got me. You're pretty good."

"Murderer..." Roseanne coughed. Vivian withheld a gasp as Roseanne lurched upwards with a cry, brandishing the knife from her pocket. The marine, with lightening reflexes, caught her wrist before the tip of the blade sliced his throat. Roseanne grunted with effort to shove the knife further, putting her hand on the bottom of the hilt of the knife to push it up into her opponent's neck. She heard the marine let out a labored breath, then the flashlight tumbled. In that instant, Vivian saw his combat knife flash and disappear. The flashlight spun on the floor. There was a sickening sound of metal sinking into flesh. After a few moments, the flashlight stopped, the brilliant white light illuminating Roseanne. The marine had driven his blade into Roseanne's neck up to the hilt. Roseanne's arm slid down to the floor. Her body spasmed a few times, then finally went still.

Vivian watched the marine withdraw his knife and grab the flashlight. He turned it off and he stepped away. Another pair of booted feet entered the room.

"How many?" asked the new arrival, who possessed an English accent.

"Five. Five girls with pistols," answered the one who had pulled the trigger, who had a more North American sounding voice. He let out a long breath, "Fuck, the last one nearly cut my throat. I had to kill her with my, my uh..." he waved his combat knife briefly.

"Sure," said the other, "what did ya expect from this lot? How'd you get that close anyways?"

"I was, I was trying to...I was..."

"Easy, easy. Never mind."

Vivian saw the new arrival put an arm around the first's shoulders for a few moments. After they parted, nothing was exchanged between the two for a minute. Vivian heard the one who had done all the killing sheath his knife. The other moved about the room, using a flashlight connected to the left side of his helmet to examine the bodies.

"Christ man, ya going to cut them up now?"

"What the hell does that mean?"

"You heard me! You gonna slice and dice them up and send a kidney to the local inspector?"

The English one laughed at what he had said.

"If that's a joke I'm not following it, and that's pretty sick," the shooter said.

"Aw come on, don't you study history? Ain't ya heard of Jack the Ripper? Killed five girls in London all the way back in the Nineteenth Century. Never got caught either. Ain't that somethin'?"

"Yeah," said the other one, who didn't sound as amused as his compatriot.

The other laughed a bit more and clapped a hand on his companion's shoulder pauldron, "Well, I think I just met me a new Jack the Ripper."

"I'm not gonna butcher their bodies if you think you'll get a laugh out of it."

His voice was still stiff, but had more bemusement in his tone, or at least that's what it sounded like to Vivian.

The Englishman laughed, "Not even a kidney, Frost?"

"Come on, let's move out."

Vivian heard their steps head toward the door, but their chatter didn't stop there.

"Time to disappear into a dark alley now, eh?"

"Quiet," was the shooter's response.

More laughter came from his friend, followed by, "We should get you a top hat."

"Stop it."

"Maybe a gentleman's cape or cloak from those days!"

"Enough, man."

"Ooh, why don't we find some red marker-pens and write a new letter to the inspector?"

" _Shut up!_ "

The laughter and bickering faded, as did the sounds of shooting outside. The attacking force of UNSC troopers moved off, chasing the few survivors of the Rebel contingent.

Vivian sat for what seemed like an eternity. She was trembling, and tears ran down her cheeks. Her eyes were still wide with fear, and she did not want to leave the pantry closet. She did not want to lay eyes upon her dead friends, she didn't want to have step over their mangled bodies, in their pools of blood. No, no, she couldn't do it. She didn't want to. She didn't want to believe they were gone. She begged with God, with all things good, with every cosmic deity and entity she knew. Vivian pleaded and prayed that it was all a horrible nightmare, that she'd wake up and go to school the next day and see their smiling, glowing faces. Yet every time she grew close to convincing herself it was just a dream, she opened her eyes and saw the shadows of her dead friends, smelled their torn flesh and the smoke from the rifle.

Twelve years. Twelve years of friendship, care, support, and loyalty, had been destroyed in just as many seconds. They were dead.

Vivian buried her face into her knees, wanting to sob and scream and vomit but couldn't bring herself to do any of it. As the tears continued to silently roll down her cheeks, her mind latched onto what Rosanne had said to her.

Vivian rocked back and forth, repeating the two words in her head.

 _Never forget. Never forget. Never forget. Never forget._

The image of the man who had killed them flashed into her mind, his young face contorted and his teeth clenched as he gunned them down. Vivian stopped her rocking and looked up, focusing on where he had stood in the room, seeing him there as if he were a ghost.

And Vivian whispered to herself,

"Never forget."

* * *

' _Hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy gurdy,' he sang,_

 _Here comes the Roly Poly Man,_

 _He's singing songs of love,_

' _Roly poly, roly poly, holy poly poly,' he sang..._

-"Hurdy Gurdy Man"

By Donovan

* * *

Thank you for reading, I really appreciate you taking the time to read my little first chapter to hopefully a long Halo-fic series. I've had this in the works for a long time and really wanted to get back onto this site to publish it. This obviously wasn't a very Halo-y first chapter but more of the game universe we're accustomed to will be seen later on, but it's more or less just a story about people with the war as a ominous dark backdrop for the events (there's going to be plenty of battles tough, trust me). Oh, about the little snippet of song at the end; at the end of each chapter I'm going to post a small section of a song that I felt has some relevance to the events in the chapter, either directly, in terms of foreshadowing, or recollection. Feel free to look up the songs I put on here to see if you can get what I was getting at, or you can ask in the reviews (any reviews are welcome). If there are no lyrics, I'll make it instead be a quote by one of the characters as if they're recalling this event from a later date. A few important chapters I have in mind won't have a quote, or I might just flat out be unable to come up with anything.

And like I said, reviews are welcome, open to suggestions and all that. I'm sorry if there's a lot of grammar and spelling issues. I have dyslexia and it's having a pretty bad effect on the mechanics of my writing, so bear with me. And there was a lot of running dialog present, like long stretches, which I don't like, but I honestly couldn't figure out a way to get the dialog across without adding a lot of fluff writing. But yes, thank you for reading, the second chapter should be around relatively soon.


	2. Chapter 2: 2541

Chapter Two: 2541

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The inside of the Pelican transport was dark, save for a dull red light. In the passenger compartment, or the Blood Tray as it was called, a squad of marines sat in silence. They were in full gear, weapons resting between their legs, leaning against their shins, or lying across their laps. Hardly a movement was made among them, each man lost in their own mind. The light illuminated their faces in a ghastly way; it made their skin look the color of crimson and caused their helmets to cast a dark shadow over their eyes. Their armor was scratched and dented. Their bearded faces were wearied.

Corporal Frost pressed the mouth of his canteen against his lips and took a long drink. He sighed quietly, then capped the canteen and clipped it back to his belt. Slowly, he looked back up and gazed at the men around him. They had just left the deployment bay of a carrier and were headed planetside. The planet was called Ambition, largely unexplored, although it was a prime colony planet. Top brass wanted to increase the size of the base and convert it into a refueling and refitting station for starfleets on the prowl in Outer Colony space. Security was to be increased before the major engineer and construction crews arrived.

Lance Corporal Steele, a member of his squad, had remarked under his breath during the briefing that it would be a lovely break from their frontline activity, a vacation even. He probably wasn't wrong. The past year their unit had been hopping from one Outer Colony planet to the other, fending off the advancing Covenant fleets. It had been a grueling, unsuccessful effort. Despite the losses and heavy fighting throughout the UNSC, their unit had received few casualties and had racked up a higher ground victory count, at least in comparison to other army and marine units that had gotten smeared across the board. All the same, it had been a horrendous test of their endurance and mental fortitude.

Frost's stomach knotted on the inside, knowing better than to think they were safe, but a rest on an undeveloped colony world, playing nurse over some engineers, combined with showers and hot food, was a dream come true. Even though the journey had taken some time, leaving Frost an opportunity to rest, his muscles felt strained, his back ached, and it felt as though there was no energy left within him.

Hopefully, Steele was right. The pair sat on the right side of the passenger bay, with Frost on the very end and Steele to his left. Steele was a talkative Englishman, with thick blonde hair, a well-trimmed mustache, vivid blue eyes, and a long, narrow face. He was sitting relaxedly in his seat, his legs outstretched and his arms folded behind his head.

Across from them, there was the two Scotsmen, Lance Corporals Bishop and Maddox. Bishop was stocky, and had a square face and head, complemented by short auburn hair, a thick beard, and dark brown eyes. His compatriot, Maddox, was slimmer and the shortest man in the squad, standing just at five feet and six inches. He had orange-blonde hair, a goatee, two glaring hazel eyes, and a thin face.

There was another Englishman, from a town in Yorkshire. Private First Class Knight had a gentle demeanor but was as big as Bishop, albeit a bit rounder. He had a full face, brown-blonde hair, a closely trimmed beard, and light green eyes.

The rest of the squad was made up of PFC's Moser of Germany and Grant from the States, plus Sergeant Teo, who hailed from Italy. Teo was a stout man with tan skin, crew cut hair and a thick black beard. Grant was African-American; he had a fit, thin physique, and dark stubble growing on his cheeks. His face possessed a natural, warm expression which was which was matched by a pair of vivid amber eyes. Moser was the oldest member of their squad at twenty-five years old. He had jet black hair and a thick beard. He had hard, strong features and eyes the color of honey. His voice was deep and he possessed a muscular frame. His pale complexion often led newcomers to think he was ill.

Frost looked down from his comrades for a moment. He took off his helmet and smoothed back his light brown hair. Possessing an average build, Frost had a short beard, gray eyes, and a full angular face with sharp features. Most folks had his kind of look back at his home town in Canada. After clapping his helmet back on his head, he took another look at his companions. A hardened bunch of veteran marines, all from Earth. Frost chuckled. Hell, their squad weren't the only ones; the entire 89th MEU was made up exclusively of Earthborn men.

The Pelican jerked suddenly, jolting everyone in their seats. The pilot's voice crackled in their ear pieces.

"Entering atmosphere," he murmured, "I'll open the rear hatch once we're in the clear so you guys can have some fresh air."

Frost's gut tightened a little. Every man was tensing up, he could feel it. It was a normal reaction in a Pelican, whether or not you were dropping into a warzone.

Finally the rear hatch slid open, and bright light filled the inside of the Pelican so quickly everyone squinted and shielded their eyes. Warm wind rushed in. When his eyes adjusted, Frost got up and sat down at the hatch, letting his legs dangle over the edge. He took a long look over the world's dazzling landscape.

The Pelican was flying over a long river that cut its way down a stony canyon covered in moss. The water was bright blue with tumbling white rapids. Vegetation lined it on either side and climbed its way out of the canyon. The land the canyon divided was made up of rolling hills covered in short, light green grass. It ran on for miles, leading to expanses of dark green and brown forests. Formations of birds meandered in the clear blue sky, and on the flatlands Frost could see packs of mammal-like creatures trundling along.

"That's some view, eh?" Steele finally said.

"Sure is," Frost said as the wind whistled in and out of the Pelican. He couldn't help but smile. The cool wind, the warm sun, running water, the lush dark green grass, and the gray cliffs was enough to make him think of home. It seemed peaceful.

Steele chuckled, "Nice change of scenery. I like these Outer Colony worlds. Only a few big cities or no cities at all and not a lot of noise. Just green and blue gems floating about. Beats Earth by a longshot."

"Why don't you shut your trap," grumbled Bishop in his usual rough tone, "I don't want to hear you trashing home."

"I'm surprised to hear that from you, you thick-headed nonce. You're from that shithole, Glasgow."

"And what's that supposed to mean coming from you?" Maddox snapped loudly. He and Bishop both came from Glasgow, and Maddox's explosive temper and constant cantankerous attitude allowed no one to get away from his verbal punishment. "You're from London, and you just try telling me with a straight face that place ain't a huge hole of garbage with some skyscrapers pointing out of it!"

Frost found this amusing, as the last time he had seen holo-pictures of the two cities, they appeared as beautiful and as advanced as 26th Century architecture allowed.

"You lot ought to think a bit more broadly," Knight cut in with his deep, even voice, "we're all lucky enough to have someplace to call home still."

Everyone quieted down. Frost looked over his shoulder at Knight, who smirked at him. He may have said it lightly, but it was a true statement. While their unit was entirely from Earth, they had served alongside plenty of Outer and Inner Colonists in their time. Inner Colonists had the luxury of having their homes remain unscathed as well, but Outer Colonists were not so fortunate. Their homeworlds had been ravaged since the very start of the war. The majority of them had tales of woe to spin. Many had been off-world, glued to the news only to find out their planet had been burned to ash. Others had been at their homes during the Covenant invasions; some had been aboard the first shuttles, others had reached the last evacuation transports with Covenant ground troops right behind them. A few of the refugees who had been the last ones to get off world were haunted by images of the alien ships glassing their homeworlds. The commander of their unit, Colonel Avraam Hayes, was born on Earth, but had been living on the colony world Bliss, which was one of the first planets to be glassed by the Covenant. Most Outer Colonists were now fighting to attain their vengeance. Despite their differences, and the Insurrection, the Earth born marines maintained a level of respect for them. Or at least tried to. It was easy to forget that a man at the mess table had seen his planet burn while someone chatted merrily about his home town.

The conversation started again, shifting to lighter topics. Detaching himself from his thoughts and his companions, Frost looked over at their escorts. A pair of UNSC Army Falcons were flanking the Pelican on either side. They had pulled back to the transport's rear to traverse a narrower portion of the canyon. Frost could see the pilots through their windscreens, and he waved at them. One of the pilots returned the gesture while the other saluted. Frost returned it with a quick salute of his own.

Sergeant Teo then walked up beside Frost, holding his assault rifle in one hand and gripping a handle on the left side of the cabin. Even over the wind and the engines of the Pelican, Frost heard the NCO growl.

"They don't understand a thing, do they?"

Frost quirked an eyebrow and looked up at him, "Whatcha mean, T?"

Not bothering to look down, Teo said, "This place is exposed. This planet, I mean. We're not too far from the fighting. Brass thinks we're safe here."

"It could be safer here than anywhere else," Frost offered with a shrug, "at least in Outer Colony space."

Teo looked down at him. He had a blue HUD piece over one of his dark eyes, but the other was exposed. It pierced through Frost like a bullet. He stared down for a moment before saying, "Nowhere is safe anymore, Frost."

The sergeant shook his head, "Those Falcons shouldn't be covering us: they should be out scouting. Ambition is a big place with a lot of uncharted ground that we don't have eyes or boots on. There could already be Covenant forward operating bases or landing and deployment zones somewhere on this rock, right under our nose."

"But T, we're going to be beefing the defenses up. I heard that they're gonna install MAC's here," Grant said hopefully. Grant was leaning forward in his seat, looking at Frost and Teo.

Frost glanced over his shoulder and smiled at Grant. He had known the others for a long time but Grant was a relatively new addition. He was from the same unit but had just been transferred to their squad. He liked him. Grant was of the fourth generation of a Kenyan family that had emigrated from their home in Old Mombasa nearly a century ago to America. They had all been working class folks but he had been drafted at a young age, just like the rest of them. Unlike the others, his optimism hadn't been as dampened by the status of the war.

"I heard someone say this'll be turned into another Reach!" he continued with a enthusiastically, "This place will turn into a real fortress."

"If the Covenant don't get here before we finish," Teo scolded, "Reach was colonized towards the mid 24th Century; they've had plenty of time to turn it into the powerhouse that it is. I doubt it'll even come close to that before the Covenant comes knocking."

"It's probably meant to be a morale booster," Moser suggested with a shrug, "either way, it's better than nothing. We're not here to interpret the orders, just to follow them."

"That's right," Teo grunted, "right now our priority is to get to the base, make an evaluation for the colonel, and get their long range sensors and motion trackers operational."

"Poor sod, he'd love to be down here overseeing the job himself," Knight said.

"The deployment on that ship was a mess. Those hanger crews were a joke," Bishop agreed. They had dropped from the UNSC _Burnside_ , which was manned by a mostly inexperienced crew. Hayes and the rest of the 89th Marine Expeditionary Force were still sorting themselves out in the _Burnside's_ Pelican bays.

The Pelican rounded a bend of the jagged canyon, flanked by their Falcon escorts. It dove under natural rock arches and rose over waterfalls. Eventually, it came to a terraformed valley in the shape of hexagon, surrounded on all sides by ridges of gray rock. Nestled in the rough edged hexagonal sand-covered valley was their destination. Frost whistled, impressed by what he saw. Alpha Base was nearly completed, although it was to be the first of many bases. The surrounding ridges had a near-vertical incline jutting out from the base, acting as a natural barrier around the complex, but steel defensive walls lined the perimeter, almost as a buffer. The walls were brimming with watch towers and turrets.

"Not bad for a few weeks," Moser said, having come up behind Frost and leaned out to get a look.

"I'll circle around so you can have a good look at Alpha Base," the pilot chimed over the comms.

There was a rectangular HQ building several stories high near the northwestern edge of the base. Multiple radio antennas and radar dishes covered the top of the armored structure. To its left, running parallel with the western wall of the base, sat a large airfield. The runway was clear, with hangers and launch pads for Broadswords to the left of it, VTOL helipads for Falcons and Hornets on the right, and a spacious lot at the base of the runway for Pelicans. The Pelican area was in front of some warehouses and barracks type buildings, and there was a control tower beside the runway near the VTOL pads. About a hundred yards to the right of the VTOL helipads were three large platforms. Automated cranes lifted crates from large assortments of various supplies left on the pads while a forklift continued to offload more crates from an Albatross dropship that had landed. Another Albatross was descending from one of the support frigates, laden with more equipment. The cranes would drop the crates into the bed of a flatbed Warthog which would drive off to another section of the base to unload in the supply depot.

On the eastern side of the base, there were five large barracks lined up horizontally in a row against the steel walls that lined the perimeter. In a vertical row to the barracks' left was an armory, a mess hall, and a hospital that was still under construction. Past these structures was a moderately sized training area; there was a track area for PT, a shooting range, and several obstacle courses. As the Pelican circled in to land, Frost noticed that save for a single platoon split up between a PT run and push-ups, it was surprisingly empty.

The southeastern part of the base was occupied by a motor pool. There were multiple garages and repair sheds, plus an outdoor lot for other vehicles. Around the lot were scores of spare tires, tables of tools, stacked cans of fuel, and unopened crates containing spare parts. The major supply depot was also located there. It consisted of four large warehouses, plus a large amount of crates stacked in sections near the fuel caches at the motor pool. Frost quirked an eyebrow, scrutinizing the scene. The entire section of the base was unusually vacant too. Save for a half dozen Warthogs and some grease monkeys working on a Scorpion tank, the rest of the vehicles were gone. Most motor pools, when not on a combat alert were choked up by the sheer amount of vehicles.

The main gate was at the northern part of the base. It was relatively standard. Frost and the rest of the MEU had been rearmed and briefed on their mission at Reach before embarking on their journey. Many of the facilities on Reach had fortified checkpoints and titanium-A gates built in a slanted style. The doors were extremely large and slid open or closed at an angle. The design allowed for the closed gates to deflect projectiles and absorb plasma, and being built into natural rock formations allowed for the terrain to add to the defense. However, the gate for Ambition's Alpha Base was a more traditional double gate made of steel that swung outwards. An armored platform with chainguns lined the top, and the platform connected to the defensive walls and towers that lined the base.

"Not exactly sturdy at the front," Frost criticized, observing the main gate with disapproval.

"Look past it though," Moser pointed out of the Pelican, "the gate leads into a gorge with high walls on either side. A frontal assault would be funneled through there, and that would made easy targets for machine guns, sniper fire, and artillery."

"Park a Scorpion in the gate, I doubt anything could get through," Grant agreed.

"Yeah, but what you have all neglected to acknowledge is that the base is vulnerable to air-attack," Teo looked at the combat engineer, "wouldn't you agree, Maddox?"

"One hundred percent. Not a lot of AA turrets around. Plenty of antitank and antipersonnel defenses; but an assault made by Banshees to soften us up, followed by a wave of dropships? Our base would be burning from the inside out in minutes."

"We'll let the Colonel know and he can get on the current CO's ass about it," Teo said with a nod.

The Pelican banked and began changing course for the final descent for landing. During the turn, Frost glanced past the airfield's left side hangers. His eyes widened, and he had to double-take.

"Are those...are those missile silos I'm looking at?" he said, pointing. The others gazed ahead and Bishop whistled.

"That's a HAVOK."

The pair of silos were next to each other, spaced by a hundred yards or so. A large bunker-type control building sat at the edge of each silo. One of the silos was closed, though the other was wide open, and steam drifted out of the shaft. A sleek, black missile protruded from its berth, and at the top was a large orange tip: the warhead.

"Two HAVOK nukes? And that close to the other buildings? Looks like Command saved us the job of getting vaporized by the Covenant! We'll just blow ourselves up!" Steele joked as he shook his head.

"That's some serious power," Frost affirmed, looking back at the others, "with those we could take out entire Covenant staging areas."

"Let's hope we don't have to use them," Teo growled, "they'll either save us from annihilation or turn this planet into our gravestone."

"For once, I'd like to have an uplifting speech from you T," Grant sighed.

The Pelican touched down and the marines filed off. Frost gave the side of the Pelican a few hearty thumps with his hand.

"Thanks for the ride!"

"Anytime fellas, I'll try to get things moving and get the rest of your buddies down here!"

The Pelican turned as it took off and the pilot, Lei, waved from his seat at the controls. Frost saluted and waved back, watching the Pelican as it headed skyward. The Falcons buzzed around overhead, dipping from side to side, before flying out of sight to the west.

Frost slung his rifle over his shoulder and clapped Grant on the shoulder, who offered a wide smile.

"Nice to have a new base to ourselves, huh?" he remarked.

Frost nodded in response. It truly was. Too many times had they been sent to occupy crumbling firebases within besieged cities or the ruins of entire military compounds filled with beleaguered defenders. This base was put together well, save for its glaring oversight; it was clean, spacious, and at that very moment, quiet.

"Hello boys," a loud voice called.

A tall man with tanned skin and jet black hair approached them. He had a trimmed mustache and strong features to his long face. Frost and his compatriots saw the insignia on his cap and saluted the senior officer sharply. The lieutenant colonel dismissively saluted back, stating, "at ease."

"Sergeant Teo reporting, sir!" Teo said, "Bravo Squad, First Platoon, Charlie Company of the 89th MEU."

The lieutenant colonel smiled, amused, "You seem to be early."

"Deployment went sideways sir; the rest of the MEU is bogged up in the _Burnside's_ belly."

"I see."

"We're our commander's eyes and ears right now. We are acting with his authority."

Sergeant Teo reached into one of his belt pouches and procured a datapad. He tapped the pad a few times and handed it over, displaying a letter from Colonel Hayes that confirmed what he had just said.

The lieutenant colonel looked puzzled as he read the message, and then with a resigned sigh handed it back.

"Very well. I'm Lieutenant Colonel Melendez and I'm in charge of this base."

Teo and Melendez began walking away from the group. The former began to question the ranking officer about the AA turret observation and lack of personnel made by the squad's circuit around the base. Frost and the others followed a few feet behind them, and from what he gathered the colonel had sent the majority of the garrison and their equipment out for combat maneuvers in an effort to become familiar with the terrain and develop strategies for when the Covenant attacked. Melendez appeared to be quite huffy at the criticism directed at the base. Any veteran would accurately assume that the necessary supplies for the AA turrets would take time to arrive to an Outer Colony planet, like any other material assets. The operation to turn Ambition into a new fortress world had been a hasty decision, so up until that point, efforts to build it up and been somewhat scattershot until a few weeks ago. Simply, the shipment might have not showed up yet. But Frost was sure that Lieutenant Colonel Melendez just didn't have his priorities straight. He seemed too comfortable here, and not just because he sauntered about like he was on the beach. Sending out the troops at will instead of having them shore up the defenses further was a waste of valuable time. Frost was sure that Melendez wanted to show off to the brass, flexing the muscles of his garrison and making the place look pretty. That was going to get a lot of people killed if and when the Covenant fleet reared its ugly head.

The commanding officer seemed to become stricter when Teo questioned him about the gate. He puffed his chest and tried to scold the sergeant, saying he didn't need to be questioned by his underlings.

"I'm not under your command, sir. I work for Colonel Hayes, who I may remind you will be taking command of the entire area of operations when he steps off his transport. I'm sure he won't be happy with the status of the base as well as the current whereabouts of the current garrison, but I know he will be extremely annoyed when I have to add a negative report of the current CO, sir."

Lieutenant Colonel Melendez growled and raised a finger, trying to find some words to issue another reprimand like a grade school teacher, but could find none. He let his hand fall and then he gritted his teeth, his face turning red like a beet. It wasn't every day that a UNSC officer was essentially threatened by an NCO. Frost was rather taken aback. Teo respected the chain of command, and he was sure any other officer would have been chewing him out right then and there. But Melendez decided not to. Frost wasn't sure what to make out of that. Melendez resumed walking towards the HQ with Teo at his side, nearly stomping like a child who hadn't gotten what he wanted.

"What an asshole," Frost remarked quietly, nodding towards Melendez.

"Too right. Look at him, he walks like a bloody peacock," added Bishop.

"I bet he's never been face to face with the Covenant like we have," Grant said. The others mumbled in agreement.

Eventually, Lieutenant Colonel Melendez and Sergeant Teo halted in front of the HQ.

"Alright, I'll draw up a plan to finish up the rest of the necessary construction here for the Colonel. I'll have it down by the time he's groundside. In the meantime, you and your squad can relax. Get some chow if you'd like."

Melendez flashed a shiny shit-eating grin that made Frost bristle.

"Or just enjoy the sun. It's a nice day for it."

With that, Melendez entered the building, leaving the veteran squad standing in the sand. They all grumbled insults under their breath. It was more by the lack of maturity displayed by the officer, who resorted to being smug in order to feel better. After so many years in the military, they could all spot that kind of pompousness a mile away.

Frost approached Teo as the latter returned to the squad. The squad leader shook his head, muttering something in Italian.

"So what's the plan, T?" Grant asked, walking up beside Frost.

"Maddox is the only one with a job to do."

"Course I fucking do because none of you know how to fucking set up a fucking motion tracker by yourselves," the combat engineer grumbled as he knelt down to go through his kit, retrieving a datapad and toolbox.

"Cool it, you know we're smarter than that," Bishop said, nudging him with his booted foot.

"Besides that," Teo continued, "All we can do is wait for the others to touch down. That jackass is probably writing up a report on me and the rest of you right now to hand over to Hayes instead of the plan," Teo spit.

"What do you expect? Hayes does things differently than most other officers," Frost said with a shrug, "they aren't used to his methods and they're not used to us."

"I wouldn't worry about it. Hayes won't even read it," Knight grunted.

The squad looked around. The almost vacant base was unsettling, so they decided to head over to the shooting range to pass the time. Some loud noise would be comforting. It was an odd though that made Frost chuckle. Gunfire, plasma blasts, explosions; they pounded the eardrums every battle. It was painful to hear those noises. But at least the waiting for the battle was over. The waiting was terrible. Waiting was the bane of the line marine.

"Net call, net call, all units we have a Covenant presence on Ambition. I repeat, sizeable Covenant threat! The Covenant are on Ambition!"

The marines stopped dead in their tracks. Frost closed his eyes and lowered his head. His teeth gritted together as his gut tightened into a knot. He cursed himself for letting himself get enthralled with the prospect of just a few months, maybe even just a few weeks, of pure peace. Just a little time to forget the war. Just to have one small semblance that there was still some beauty left in the galaxy.

But he couldn't say that. Not to his friends. He couldn't. They looked at Sergeant Teo first, who let his head drop backwards and mutter, "You've got to be fucking kidding." Of course, Teo wasn't a big help. Growing up the way he did, he was more used to it than the others. He greeted the prospect of battle the way an office worker would as a stack of papers were dropped on his desk. So the others, their adrenaline beginning to boil and their emotions running wild, turned to Frost, the only full corporal.

With an exaggerated groan, such as the one an aging man makes when he had to bend his back, Frost took off his gloves and lowered himself onto one knee. He dipped his hands into the sand, and rubbed them together. Small streams of sand cascaded from between his palms and from between his fingers. When the last stream ended, his palms had a grainy tan coat to them. He looked up and grinned, "Well, sure as hell beats waiting for them."

The others snorted and all managed to smile a little. Frost stood up, slipping his gloves back on. Many others might have felt the sandy film on their palms rubbing against the standard issue fingerless gloves to be uncomfortable, but not Frost. It was actually pleasant.

It was then that Colonel Melendez's voice came over the comms.

"This better not be a goddamn joke!"

"No sir, I have a sizeable Covenant task force coming down towards our unit. They have heavy armor and air support. Our forces are divided; I've got the bulk of the infantry, but the mechanized and air units are out on other exercises! We are going to rendezvous in the valley at the base of the mountains, but we are going to need reinforcements soon!"

"I don't have any reinforcements for you, son! They're still in orbit. I'll try to get them moving as fast as I can!"

At least Melendez wasn't going to leave his troops hanging in the wind, Frost thought to himself.

Teo snapped his hand to his helmet's earpiece, "Colonel, this is Sergeant Teo. With your permission, we can take some of your Warthogs and give the infantry some support before they're overrun."

"You're going to get yourselves killed, Sergeant."

"All part of the job, sir," Frost piped in over his own earpiece.

Melendez chuckled, then swore under his breath, "I just met you and you're already a huge thorn in my side. There's no way I can win this. Go on out there, give them hell."

"Floor it, come on!" Teo hollered.

Steele looked over at him, exasperated, "It is floored, T!"

Frost gripped the handles of the M41 heavy machine gun turret so hard he was sure his knuckles were white under his gloves. Steele was driving like a madman, plowing through shallow parts of rivers and thickets of bushes as they followed the path out of base. Teo was in the commander's seat, standing halfway out of it. One of his hands was clamped firmly in the bar that separated the driver and commander seats, while the other gripped his assault rifle. Frost's own rifle was slung over his shoulder, but the jarring Warthog ride on rugged terrain had caused it to slip down so the rifle was drumming against his right leg. He would have fixed it but he didn't want to let go; he was strapped to the turret but with the way they were driving he was sure it didn't make a difference.

Directly behind them in the M68 Gauss Cannon-equipped Warthog, Moser was at the wheel and Grant at the cannon. The rearguard was made up of another M68 Warthog, with Maddox at the wheel, Knight in the commander's seat, and Bishop manning the gauss cannon.

After blazing through the canyon path of gravel, woods, and streams, they began tearing across open countryside. Frost looked around, turning the turret as he did. There were no aircraft, Covenant or UNSC in the sky, nor were there any vehicles. But he could hear the distant battle, even over the sound of the engine. It was getting steadily closer.

"So what's the plan, Teo?" Frost asked over the comms.

"From what I can tell on our own motion trackers, the Army infantry have found a position to dig in and wait for reinforcements. The Covenant are going to have to advance over a stretch of open ground to get close, which works to our advantage. We'll act as a screen in front of the infantry position, harassing advancing Covenant before they can get close."

Frost nodded. It was a good plan. They were basically acting like cavalry units from the days when armies idiotically stood in lines in front of one another, taking turns blasting one another with muskets, while men on horseback stormed across the battlefield defending them.

"We're going to be dealing with different targets though. If we concentrate on one we won't inflict as many casualties as we could," Bishop growled through the comms.

"Right. That's why each one of us is going to take on a different section. Warthog One will focus on the Covvie infantry since we have the chaingun."

Upon saying this, Teo looked back at Frost and grinned. Frost gave him a thumbs-up. Teo then continued, "Warthog Two, you'll take on air targets. The cannon can take a Banshee down in a few hits, so just focus fire and take them out one by one."

"Solid copy on that!" Grant yelled enthusiastically.

"Warthog Three, you've got a Gauss cannon and a rocket launcher. Use the cannon on light targets, and the rockets on heavier ones. You've got plenty of ammo, so hit a target as many times as you can until you're satisfied it's down."

"You've got it, T," Knight responded.

"Is everyone ready?" Teo asked. Everyone responded positively. There were no more questions. Teo was a solid tactician and an excellent leader. He would have accepted an officer's commission if it didn't mean that he had to take command of a different platoon. But it was his unequaled prowess as an NCO that kept the squad together and kept them from breaking down. He was a unifying force who could make the most senior of officers bite their tongue until he had his say.

It was because of Teo that Frost found himself able to quash the pang of defeat that persisted in his gut just from the appearance of the Covenant. In fact, he felt exhilarated. Blazing across the lush green plains, the thunder of battle edging closer and closer, the Warthogs spreading out in a line, almost as if to race one another; it made him tremble with eager excitement. What an odd transition, he thought somewhere in the back of his mind, that barely a half hour ago he had been tired of war, and now he couldn't wait to plunge back into it.

The Warthogs began roaring uphill. The thunder of guns was beginning to overpower the sound of the engines.

"They're over this hill!" Teo cried over the comms, "When we crest the hill, we're a part of this fight! No turning back, no retreat, and no excuses. Ooh-ah!"

" _Ooh-ah!_ " the squad repeated in unison.

The Warthogs came to the top and time seemed to stop. Frost felt as though he were looking at a grand painting of an ancient battle. The battle had moved to the foot of the steep mountain ridge to their immediate left, in a brown field. Ahead, towards their right, were a series of rock formations. The army troopers had formed battle lines and hard points within these formations. Yellow muzzle flashes appeared behind almost every rock. The field of dirt ahead of them was empty, save for a trail of human bodies they had left behind during their retreat. Already, piles of Covenant Grunts littered the flat, with Jackals and even Elites strewn about as well. Despite the amount of lead going down range though, Frost could see that the lines of dead aliens were steadily getting closer to the troopers' positions.

The Covenant seemed to be oozing from the high mountains. Hordes of enemies clad in green, blue, yellow, red, and purple armor flowed like rivers down the mountainsides, with heavily armored Wraiths in their wakes and the nimble Ghosts speeding ahead of them. Banshees tore through the air. Their twin plasma cannons streaked blue across the field, accompanied by their lumbering green plasma missiles that erupted furiously on impact with a target. Frost watched as men were cut in half or disintegrated by these air attacks. Entire squads were engulfed and reduced to limbs and gore from the clouds of white-purple plasma fired from the Wraiths' cannons.

"Punch it, punch it, punch it, punch it!" Teo hollered over the comms. The three Warthogs raced downhill, already firing. Frost raked the M41 back and forth in a semicircle, targeting larger groups first, then whittling down a charging Elite's shield until it dissipated, allowing the next burst to tear through its armor and take chunks from its flesh. The high caliber rounds sliced through entire teams of Grunts and the impact against Jackal shields caused them to stumble before being turned into paste.

It was chaos as Steele drove them back and forth, fishtailing the Warthog through the Covenant lines. More than once a Grunt or a Jackal was rammed by their Hog. The body would either be crushed under the massive tires or be thrown onto the hood where it would remain for a few moments before a sharp turn made it violently slide off. Purple and blue blood coated the hood and the windshield in a matter of minutes.

During certain turns, Frost could see one of the other Warthogs twisting and turning through the throngs of Covenant. In one glance, he watched as Knight pulled the trigger on his rocket launcher. The launcher carried two rounds, and he fired both in rapid succession. The rockets soared for a few moments before slamming into the rear of a Wraith that had arrived on the field. It had been turning to try and fire upon one of the other Warthogs. The rockets had hit its weakest point however. The engine flared and the hull cracked from the heat, before it exploded. In another glimpse, Frost saw a streak of purple-and white from the gauss cannon shoot upwards. It caught the end of a Banshee's thin wing. The impact caused it to spiral through the air. Before it could regain control, Grant had fired again, catching the underbelly of the Banshee and breaking it into nearly a hundred pieces.

Frost kept firing in short bursts as much as he could so his arms wouldn't go numb, but it was getting harder. The arrival of the Warthogs had initially scattered the lower ranks of the Covenant force. Waves of Grunts following their squad leaders, which was usually an Elite, broke into a frantic retreat to the point of trampling and scrambling over one another. They must have thought an entire task force had arrived. But they had been rallied and the multi-alien force pressed the attack even harder.

Frost could feel his hands and fingers tingling and then they began to lose feeling. The Covenant lines were massing together so as not to get hit by the Warthogs, which made them prime targets for longer turret bursts. There was just no opportunity to keep firing in short bursts.

"Fuck!"

Frost had been aiming the turret to their right flank, but he looked ahead when he heard Steele curse. As soon as he looked, Steele veered the Warthog to the left as a flaming Ghost cartwheeled by them, exploding a few moments later.

"Sorry!" Bishop called on the comms as their Warthog shot past.

"Try to check your surroundings, we can't lose a single Hog. We need to keep holding them back," Teo said calmly over the comms. He had been hanging halfway out of his seat, firing his assault rifle with one hand. Sometimes when they were passing a larger group of Grunts, he wouldn't bother to reload and would draw his sidearm, emptying a clip into the group before they pulled away.

"How much longer can we keep this up?" Knight yelled into the comms, "I'm burning through my rockets, and there's already ten more Wraiths coming down the mountain!"

Frost gritted his teeth. His arms were becoming feebler. He wanted to let up on the triggers more than anything, just to stop the tremendous shaking of the turret. But there was still plenty of ammo and plenty of Covenant ground troops trying to get into close action with the army troopers.

"As long as we can!" Frost yelled into the comms, "The big guns will be here soon!"

"Incoming, incoming! Banshees!" Maddox shouted.

Frost looked up to the rear of the Warthog and saw five Banshees, in a V-formation, bearing down on them. Their cannons were already firing, and he could see the fuel rod cannons beginning to flare a terrifying green and white color.

The M41 wouldn't be much good against a flying target. They were too agile, even for the most experienced gunner.

There was a sudden stream of yellow tracer rounds. The lead Banshee exploded, and then the next pair went down in a flurry of smoke and orange-purple flame. The final duo of the formation banked to the sides, but were caught by autocannon rounds and were destroyed. Frost looked back to see several formations of army Falcons join the fray. Frost couldn't help but cheer and raise a fist skyward as the sturdy birds broke their formations after another volley of autocannon fire and began to dance with the Banshees. The Banshees was more maneuverable, but the Falcons could take a good beating from a Banshee's primary weapon. Its heavy autocannons could pound away a Banshee's shields in seconds. Even the side-mounted chainguns and grenade launchers could be used against air targets.

"Bravo One, this is Fox One. Colonel Menendez radioed in that some crazy jarheads needed a hand, so we came as fast we could, over," said a female pilot.  
"Fox One, glad to see you got here in time to join the party. Get those Banshees off our backs and see what you can do about the Covvies on the ground, over," Teo ordered, pressing a finger to his earpiece.

"Will do, Bravo, Fox out."

In minutes, Frost felt the Banshee's assault slacken. Every so often a Falcon would burst into flames and spiral downwards, but the Banshee's were taking severe casualties. Moser and Grant began to take on the Ghosts that were chasing the Warthogs, which allowed the men of Warthog Three to focus their fire on heavier targets.

Frost found his second wind and resumed firing. The plan was coming together. The Covenant were being slowed to a crawl. After another ten minutes of fighting, there were a series of tremendous cannon blasts. When Frost looked at the source, the mechanized portion of the army task force had arrived. Warthogs sped ahead at full speed, with Scorpions rumbling behind them. Their 90mm cannons shook the ground, casting clouds of dust around their heavily armored chassis' as they rolled forwards. They targeted the Wraiths, which were destroyed one by one. Cheers and taunts and laughter filled the comms as infantry, tanks, Warthogs, and aircraft turned the battle into a turkey shoot.

Empty cartridges poured from the side of the M41 as Frost fired into a crowd of Grunts, who were running in disarray. Tank shells ripped into the mass of aliens, throwing dozens into the air in a shower of blood and dismembered limbs. Falcons dipped and strafed the enemy in repeated gun runs. The infantry broke from their cover and joined the counterattack, merrily chasing down Covenant stragglers. The Covenant broke into a full retreat.

"Bravo Squad, this is Hayes. What in the hell is going on down there?"

The raspy, Russian-accented voice of the colonel caught Frost by surprise, but Teo ceased firing and responded, "We've got Covenant ground forces on Ambition, sir. We're supporting the army units, but reinforcements have arrived and we have control of the situation, over.

"I know that, boy. I've got some strange readings on the ship's scanners. There is something large coming through the mountains towards your position. We can't make it out, our sensors are experiencing interference."

"Covenant reinforcements?"

Frost lost focus on the conversation taking place over the comms and stopped firing. It was then that the field of corpses seemed almost entirely absent of Covenant. What was left of their vehicles and troops were fleeing back up the mountains, not even bothering to place a rearguard. They were bolting.

Something unsettled Frost. The Covenant almost never broke off their assaults. In all the battles they had managed to win, it was only because they had wiped out the Covenant forces. It was rare for them to retire from the field due to heavy casualties.

"Teo, I think they've got something up their sleeve," Frost said, his voice now audible since the cannon and gunfire was dying down.

Before Teo could respond, the earth trembled as a terrific impact of metal against rock resounded behind the mountains. Tanks, Warthogs, and troopers all stopped where they were. Steele brought their own gun truck to a stop. Everyone was looking all around, but Frost kept his eyes on the mountain that the Covenant had come from. There was another tremendous impact, followed by three more in rapid succession. The earthshaking jolts grew louder.  
Frost felt a chill run down his spine. It had finally clicked. He knew what was about to happen. He looked down from the mountains when he saw Steele turned around. Their eyes met. Steele was white as a sheet. Frost felt a trickle of sweat run down his forehead. He wiped at it and blinked.

Finally coming into view as it crashed over the crest of the mountain ridge, turning cliffs and boulders into powder and dust, was a Scarab. Frost bristled with shock as the mammoth assault platform, mounted on four legs, began smashing its way down the steep, rocky slope right towards the task force.

"Holy shit!" Steel cried, "What the fuck are we going to do now?"

"Steele, get us out of here!" Teo screamed.

"Scarab!" someone hollered over the comms, "All units, all units, scatter and fall back!"

Frost clung to the turret as Steele planted his foot on the gas and jerked the wheel around. The Warthog shot forward and spun to the right. He lurched the wheel back, and they began speeding towards the rock formations where the Army troopers had originally positioned themselves. The task force disintegrated into a mass of soldiers and vehicles all making a break for the hills that sat behind the rocks.

"Frost," Teo yelled over his shoulder, "get some fire on that thing!"

"It won't even put a dent in that armor!"

"We need to draw its fire!"

Frost let out tirade of curses as he spun the turret around and clamped his fingers on the triggers. The Scarab was now on the field. Despite being forty meters high and weighing as much as fifty-two Scorpion heavy tanks, it was fast.

Bolts of blue super-heated plasma were filling the air from the rear-mounted anti-aircraft gun. One Falcon was hit multiple times, and the tail seemed to melt away, causing the aircraft to nosedive into a cliff. Another Falcon was clipped on the end of its tail, and it spun out of control until it crash landed in front of the Scarab. As the behemoth marched forwards, one of its legs came down and crushed it. The resulting explosion didn't even seem to bother it, it just kept coming.

The head turned slowly back and forth, as if it were amused by the puny soldiers fleeing from it. Frost trained his fire there, hoping that would be enough to get its attention. He could see the bullets bouncing off the dark purple armor and disappearing into the white-green mouth of the charging beam-cannon. On either side of the round mouth of the beam-cannon were two slits of the same color, one above the other. To Frost, they were almost like eyes, glaring at him.

The plasma energy around the head grew more vibrant and chaotic. Frost gritted his teeth.

"It's going to fire!" He called.

A moment later, the green-colored beam lanced out from the head. It swept back and forth, back and forth, as if it would never stop. Frost looked away and saw scores of soldiers disappear as the beam was brought over them. Scorpions burst open, the rear-mounted turrets seared right off. Warthogs became rolling balls of fire as the plasma beam detonated their engines, incinerating their crews. Those that survived the destruction of their vehicles were half-charred from fire and plasma. They would stoically stumble away from the wreck before dropping dead seconds later. Others were not so fortunate. Their armor, clothing, skin, and flesh melted away, and they writhed around the field, screaming in agony. But they went silent before long as well.

Frost turned back to look at the mechanized monster, but as he did he saw the beam coming towards their Warthog. It ripped across the ground, leaving a scorched trench in its wake.

His eyes widened. His muscles tensed.

"Bail!"  
Frost let go of the turret's handles, unclipped himself from it, and leaped shoulder-first from the back of the Warthog. As he did, he saw Steele, who was just a blur, hurdle himself from the driver's seat towards Frost. But he couldn't see Teo. The beam swept in front of the Warthog, and the sheer power of the beam sent it flipping backwards before Frost hit the ground. The last thing he saw were flames snaking out from the Warthog's engine and Teo hanging halfway out of his seat, an expression of pure terror plastered upon his face.

The first thing Frost could feel, besides his entire body aching, was something akin to a fog in his mind. His ears were ringing, yet all the sounds he could hear were nearly muted. Explosions were nothing but vibrations in the ground.

He felt himself groan, but he couldn't hear it either. Frost tried to open his eyes, but they felt as heavy as concrete. When he was able to open them, they kept forcing themselves back down. In the brief flashes of vision, he could see that he had been thrown a short distance away from the Warthog. But he was close enough to make out that it had been overturned, the front wheels were missing, and the entire hulk of the jeep was blackened from an explosion. There was a crumpled form lying underneath it.

"Teo?" He choked, his voice coming out garbled. His hearing was beginning to return.

Realizing he was on his back, Frost tried to use his arms to push himself up, but he couldn't bring himself up more than a few inches. His mind would falter, his eyes would snap shut, and then his arms would fall limp. It felt as though he were fighting against his own body.

As his senses began to gradually return, his body seemed to go on autopilot. His hands padded himself and he did his best to move his entire frame, checking to see if everything was still there. Two arms, two legs, two feet, two hands, ten fingers, ten toes. He reached down to his groin, and was relieved to find that he was undamaged.

He finally found the strength to raise his arms up in front of him; the sleeves of his olive drab BDU over shirt were tattered and his arms had multiple cuts, a few of them deep.

Frost was able to prop himself up on his elbows, He took another look at Teo. He wasn't moving from what he could see.

"Nate!" Someone called.

Frost looked to his right and saw Steele limping towards him. His vision became less blurry, and he could see that Steele was relatively unharmed, although his left leg was bloody and the pant leg was partially shredded at the bottom.

"Nate!" Steele yelled again. When he reached Frost he knelt down and grasped his face with his hands, "Nathan? Are you alright? Are you okay?"

Frost tried to speak but all he managed was a croak.

"Don't talk mate, don't talk," Steele said, "let me look are your arms. Shit, we need to get you to a doc. This one on your right is bad. Can you still move it?"

Frost had enough control now to move his arm up, down, and around, although it hurt like hell. Every time he tried to speak however, Frost just coughed or mumbled. He poked Steele's leg, near the blood stain.

"Some shrapnel glanced me, it looks worse than it is," Steele said, reaching into his medical kit. He retrieved some bandages and wrapped them around Frost's forearms.

"Can't believe I lost the biofoam. Fuck. Okay, that should do it," Steele said, "we got lucky. Fuck, we got lucky."

"Teo!" Frost said hoarsely, regaining his voice.

"What?" Steele looked over at the Warthog, "Oh, no."

Steele helped Frost to his feet, throwing one of his arms over his shoulders, and began moving them toward the Warthog, all the while repeating, "Oh, no."

Frost's faculties were returning to him. He could hear completely now and his mind didn't feel as if it were filled with mist, although his entire frame throbbed with pain considerably. The cuts on his forearms stung terribly.

He remembered the Scarab then. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that the Scarab had stopped where it was when it had fired the beam. It had turned around, charging up its main weapon again to fire on some Scorpions that had got up on a nearby cliff; it was near the crest of hill where they had come on the Warthogs from at the beginning at the battle. Being on the cliff, they were a little higher than the top of the Scarab's flat midsection. They were training their guns on the anti-aircraft gun. Frost looked around and saw that the remnants of the task force had retreated over the hills for cover.

There was nothing he could do, so Frost turned his attention back to Teo. They were almost standing over him. His lower body was under the Warthog, and his entire chest was bloody. A large piece of shrapnel from the Warthog's hood was imbedded in his middle. Frost's felt his lip quiver and his eyes begin to water. It wasn't because of the actual wound. Teo's face was amazingly serene. His eyes were closed and his features were calm. It was almost as if he were asleep.

Frost lowered himself down on his own volition. Steele, also going onto his knees, took Teo's head in his hands and held him in his lap.

"Teo?"

The sergeant opened his eyes slowly. He smiled.

"Boys," he whispered quietly, before coughing.

"We're going to get you out of here," Frost said, putting a hand on his upper chest, where the wound did not reach. Teo shook his head and placed his hand on top of Frost's.

"No, you're not."

Teo kept smiling.

"Send my things back to my family in Turin. They're in my kit, back at the base. Tell them I...just tell them."

"Sure, sure..." Steele murmured.

Teo squeezed Frost's hand, "You're the squad leader now. Get them through it. You're the only one. Promise, Nate? No excuses. Promise me."

"I promise."

"Good," he coughed, then said, "no excuses."

Teo finished with a nod. All the while, he had been smiling. He hadn't stopped since he had opened his eyes.

Frost kept staring at him, never having taken his hand away. He wasn't sure how long he stared, and he wasn't sure when Teo died. It wasn't until Steele had placed a hand on his shoulder and shook him gently that he realized it.

"He's gone, Nate."

Frost looked over at him, and then back down. Teo's eyes were vacant, the color gone. His features, his entire body, were entirely still, like a statue.

Steele withdrew a bit and lowered Teo's head gently down onto the ground. Frost slowly brought his hand back from under Teo's. They sat there on their knees for a time, just looking down at Teo. Frost reached down and took his identification tags from Teo's neck. He placed one of the tags on his chest and tucked the other tag, still on the chain, into his shirt pocket.

"Teo? Teo this is Grant."

Frost put a finger to his ear piece and his squad mate came over the comms.

"We made it back up on the hill with the last Scorpions. Moser's with me, and so are the others. Their Warthog got totaled but they're all okay, just some scratches and bruises. What's your location?"

"Grant, it's Frost. Steele and I are alright."

"Thank god. What about T?"

Frost hadn't taken his eyes off of Teo, "He, he didn't make it, Grant."

There was silence over the comms.

"Are you sure?" Grant's voice was quiet, quick, and disbelieving.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"Goddammit. Goddammit..." Grant said through clenched teeth.

Frost let his hand drop. He sniffed, holding back tears. He could hear the anger in Grant's voice. And he could feel it brewing inside his own gut as well. His eyes turned to the Scarab, which had reeled back from a direct impact from a tungsten shell to the head. But it still unleashed its swirling beam, which destroyed the Scorpions in a flurry of plasma and fire.

"We're going to take that thing out," Frost said as the Scarab finished its blast and started charging the beam-cannon again.

"What?" Steele asked.

Frost ignored him, "Grant? Are you still with me? Talk to me!"

"Yeah, we're here, we're all here! We were behind them. Look, where are you?"

"Steele and I are on the field. Get everyone in the Warthog and pick us up."

"Right, and we'll head back to Alpha from there."

"Not exactly."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"We're taking that Scarab down. Get your asses down here."

Grant tried to find some words but finally gave in. Frost looked around and spotted his assault rifle. He ran over and scooped it up, then hastily returned to the cover of the Warthog. The Scarab was turning around now to continue chasing the task force, but it wasn't moving yet.

Steele came over to Frost, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"What kind of shit are you about to drag us into? You got some kind of death wish? How are we supposed to take down a Scarab when we've got no support? The only thing that could work is a MAC. Why don't we just get out of here and let the fleet blow this thing apart?"

"Because they're not in position yet. You saw what was happening when we got onto that Pelican? No one was prepared, nothing was ready, and the entire operation was FUBAR. They're not going to get over here before that Scarab marches over the hill and wipes out what's left," Frost said. He looked down at Teo's body for a moment, then looked at Steele, "We have to take it out ourselves. Or at least stall it until a frigate came get over here and hit it with a MAC round."

Steele leaned against the Warthog, groaning with fatigue. He looked at Frost, longing for him to change his mind. But Frost wouldn't be deterred. He glared up that the Scarab, fury boiling in his gaze.

"Is this a good plan?"

"No," Frost admitted with no hint of humor in his voice.

"Well, I can't wait to hear it."

They watched as Grant drove the Warthog back down the hill, with Moser, Bishop, Maddox, and Knight all in the bed of the Warthog. The turret gone, blown off by a bolt of plasma.

Grant sped over, then grinded to a halt by Frost and Steele.

"Get in!" He called.

"What is this bullshit about taking the Scarab down!?" Bishop hollered, "Have you lost your head?"

"That Scarab is moments away from destroying the rest of the task force, so we've got to do something about it."

"You'd think they would have rolled in here and dropped a MAC on its ass by now," Steele muttered as he clambered into the back, his eyes still on the Scarab.

Frost stepped up into the commander's seat of the Warthog, but he paused before sitting down completely. He turned to Grant.

"Wait, switch with me, I'll drive."

"You sure?"

Frost nodded and the two stepped over the center bar and slid into their seats.

"So, what're we doing?" Knight asked.

"That cliff the Scorpions were on aren't taller than the Scarab, but they're tall enough for us to board it."

"Are you shitting me?" Maddox snapped, "How do you mean for us to get onto that thing's deck?"

"We'll use the Warthog. We get a head start, gun it, and land right on it."

"Or at least crash into it," Bishop muttered.

"Frost, that'll get us killed," Moser said after a brief silence from the others.

Steele bumped his shoulder with his hand, "Nah, folks have done crazier things in this war. This is a brilliant plan, so stop bellyaching and let's get on with it."

"Why the hell not?" Grant added, exasperatedly.

Frost looked at the others. It was only for a moment, but he clearly saw their expressions of fear and sadness. Their eyes were all locked on him. And he looked back at each one, before turning the Warthog around.

Frost had studied the plans of Scarabs. They all had. Infantry had been able to board them before, and destroy them from the inside. It wasn't unheard of, just rare. The usual trick was to damage the legs to the point they couldn't function, leaving it dead in its tracks. It wasn't permanent, so marines had to be quick otherwise it would just stand back up again. When it was immobilized, rockets were used to blow upon either one of the large doors that were on either side of the Scarab. This led into some sort of troop deployment bay, so it was a grisly fight through a horde of Grunts and Jackals. If a boarding party managed to fight its way through a crew deck and then onto the top of the machine, they could go to the rear and destroy the core with C-7 explosives, frag grenades, or even some sustained assault rifle fire. Then the boarding party would have less than a minute to file back down through the troop bay and out of the Scarab. The more daring could clamber down the legs but a fall from that height wouldn't end well.

He had it figured out as he drove the Warthog back up the hill. If they managed to land the Warthog on it, they would be able to avoid the troop bay. They could take up a position on top and kill anything that try to come out after them. That would give one or two of them a chance to destroy the core. Getting off alive was something he hadn't figure out yet. Maybe they could fight their way down; attacking it from above would be easier than assaulting upwards.

Swerving the Warthog around, Frost took one last moment to look at the target. They were farther back on the cliff, about a hundred yards behind the line of destroyed Scorpions. All he could see was the anti-aircraft gun spinning around, searching for targets.

He took a long breath, and then slammed his foot on the gas pedal. He darted the Warthog in between the wreckage of the tanks, and the Scarab came into full view. The gap between the cliff and the hulking assault platform was bigger than he thought.

There was no turning back. The Warthog barreled towards the edge of the cliff. The squad braced themselves. Frost pressed as hard as he could, felt the Warthog lurch, and a moment later they were in the air. It was a strange sensation; the engine kept roaring, the wheels were spinning, and he felt all the weight in the steering wheel melt away. The Warthog arced only for a second before the started to dive towards the Scarab. Frost held on for dear life. He was so focused on the Scarab getting closer and closer that he couldn't make out a single word of the squad's shouting. The Scarab took a large step forward, and Frost realized they wouldn't be landing dead center. The Warthog was heading straight for the base of the anti-aircraft gun. As they closed in for a crash, Frost could see a Grunt standing in awe, its eyes wide as saucers.

In the blink of an eye, the Warthog smashed into the base of the large turret. Frost felt the air rush of his chest as he was slammed against the wheel. Grant's helmeted head came against the dashboard, which absorbed the impact. The others piled forward on one another, spilling into the front seats.

The Warthog's rear settled, and Frost looked over the side. It was perched precariously on the walkway that went around the base. The tail end of their jeep was hanging over the side. He realized it was swaying backwards.

"Everyone out!" He ordered.

In a flurry of shouting, swearing, and flailing limbs the marines scrambled out of the Warthog. Frost and a few of the others were able to clamber out, while Bishop had to take a large leap from where he had been standing in bed of the Warthog. Maddox slid his way down the hood, and Steele ungracefully flopped out from the driver's side at Frost's feet. He was the last one out. The Warthog finally wrenched itself free, the weight of the back pulling it back. A dent was left in the base of the turret, marked with a splatter of blue blood from Grunt that had been standing there before. With a grind of metal against metal, the Warthog slipped over the side, bouncing off the Scarab's hind leg before falling to its final resting place on the ground below.

"We actually made it," Steele breathed. Frost offered a hand and helped him to his feet. The two smiled

"That was a stylish exit," Frost remarked with a grin. It faded quickly, a stern expression gripping his features. "Okay you guys," he said, "I give us less than a minute before they realize what just happened. Bishop, Maddox, Moser, Grant, Knight, take positions around the door that leads into the troop compartment. Keep any enemies suppressed with sustained rifle fire, frags, and that shotgun," Frost punctuated his statement by pointing to the M90 shotgun Bishop was clutching in his hands.

"Right," said the bulky Scotsman, loading a shell into the weapon.

"Steele, you and I will go to the core. I'll take point."

The lance corporal raised his sidearm and nodded.

"Alright, let's go."

Frost led the squad down the slanted walkway that extended out from the base of the large anti-aircraft turret. Despite the sleek aesthetic to the purple armor, it was rigid enough that the marines easily filed down the incline. The slope also incorporated a large, slanted opening into the internal part of the Scarab. Frost put each man into a position around it, with two men standing in front of the slope, one on both sides, and the fifth, Bishop, standing above with the shotgun.

Almost immediately a team of Grunts appeared, but were cut down in seconds by the team. Nearly ten were cut to shreds by SMG and assault rifle rounds. When the survivors withdrew out of sight, Maddox lobbed a frag grenade. The squad took cover, and a yellow flash briefly lit up the dark interior of the Scarab, briefly revealing bits of shrapnel ricocheting off the walls and shrill alien voices crying out in pain.

"Keep them pinned!" Frost yelled as he and Steele got onto the middle section. They took to the left walkway, advancing slowly, remaining tight against the wall. Frost was hunched forwards, keep his assault rifle raised. Steele was halfway behind him, with his left hand on the Frost's shoulder, and his right keep the M6D pistol trained forwards.

The Scarab shuddered as it began climbing up the hill, causing the pair to nearly lose their footing. But they held their ground.

"You okay?" Frost grunted over his shoulder.

"Peachy, you?"

"I'm fi-, shit!"

A blue-armored Elite rounded the corner, unleashing a deep war cry. The alien then activated an energy sword; the two pronged plasma blade slowly extended until the very tips were glancing the floor of the walkway, burning two small holes into the armor plating.

Frost's MA5B had a full magazine, and he squeezed the trigger. Sixty seven-six-two millimeter rounds pummeled the Elite's shields as it stampeded towards him. He drained the clip in a matter of seconds. Just before the ammo counter display finally depleted, the last rounds finally depleted the Elite's shields. The white shimmer around the alien warrior rippled away, with small jets of electricity jumping from the shield module. The Elite lost its balance from the shock, and was stunned momentarily. It was all the time they needed: Steele aimed quickly and fired one round, which buried itself in the Elite's skull. The hulking alien recoiled from the blow and crumpled to the deck, its four mandibles twitching for a few seconds.

"Loading," Frost said as he ejected the spent clip and slipped a fresh one into his rifle.

"Well, that was easy. We sure got the drop on him," Steele remarked as they moved past the Elite, which had dark purplish blood leaking from the hole in its armored head, "if only it were that simple all the time."

"Focus."

The two rounded the corner and slipped behind a large glowing armor piece that acted as a barrier for the core. The core was a small compartment, with red overhead lights similar to that of Pelican's troop compartment. There was a blue-white shield in front of the actual core, which was built into the wall and had a series of large tubes connecting it. These tubes were large and also built into the wall. The exterior panel displayed a bright blue light.

Frost and Steele exchanged a glance before they opened fire on the shield. It proved to be surprisingly week. After it dissipated, the exposed core stood before them. Again, they paused.

"Alright, you Covvie bastards," Frost muttered, approaching the core. He smashed the butt of his rifle against the light, caving it in. The blow didn't leave a huge space, but it was large enough for Frost to wedge a grenade into it. He had a finger laced through the pin, and before he pulled it, he said, "This is from Teo."

He yanked the pin, and along with Steele darted back out of the core. They took cover around the corner.

The grenade exploded as soon as they hunkered down. Not even a second passed before the Scarab groaned and shuddered as its energy left it. It lurched forward, then slowly lowered itself down and tilted to its left, throwing Frost and Steele off balance. An alarm began to sound, broken up by small detonations from inside the Scarab.

"I think that did it," Steele murmured.

"Time to get the hell off this thing, come on!"

Dashing back down the walkway and onto the deck, they met with the others, who were taking fire as small bolts of blue and green plasma flew out of the entrance to the troop compartment.

"They set up a turret at the entrance, and we ran out of grenades keeping them from coming up!" Bishop growled. He was standing over the entrance, watching the plasma fire as it came out. Moser had joined him, and was on his knees trying to look over the edge.

"None of us can get a shot off without getting our faces burned off!" He yelled.

Frost thought quickly, and grabbed one of his grenades. He slid halfway down the slanted walkway, pulled the pin, and tossed it in. "Everybody down!"

The grenade went off, and the enemy fire ceased.

Frost jumped down, snapping his assault rifle up to fire a burst. The bullets planted themselves in corpses. There were piles of Grunts and Jackals, as well as the body of an Elite that had been manning the plasma turret.

"Come on, follow me!" Frost cried, waving his arm to the others. The squad charged into the troop bay, quickly finishing off the remaining Grunts that were running around in a panic. The troop bay was spacious, filled with smooth, curved crates and weapons cases. The rear was wide open, and with the Scarab now closer to the ground and keeling over to the left, it was an easy jump.

Frost stood at the edge, placing a hand on each marine as they dropped down. He waited until the last man got out, and finally jumped.

"Make a break for it!" He called, and the squad took off running back into the field, still littered with alien and human dead, as well as the burning hulks of vehicles from both sides. The squad came across the wreckage of a Wraith, and took cover behind it. A minute had passed since they departed from the Scarab.

The earth trembled and the sky turned a shade of purple are the Scarab erupted, its legs breaking apart and the body combusting into several large pieces. Purple, blue, and yellow flame arced and spiraled outward and the sky briefly took on a purple haze. The blast echoed for miles. Debris and shrapnel shot out in every direction and rained down like a storm. The grassy hillside it had trodden upon was reduced to ash.

As the sounds and the plasma fog faded, the wreckage had piled onto itself, leaving a column of dancing plasma fire.

The squad slowly got up and gazed upon the destroyed Scarab. The mass of multicolored flames were burning vigorously. The wreckage groaned and hissed.

"The pinnacle of mechanized military power," Frost finally murmured, standing amongst his companions, "destroy with a single grenade."

Steele nudged him with his shoulder and offered a smile, "And an insane crash landing in a Warthog. With some guts behind it."

"And some crazy, too," Maddox added, sitting down against the wreckage and retrieving a cigarette.

The marines were silent for a time, before they all turned to face Frost.

"Is Teo out there?" Bishop asked, nodding towards the field of bodies.

Frost nodded grimly.

"We better go get him," Grant said quietly.

"Yeah."

"You know, I was just thinking," Maddox cut in, "and I just don't get it. Why didn't we get any orbital support? They would have sent a frigate, I imagine. Why didn't they?"

The others looked at one another, but couldn't find an answer. That was, until, Frost turned his eyes upwards. Overhead, a frigate was burning apart in high orbit, cut into three pieces. It made sense to him then. They had been so wrapped up in the battle they hadn't even heard that their support had been destroyed. A pair of Covenant frigates slid into view, ignoring the wreckage of the frigate. They grew larger and larger, flying as if in slow motion over the land.

Frost and the others stood in a state between awe and dread. The Covenant were already putting Ambition to the torch.

Reaching into his pocket, Frost withdrew Teo's dog tag. He rubbed his thumb over the small piece of metal. Then his gray eyes returned to the sky. They had just landed a couple hours ago, and the garrison had already been torn to pieces, the Covenant were in the process of achieving orbital superiority, and his friend and squad leader had been killed. As he stared up at the sky, angry and afraid, his mind racing, his heart pumping, he couldn't figure out how he was going to get his friends, his squad, through this fight. That had been Teo's job, and he was the best. What did that make him? What the hell was he going to do?

Frost clenched the dog tag tightly in his fist. Then he closed his eyes, and lowered his head.

"No excuses."

* * *

 _"The first damn thing Nathaniel Frost did as squad leader was load us up on a Warthog, crash us into a Scarab, kill everything on board, blow the up the thing, and take a little dive off of it. Any sensible person would have walked away from him. Guess we weren't that sensible, though."_

-K. Bishop, speaking of

The Battle of Ambition

* * *

Thank you for reading, I really appreciate it. This was a long chapter, coming out to twenty-two pages on Word. I'm going to try to keep the chapters somewhere around fifteen to twenty pages, so they'll take some time to write but not too long. This one took a while just because of a lot of real-world stuff. Can't help it! Anyways, like I said, some chapters will end with a quote from a character, others with song lyrics that I felt were appropriate: I went with the quote this time. Hopefully that's not too much of a spoiler or anything. Anyhow, thank you again for reading, feel free to become invested, I'm not going to let this story to fall to the wayside.

Halo in all respects belongs to 343 Industries (and was created originally by Bungie).


	3. Chapter 3: Sergeant Frost

Chapter Three: Sergeant Frost

* * *

The main gates were wide open. A steady stream of men and material flowed into Alpha Base. Warthogs and Scorpions were covered with plasma burns and deep gouges in their armor plating. Many of the surviving vehicles' engines were smoking from being pushed so hard. Throngs of Army troopers sat crowded together on Scorpions as if they were liferafts adrift in the ocean. Warthogs that were filled to capacity, soldiers clinging to the sides. Every single fighter was covered with dirt, dust, and blood. Their faces, blackened by smoke, glistened as sweat trickled down. Every single one was despondent and detached, their thoughts miles, light years, away from Ambition. Images of family and home flashed through their heads like a slideshow. Their energy was spent, their courage diminished. No one wanted to fight after that battle. Too many friends had been snatched away in a moment, too many assets lost. Everyone wanted to go home.

A commandeered Warthog sped down the trail beside the line at full speed. It cut off a tank and tore into the base. It pounded through the compound until it reached the HQ, where it grinded to a halt. Frost and his squad disembarked from their around them, Pelicans and Albatross dropships were landing all over the base, not even at the landing pads. Brother marines from the 89th MEU filed out of each one, armed to the teeth. Scorpions and Warthogs were dropped as well, and the unit began organizing itself. Supplies and ammunition were doled out, officers and NCOs barked orders. Safeties were switched off, blades were sharpened, vehicles were refueled.

Frost and his team watched briefly before they joined into orchestra.

"Alright guys, the Covenant are landing troops right now and are probably preparing for an assault. We need to prepare. Steele," Frost pointed at his friend, "find a DMR."

"Right!" Steele said, jogging off to a Pelican that had just finished unloading several crates of weapons.

Frost whirled around, "Moser, find out which one of these Pelicans has Colonel Hayes on board. Bring him to me so I can give a SITREP."

The German soldier went off without a word, disappearing into the crowd of marines that were assembling.

"Maddox, get to the motor pool," Frost said, spinning on his heel to face the combat engineer, "organize the mechanics there and start repairing any damaged vehicles. We're going to need every single one we can get out hands on."

Maddox went off, cursing up a storm.

Frost finally turned the others, "Bishop, Grant. Head to the armory, find the code, and open the weapons you can't get a hold of the code, bust the doors down anyway you can. Rearm the Army troopers and keep track of how much is left for the defense."

The pair trotted off, leaving Knight.

"What about me?" he said.

"Knight, get to the mess hall and get those poor Army bastards some food and water. They've taken a hell of a beating but we're going to need them in this fight. See if you can get some of them to help."

"Good idea," he affirmed, but hesitated, "what about Teo?"

Frost looked over his shoulder into the bed of the Warthog. Teo's body lay wrapped up in a blanket, bound tightly with a few belts.

Forcing a wave of a sadness down, Frost put a hand on Knight's shoulder, "I'll make sure he's taken care of once I deliver my report to the Colonel."

Nothing more was said, and the Yorkshire man went about his duty. Frost watched him go, then took a long look around at the mass of soldiers around him. The Army troopers had situated themselves near the mess hall. Some were sitting, watching in bewilderment as reinforcements filtered down from orbit, while others had simply fell asleep where they had dropped to the ground. Those who were grievously wounded were carried away by a medic or a comrade, slung over their shoulders or being supported as they hobbled along. The ones that remained were all close with one another, a disheveled throng that did not want to move again. Not a single one of them looked like a soldier anymore-they were just another filthy clot of frightened kids. Frost didn't hold it against them. How could anyone imagine fighting the Covenant would be like that? One had to tear their hair out wondering how they could defend against any enemy with super weapons such as the Scarabs. By what means were these people, some of them fresh out of high school, going to fight an enemy that didn't care if they got killed and whose numbers seemed boundless? What kind of defense could they muster against an alien race that possessed a fighting spirit that vastly outweighed their own?

The questions wracked Frost's brain. He felt as if there were an enormous weight pressing on his shoulders. He turned and braced his hands against the Warthog. His head hung low. It was then that he felt incredibly tired. But he also remembered that he was scared. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream.

He raised his eyes to look down on Teo's corpse. Frost gritted his teeth and wanted to blame him for this. Teo was the one who was supposed to be in charge, not him. Why did he have to get himself killed? It seemed almost selfish, that he had gotten to die. Now, he didn't have to deal with the rest of this war. He had no more burdens. He was somewhere better. Where, Frost didn't know, but anywhere was better than where he was standing.

Frost took a deep breath and shook his head.

"No," he whispered, "don't do that. Don't think like that."

He gazed at the wrapped up body that used to be his friend and sighed tiredly, "No excuses."

No excuses. The Covenant didn't have a fighting spirit. What they had was a blind, over-zealous rage. What he and the UNSC he had was fighting spirit. He nodded at that thought. It was enough to steel his nerves, yet a pit in his stomach remained.

"Corporal Frost?"

Frost stood straight up and turned around. Colonel Hayes approached him.

Hayes was a tall, muscular man with a jutting jaw coated by a thick black beard. He had a wide-face, short black hair that was graying, and two vibrant hazel-green eyes that loomed over a over a long narrow nose. A long, vertical scar decorated the right side of his face near his sideburn, while another vertical scar sliced his left eyebrow.

"Colonel, it's damn good to see you," Frost said with a relieved smile.

Hayes said nothing and embraced Frost for a brief moment, who reciprocated the gesture without hesitation. The pair parted a few seconds later.

"You alright, Nathaniel?" the Colonel asked. He was half-Russian and possessed a slight accent which Frost found comforting.

"Yes sir, I'm squared away," he said, lying partially.

Hayes placed a heavy hand on Frost's shoulder. He offered a toothy smile.

"I heard you and your team took down a Scarab and saved those poor bastards over yonder. Heard you did it by parking a Warthog on it."

Frost couldn't help but chuckle, "That's exactly right. Colonel."

Hayes unleashed a booming laugh, tilting his head back so that his voice touched the sky, "That's one way to do it!" he chortled, then looked back down at Frost with a glint in his eye, "You'll be getting another medal for that."

Frost said nothing, feigning a smile.

The look on the Colonel's face grew more serious. He said quietly, "Moser told me about Teo. Were you able to recover his body?"

"Yes, Colonel. He's right here."

Hayes peered into the back of the gun truck. He became rigid and silent. Frost saw his eyes glisten and thought for a moment the Colonel would begin to cry, as if he were a father standing over his dead son.

He reached in and placed a gentle hand on Teo's chest, still hidden by the blanket. For a few seconds he held it there, before gingerly patting the spot and turned to face Frost.

"Damn shame. Damn, damn shame," he murmured, "I'm glad you made those sons of bitches pay."

"They're not done paying yet," Front answered coldly.

Hayes nodded in approval, "Good. Now, I was told you have a report for me."

Frost went ahead and explained in detail their action at the foot of the mountains. He then told of the assignments he had given his squad and gave his opinion on the defense. Hayes listened intently. After that, he brought up the lack of anti-air defenses. If there was one thing Frost was grateful for, it was being under Hayes' command. Hayes was a hard but fair man, even-handed in all of his actions. He treated the men like they were family and often fought on the battle lines with them. Not uncommon among many UNSC officers, but it was still gratifying to see him returning fire just like the rest of them. What was more, Hayes gave just as much attention to his non-commissioned officer as he did his lieutenants on upwards. Frost remembered before they shipped out from Earth five years ago, Hayes had said, "I have briefed my officers, but I want all you NCOs to know that you hold just as much weight as them on the battlefield. You are all supreme commanders of yourselves and your squads."

Hayes had extended the idea of the 'supreme commander,' unto every man under his charge. It was a rare thing, but every single men in the 89th had taken leadership courses during their training. Every man knew how to do the other's job; Hayes claimed that if he was killed in combat, any of his buck privates could fill his boots.

Frost finished his report, punctuating it with, "If we don't have any anti-air means here, it won't be long before the Covenant realize they can drop right into base. But, I also believe if we don't have orbital control, it'll take one shot from a plasma beam to glass the base."

The senior officer had had been smiling softly the entire time, and after Frost finished, he said, "you'd make a good lieutenant you know."

"Not a job I'd like, Colonel," Frost answered stiffly.

"Well, you just did a lieutenant's job, boy," Hayes snorted. He then placed his hands on his hips and looked around as the marines began to fortify the defensive walls, set up extra weapon emplacements, and sandbag redoubts at key points around the base. "The best I can do are the Wolverines that are touching down, they'll keep out any enemy air assaults. As far our Navy brothers and sisters, they seemed keen to leave."

Frost understood. Maybe it would be better to rig the base, hop on the Pelicans back to the ship, and jump from the system. But that wouldn't happen. HIGHCOM wanted a victory. Humanity needed one. A morale boost. That was what Ambition was all about. The veteran marine found it almost ironic.

"A carrier, destroyer escorts, and supporting frigates should be able to carry a fight against Covenant frigates," he offered.

His superior shrugged, "unless they send some reinforcements, which they will if we give them too hard a fight. If we can wipe out whatever forces they have here, they might not bother with us. But I've already been on the horn, they're sending reinforcements. A cruiser battlegroup in a nearby system should be able to get here in four hours."

Frost grimaced. Centuries ago, the RMS _Carpathia_ had been four hours away from the slowly sinking _Titanic_ , and by the time she had arrived all that was left were seven hundred half-frozen souls in lifeboats. He wondered what they would all look like after four hours.

Hayes sighed, then allowed a smile. "Well, depending on how things are when they get here, they'll either deliver a knockout blow or they'll be pulling our asses off the line. Until then, we're going to defend Alpha. I'm going to get the Army CO out here and take command of his troops, we need everyone for this fight."

As they spoke, Frost could see Knight going from soldier to soldier, refilling their canteens with fresh, cool water and a bundle of rations. Some of the troopers were helping him pass out the supplies. A minority absently took the items, their eyes focused on some far off place that no one else could see. Others, as they clasped the items, seemed to come back to life. A smile there, a joke there. Packages were torn open, tin cans were tapped, and contented sighs resulted as the Army troopers drank the fresh water and poured some over their heads. It didn't take too much for a warrior to back onto their feet, Frost thought to himself with a smile.

"As for Bravo," Hayes jabbed a finger against Frost's chestplate, bringing his gaze back, "you're Squad Leader now."

Frost's expression was stunned, "What? No, Colonel! I don't want to be squad leader."

"It's not open for debate," Hayes growled, "you're the one for the job."

"But Colonel-"

"It's orden then!" Hayes exclaimed, and with that, began walking away. When he was a short distance out, he called, "And you're _Sergeant_ Frost now, whether you like it or not! That's an order, too!"

As the Colonel finally walked out of sight, Frost let his shoulders sink. Hayes had gotten his way. Frost loved the man, but hated him for times like this. He knew he didn't want to rise any higher than corporal; he was good at following orders. And now Hayes had made it an order, and Frost had to follow it. There was no choice.

He took a look around, making sure no one was looking away. No one was. The Army troopers were rising to their feet, renewed energy apparent in their features. Some were even heading to the armory to reload. The marines were still touching down, still organizing themselves, still filtering to the defensive positions; an endless olive drab flow. None of his companions were nearby, still attending to their duties, save for Moser who had taken to helping Knight distribute water and rations.

Taking the moment, Frost walked to the other side of the Warthog where no one would see him, as other vehicles had been parked nearby, sheltering him for view. He sank to his knees, taking in a few sharp breaths. His shoulders were shaking. He didn't want to take command. He didn't want any of his friends to die because of him. There was no certainty that he could get them through alive.

He struggled to take control of his emotions, cursing the events that had enfolded that day. It had been one emotional rollercoaster after the other. Down and up, up and down. Just as he had gotten his resolve back, Hayes showed up and destroyed it with a promotion. His hands balled into fists, and one struck the ground as if possessed. If there was one thing he hated, it was not having control of himself.

"Come on, come on," he murmured, hugging himself to stop the shaking, " _come on!_ "

Again, he felt the urge to cry. Teo was gone. Their one unifying force was gone, the one entity that had kept them alive for five years. Now it was up to him to be that force. Frost quickly looked over his shoulder and gasped out a short sob, but stopped himself. He was a soldier, a warrior, he told himself. Hastily, he swiped at the tears welling in the corners of his eyes. He was a soldier, he told himself, he had a job to do. _I'm a soldier_ , he kept repeating in his mind. He could grieve and wallow in whatever emotions gripped him later when his and his men's lives weren't on the line.

He dug his hands into the sand like he had done earlier, before they had left the base, but instead of grinding his hands together, he pressed them against his face. He rubbed the sand on his forehead, his cheeks, down the center of his face.

"Frost?" said a gentle voice.

The newly promoted sergeant looked up to find Knight standing in front of him.

"What?" Frost was surprised at how calm his own voice had become, how relaxed his body felt.

"Putting shite on your face again?" Knight joked with a cheeky grin.

Frost was relieved; Knight hadn't seen his breakdown.

"It's war paint," Frost answered genuinely, "every soldier needs war paint. And what better war paint than the ground of the battlefield?"

Knight chuckled kindly, "I've been watching you put mud, dirt, sand, and all manner of shit-ridden soils on your face for years for that soldier mantra of yours..." The elder marine knelt down and held a canteen in front of him, "...you're still a man. And a man needs to _drink_ , and _eat_."

He also brandished an energy bar from a pack of rations.

"I'm not hungry," Frost answered.

"Eat son," Knight said in his soothing, accented voice, "what would your mother think if she found out you weren't eating proper?"

Frost couldn't help but grin, "You are my mother."

He took the energy bar. One small bite revealed to himself how hungry he really was, and scarfed the snack down in three large bites. He took the canteen and guzzled half of it down.

"See?" Knight said, bumping a fist softly against Frost's shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah, Got some more?"

A five minute meal break, if a meal of several energy bars, juice in plastic bags, bread, pork and beans, and a chocolate bar could be considered a square meal, Frost reunited his squad. Standing in a pile of wrappers and wax paper, the squad formed a semicircle around around Frost.

"Well, guys," he started, paranoid that his voice might crack, "I talked with Hayes and he's organizing the defense."

"Thank God..." muttered Bishop.

"He also made me Squad Leader," Frost said, his voice quiet. The others looked at each other, then looked at him.

"You read that in the newspaper or something?" Maddox quipped.

"Saw that coming from a mile away," Grant added.

"Really?" Frost said, disbelief ground in his voice, "well, alright. Look, I just want to say that I'm not going to be Teo, okay? I'm not him, and I'm sure as hell not going to try and fill his boots."

"Don't worry brother," Steele said with a wink, "we'll follow you anywhere."

The others nodded in agreement. Smiles were flashed, congratulations given, and loyalties were solidified in a series of hugs, tight handshakes, and a final act where the marines all closed in and place a hand on Frost's helmeted head, giving him a good rattling.

Frost felt his heart swell. Yes, mourning and self-pity would have to wait. They had a job to do; he had to keep them alive, because they were going to keep him alive.

After battle plans were drawn, discarded, and redrawn, defenses had been shored up, and every soldier was in position, an hour had passed. Frost found himself in the gatehouse that was built on the platform above the main gate. Titanium walls provided some comfort, although the large open front to allow two gatling guns to poke their barrels out of created a large gap, so a sandbag wall had been erected on the edge of the platform. Bishop and Grant were on the gatling guns. Other heavy machine guns accompanied by gauss cannons straddled the entire perimeter wall, which had been reinforced with sandbags and titanium plates welded on by the marine engineers, who had performed a job that usually took half a day into a single hour. Mobile artillery tanks, known as Rhinos, had been entrenched further back in the base. Falcons and Hornets waited on the helipad, their engineers flaring, ready to go. Scorpion tanks were positioned so that they could bring their large guns to bear on the cliffs and rocky hills that overlooked the base. Someone had the clairvoyance to heed the unheard suggestion of Frost and his team; a Scorpion was parked right behind the gate. Concrete redoubts, also constructed in record time by the engineers, sat at multiple points along the base. Each building had been turned into a fortress, and any material that couldn't fall into Covenant hands was wired to blow at a moment's notice. Some of the mechanized troops had formed circles with Warthogs, like laagers or wagon circles.

Frost, looking out of the rear of the gatehouse, looked at the Warthog laagers. Yes, he thought to himself, they were really circling up the wagons now.

He knew it was going to be a hard fight. Sieges always were. Artillery barrages, hand to hand combat, last stands; he hoped it wouldn't come to that. Part of him did. The tension that the quiet before a battle brought was tearing him up on the inside. It was as if his organs were clawing at one another, moving and shuffling and bashing and slithering all around in his gut. There was nothing he could do to make it stop. It was driving him mad. He had seen some marines so uneasy waiting for the fighting to begin they had flung their fists into their guts to focus on the pain rather than the ambiguous feeling within.

"Okay, we've got three crates of frags, six bundles of rockets for the launcher...Knight will that be enough?"

Frost turned; Knight was looking over the equipment they had brought up with them.

"For now, but mate I gotta tell tell ya, I think we'll be needing more than that if they press the attack."

Moser turned to Frost, "Seems old school," the German marine began, "but I think we'll need a trail of men from the armory and ammo dumps to here."

"I agree," Frost grunted, "I'll radio Hayes."

He pressed a finger to his ear and relayed the suggestion. Hayes approved, deciding and created a human conveyor belt from quartermasters, cooks, clerks, and the like.

"You all set?" Hayes asked on a private channel, "You've had it hard today, I imagine."

Damn right, Frost thought to himself.

"I'm green, Colonel."

"Good. Be ready for a dirty fight. I'm gonna need the Ripper on these walls."

"Solid copy, out."

"Hey Maddox, move your arse, they'll be here any moment!" Steele called from atop the gatehouse. He had found a DMR but decided to heft a SRS99C-S2 AMB sniper rifle onto the roof, fortify a sandbag position with netting, and create a marksman's post. It was exposed but a compact, two layer bunker made of sandbags would block small arms plasma.

From there, Frost knew his friend could see down the entire length of the narrow canyon path that led to their gate, up until the bend to the left at the end. From the bend to the gate, it was three hundred and fifty meters long. "Just like the shooting range!" somebody nearby had said when they had first moved up to the platforms.

Frost looked out at Maddox, who was working with a team of engineers to rig the entire trail with explosives. Maddox had been adamant that no mines were to be used. He and Frost had pitched an idea for a trap.

The Army command was split by indecision to either stay and fight, evacuate, or to meet the Covenant with the added bulk of the MEU's 2,100 mechanized troops and infantry that had landed. Hayes concluded that a defense had to be put in place, and looked to the first of his marines on the ground to come up with a plan. Frost and Maddox had concocted a plan. They knew there was going to be an artillery bombardment-there always was. So, they had rooted out the two dozen smoke generators stocked in the armory; the generators were used to create a screen for advancing troops. It was an archaic military strategy, akin to smoke shells be dropped by friendly artillery, but they would start the generators as soon as the first plasma blast struck. It would create an illusion that the base was hit hard, and the gate would be wide open. Frost found it needless to say that it was a huge gamble to expect the Covenant to be foolish enough to think they could root out an entire base with one bombardment, but Maddox was hoping to play to their overzealousness. That way, they would send a convoy and troops down the road, and at the right moment, Maddox would detonate the charges. It would create a massive blockade difficult for vehicles to advance down the road.

Melendez had argued that it would give advancing troops too much cover as they poured down the road. Hayes and Frost then countered him, confident that the amount of turrets on the gate walls to pin them down, and to give snipers like Steele a plethora of targets. The natural, boxy design of the canyon also prevented any large infantry maneuvers on the Covenant's part. It would taken them a great deal of time to divert their forces and traverse the steep slopes around the base. Haye's officers also chimed in, concluding that once the aliens showed their faces on the rides and slopes along the base, air support could be sortied against them in quick succession, and the Scorpion and Rhino fire could be directed and changed at any time.

Still, Frost was worried about air attacks. Alpha base was indeed a spacious location, but considered that nearly four thousand marines and Army troopers occupied it, as well as a great deal of their equipment and vehicles, there was simply no more room. The airfield and the area around it was to be kept open for Pelicans to pick up wounded troops and replacements. Many MEU's had over two thousand men, but at the 89th's inception they had five thousand. Now the number was whittled down to four thousand and five hundred after five years of combat, but over half of them were still in the ships. Less than half of the Wolverines had touched down, despite Haye's request to have all thirty on the ground. "They just had to book our trip with a bunch of fucking rookie swabs," Hayes had muttered on an open channel, which resulted in a lot of snickering and profanity riddled agreements among the marine and army grunts.

The ten or twelve Wolverines was better than nothing, and they had the flyboys as well. It was the best they could do for now. Frost watched Maddox wave angrily at Steele.

"Shut your gob, we're coming you lazy bastard!" Maddox had just finished placing the last charge and was jogging back with the other engineers. "You really broke your back pulling them sandbags up there, huh!? Must have been a real sweaty fucking job!"

"Oh yeah, Mads, I'm laying up here catching up on my sunning and my sleep!" Steele chortled back down. Maddox unleashed a tirade of obscenities as his team of engineers filed through the gate. He was still cursing as he planted himself on the metal floor of the gatehouse and leaned back against the sandbags.

"Think it'll work?" Frost asked, kneeling down.

"Yeah, so long as we don't get our asses vaporized into goo by the bombardment," Maddox said as he took prepped the detonator. He ran his sleeve over his forehead, "You decide when you want me to pull the trigger, and I'll blow the bastards back to hell."

"Hell's too good for them," Moser murmured as he braced his hands on the sandbags, looking out.

"Agreed," Frost said over his shoulder, "I want to wait until they get close. The goal should be to knock out as many of their heavy vehicles as possible. How close are the charges to the gate?"

"Seventy-five meters from the edge of the gate," was the answer.

Frost placed a marker for the seventy-five meter mark on the blue HUD screen connected to his helmet over his left eye.

"When the lead vehicle reaches the seventy-five meter mark, that's when we'll do it."

Silence fell. Hushed whispers carried down the platforms. The wind picked up; it was a dry wind that kicked up sand, biting the men's faces as they stood on the platforms.

Frost exhaled deeply. Hayes had placed him in charge of the front gate sector. They were prepared as they were going to get. The Covenant were coming. The techs were transferring data from orbital scans into each soldier's HUD piece or datapad. A mass of red was approaching.

A minute ticked by. Another. Another. And another.

Frost exhaled again.

Maddox kept flipping the cap off of the detonator, and flicking it back down.

Bishop drummed his fingers on the body of his machine gun.

Knight was taking the opportunity to eat one last slice of bread.

Moser was running his thumb on the cross he wore on a simple necklace around his neck.

Grant had his assault rifle close, and was knawing on one of his fingernails.

"I need to take a shit," Steele said over the comms.

Frost attempted to withhold a laugh, and failed. He sputtered into giggles then burst with laughter. The others joined in, their laughing filled the air so much that even soldiers halfway into the base could hear.

"Steele, you're gonna have to shit your pants because there's no way you can make it to the latrine from here!" Frost said, followed by howls.

It was at times like this Frost enjoyed. The most stupid of comments could make grown men laugh like boys in the schoolyard, in times of strife such as the one they were in at that moment.

In the distance there was an electric _whump_ sound. Frost, his lips still curled in a smile, watched the cloud of white-hot plasma fringed with blue and purple crackle through the sky. It landed in the center of one of the Warthog circles, which happened to be unmanned. The plasma flattened right in the center, and the concussion pushed the Warthogs apart by dozens of feet. As drivers quickly bounded to them to restore the circle, the bright blue sky was teeming with hordes of fat bolts of white plasma. They rained down on the base. One strike the HQ building, burning the side and shattering the windows. Another one found a supply dump; a fiery orange explosion blossomed upwards, with barrels and crates flying in every direction. Ammunition sparked and bullets exploded in their magazines. Soldiers dived for cover as the heat caused grenades to burst, causing chain reactions of high explosives, grenades, and mines. One explosions tore at the sky, with another right behind it, followed by another. For half a minute the reactions continued. Once it was finished, a thick column of black smoke remained, belching upwards. Other rounds hit in the airfield, causing an entire warehouse to go up in flames. The occupants spilled out of windows and filtered out of doorways like ants. One unfortunate Falcon was hit dead center; it split in half and burned furiously on its helipad.

"Down! Everybody down! Find cover!" Frost yelled, ducking behind the sandbag wall with a hand braced on his helmet. "Steele," he called on the SQUADCOM as the noise was getting biblically loud, "get down here or you're gonna get blown away."

"I'm not moving a bloody inch!" he answered over the comms, his teeth gritted.

"Start the smoke generators!" Hayes called over the TACCOM. Amid the rain of plasma artillery, the generators coughed, stammered, and hummed to life. White, gray, and black smoke filtered upwards in wisps, then in massive clouds that filled the air above the base so heavily that the sun was nearly blotted out.

The bombardment went on. Frost had dropped his rifle and clamped his helmet tight over his head. Every nearby blast, whether it was on the ground, on the canyon rock, or the face of the defensive wall, jarred him terribly. His teeth felt as though they were rattling; Frost humored himself, thinking that he wouldn't be surprised if the sand he had used as war paint had been blown off his face by the face of the artillery.

Bishop, flattened on the floor of their gatehouse next to Frost, had both arms over his head. Briefly, he looked up to say, "Kind of makes you wish you were placed in the Marine newspaper division!"

"And miss out on this!?" called Grant, the only man still on his own two feet. Standing against the platform, he held his arms out and had his head tilted backwards as if he were trying to catch a gust of wind.

"Private Grant, get your ass behind cover now!" Frost yelled angrily.

"Come on you crazy adrenaline-junkie, get down!" Knight added.

Grant did not budge. Bombarding plasma was becoming more ferocious, hitting all around the gate. One massive blob of plasma struck right below the edge of the plasma. Heat washed over the men in the gatehouse and the air crackled with electrical pops and snarls. Each man groaned and bristled, their exposed skin feeling as though it were splitting. At its least, it was a tremendously uncomfortable feeling. At its worst, a soldier's skin would peel and split, layer after layer, from the heat. Thankfully, Frost and the rest of Bravo Squad caught the least of the plasma. Surprisingly, Grant hadn't been knocked down from his perch. Frost had watch in a mixture of horror and awe as the enormous blast threw Grant's helmet from his head. The barrage continued to intensify around them. With Grant standing where he was, it appeared as though he were playing king of the hill, and the Covenant were trying to knock him down.

Willing himself from his spot, Frost slithered along the floor, and began tugging on Grant's pant leg.

"Get down you idiot..."

Grant didn't seem to notice. Delight, glee, and verve danced on every feature of the young man's face. Frost, pulling frantically on his leg, found himself unable to blame Grant. Watching such a show of power brought out something childish in him, like watching fireworks over the bay in Halifax during summertime. The shock of every plasma burst caused pain, but at the same time causing the adrenaline already pumping in his body to surge. It felt wonderful, like he was invincible, despite being fearful for his life in the bombardment.

"Incoming!" somebody screamed. Frost propped himself and saw a huge bolt of white plasma coming directly at the gatehouse.

"Everybody out!" he hollered. Bravo Squad got their feet and spilled out of both doors on either side. Grant still wouldn't move. "Come on! Move it!"

Just then Moser dived over him, tackling Grant to the floor and manhandling him out of the gatehouse. Frost didn't waste a second, pushing himself to his feet and sprinting out the door. Out on the exposed platform, they watched the blob of plasma fall short and strike the gate, heating up the metal so that the added layer of titanium melted. The gatehouse was untouched. Frost was relieved.

Further down the walls, the others weren't so lucky. Some Army troopers on the opposite side of the gatehouse were keeping low behind their sandbags, but a glob of plasma artillery hit them directly. Some of the men were sent flying off by the concussive force, arms flailing and their clothing blackened. Others disappeared in immediate impact zone, disappearing as shadows in the white plasma. Some of the outlying troops were wounded terribly; through the two doorways of the gatehouse, Frost could see a soldier staring at his nonexistent arm. All that was left was a charred stump, the heat having cauterized the wound. Others lay lifeless as medics and comrades came to take the wounded away and replace them. Coinciding with that final strike, the bombardment ended.

"Everybody get back in and stay down," he said in a low voice. They filed in; as Grant went back, Frost grabbed the harness of his battle vest and pulled him close, roughly. "Next time I tell you to get down, get the fuck down, okay?"

"Yeah, sorry Frost," Grant said, looking apologetic.  
Frost nodded and let him go. Moser strode past, and the pair exchanged a nod.

"Alright, everybody keep your heads down and stay out of sight. Maddox, get ready with that trigger," Frost ordered as he knelt between Maddox and Bishop, on the left gun. Maddox hadn't let go of the detonator the entire time, and was clenching it so hard his knuckles were white.

"I know what I'm supposed to do," the combat engineer snapped.

"That artillery barrage upset you Mads," Moser asked slyly.

"Damn straight! I like it when I'm blowing things up, not the other way around!" Maddox barked. The others snickered; there was always some strange comedic victory to get their engineer riled up.

Frost knelt down and raised up his scope. He rested his hand on the top of the sandbags, and watched the bend at the end of the canyon road.

It wasn't long before the first Covenant vehicle appeared on the road. It was a Wraith, followed by several other heavy tanks. Trailing behind the armored knuckle of the convoy's vanguard was a procession of Ghosts and its heavier brethren Spectres, a two seated, more armored craft with a small plasma mortar. One after the other, assortments of heavier and light Covenant vehicles-sleek crafts with purple, blue, and bronze plating-glided towards them.

Frost whispered a number and a type of vehicle on the TACCOM. He could feel everyone's hunkering down; their breathing was picking up. Maddox was flipping the cover of the detonator with his thumb again.

"No Locusts yet," he hissed, "where are the Locusts?"

Locusts were assault vehicles used by the Covenant. They four legged, with an elongated "head" that fired a concentrated pink beam of plasma that melted or obliterated any structure within minutes. Just one was a threat to an entire defensive operation.

"Might not have any," Knight muttered, "maybe they got surprised by us as much as we were of them."

"No aircraft either," Frost continued, "the ruse must have worked. They're coming at us without outliers in the convoy or scouts."

Despite looking through the scope, Frost could see the lead Wraith gliding toward the marker on his HUD. Two hundred meters. One-hundred fifty meters. One hundred. Ninety. Eighty. Seventy-six. Seventy-five.

Frost turned to Maddox, "Now."

Maddox's lips twitched into a smile, as he flicked the cap up with his thumb, "You may want to cover your ears."

His thumb pressed gingerly down on the button.

The lead Wraith burst into purple and white flames. Down the line, columns of soil and fire enveloped vehicle after vehicles. Debris blossomed upwards and fell like rain. Shrapnel bounced off the canyon walls. Some of the lighter vehicles were caught between charges; one Ghost was flung to the side by a charge on its right side, and was blown back the other way in two halves by a charge on its left. Elites and Grunts were tumbled about; limbs detached. Frost could see alien hands, feet, legs, arms, and heads splattered onto the road. A slow moving Shadow transport was spun onto its side by an explosion, and buckled in half at the same time. Hordes of Grunts, coated in fire, their methane tanks popping, flooded out, screeching and screaming so loudly that Frost could hear them. A Spectre was thrown straight up, flipping end over end, throwing the pair of Elites out. The succession of charges went down the entire length of the canyon, and didn't stop until it reached the bend.

The echos of the explosive orchestra resounded for several minutes. Then there was silence, saving for growls of fire emanating from the hulks and remnants of the Covenant convoy. There were a few cries of pain drifting in the air but they too fell silent eventually.

Frost slowly stood up, his arms hanging limply by his sides. His adrenaline had spiked with each blast, and he felt giddy, as if he had watched the greatest performance in history. Smoke filled the air and swirled around over the remnants of the convoy; it was beautiful and mesmerizing scene for the marine and his squad.

"Gate, report," Hayes said over the comms.

Frost blinked, then after a moment of looking at his grinning peers, answered, "Uh, targets destroyed, over."

A shot from a plasma carbine punctuated his sentence. Frost instinctively crouched down, then popped back up to see Covenant troops advancing through the wreckage. Elites were punching, kicking, throwing Grunts around, who were moving slowly and without any hint of morale. Moving more speedily were Jackals, with their blue shields and long range rifles, and more unsettling, their Skirmisher brothers.

Frost growled. That spelled trouble. Jackals were superb marksmen and when in groups their shields acting as mobile hardpoints for them to advance. Teams of five and ten made their way through the shambles of the convoy, their shields locked. Even from his distant perch, Frost could see their thin bodies clad in purple armor, their narrow heads with long jaws and large round purple eyes on either side of their heads. They looked more like birds than a sentient race. The gray skinned Skirmishers were even uglier and fit eh bird image even better with feathers coating their heads, necks, and arms. They wore light armor the color of their skin and had a beak at the end of its long snout. The Skirmishers were moving in pairs or by themselves, clambering to the top of destroyed vehicles and taking incredible leaps to other hulks to avoid being bogged down. When they reformed into packs they would be much more difficult, and wouldn't even need mobile gravity lifts to get onto the walls.

"All units, all units, open fire!" Frost screamed into the comms. Bishop and Knight immediately opened up with their heavy M247 mounted machine guns. The heavy weapons raked back and forth along the canyon, cutting down Skirmishers as they scrambled for cover.

"Concentrate fire on the shields and they'll overload!" Knight called to his partner. They turned their attention to the closest group of Jackals, ten in number, advancing in a phalanx formation; five were holding their shields out in front of them, while the other five crouch with their shields covering the first half's heads. The 7.62 millimeter rounds pummeled the shield of the center Jackal. It turned yellow, then glowed red, and then with a flash dissipated. A burst cut the alien in half, and the one behind it stumbled. The two gunners killed it swiftly, and the entire formation buckled as it grew smaller as each shield burst and its wearer was killed, until they were all cut down. Designated marksmen opened fire with their rifles, other machine guns chattered, and grenade launchers boomed. Every soldier was up against the sandbags on the walls, firing away. Frost traveled down the length of the platform walkways, advising men with assault rifles or shorter range weapons to hold fire, and then to troopers with long range weapons he would say, "Mark your target before you fire."

Calmly he walked back and forth, "Mark your targets! Mark your targets! Make sure you can hit them before you fire. Trigger discipline! Trigger discipline! Don't waste ammo! Conserve the ammo now so we don't have to later!"

He would stop machine gunners and say, "Short bursts! Save ammo!" and to others armed with grenade launchers, he'd say, "Aim for clusters, let the marksmen deal with single targets!"

Machine guns rattled. DMRs popped. Sniper rifles split the air. He held his assault rifle in his right hand, down by his side, and his other hand clutched the binoculars. Strolling back into the gatehouse, he spotted targets for Bishop and Knight, as well as Steele on the roof. Every few moments, Steele would fire, and Frost could see the white trail of the high caliber round as it cut through the air. He watched as Frost struck a Skirmisher who was in mid-jump; the round pulverized the bird-like alien's stomach and nearly split in half.

"Nice shot," Frost said over the SQUADCOM.

"Yeah, you like that?" Steele replied cockily.

Sharpshooters were hooting with each kill, showing off at to their comrades.

"Keep it up!" Frost yelled among the lieutenants and other NCOs shouting orders. One Skirmisher had managed to make its way close to the gate, so Frost leaned over the railing of the platform and fired three bursts from his assault rifle, which cut the alien down. "They're getting closer," he yelled, "get ready to start dropping frags!"

He looked down the canyon. It was the only place where the Covenant were attacking. He wondered if was frightening or strange to other parts of the base to hear the fighting but not be a part yet. But what caught his attention further was the renewed assault; the Covenant had brought up more troopers. Skirmishers returned in twice their original numbers and were making their sprints and jumps more cautiously; some were timing themselves, jumping right after they heard the report of a sniper rifle. The Elites had also muscled the Grunts into the action, who were bumbling their way down. More than once, Frost saw an Elite execute a retreating or cowering Grunt. Some of the Elites were carrying equipment; closer inspection through the binoculars revealed it was a pad for a gravity lift.

"Shit," he said under his breath, "Maddox with me, bring some explosives!"

"Aye!"

The pair ran out of the gatehouse and into an Army lieutenant, "Sir, they're moving up with grav lifts, we need to maintain fire superiority."

"Roger that sergeant," the officer replied, then hollered over the noise, "everybody open fire! Don't let them get close!"

The officer then turned again, "We need some extra support. I'm ordering four fireteams in reserve up to the gate. Get that Scorpion down there into the fight!"

"Yes, sir! Come on Mads."

The pair darted down the stairs near the gatehouse and ran over to the Scorpion that was sitting just behind the gate. Frost climbed on board and rapped his hand on the hatch. It opened up, revealing a scruffy red bearded marine from the same unit as his, whom he knew by the name of Emery. Almost everyone called him Elmer, though. The grease smudged face appeared with a pair of goggles shielding his eyes.

"What the hell you want from me, Mr. Ripper?" he grumbled in his southern accent.

"Nice to see you Elmer Fudd. The officer wants your tank to keep the Covvies away, so we're going to open the gate and you're going to park yourself right in there. You'll have four teams to back you up."

The twenty-two year old tanker grunted, "It'll be a little exposed. My gunner got left behind, how's about you take over."

Frost took a look. The turret was an M247T medium machine gun mounted on the body of the Scorpion.

""I'll take it for a spin. But here's the deal, we need to delay the Covenant as much as possible, so if they overrun the gate, we're going to rig this tank to blow to act as a roadblock as they can't get their light vehicles into the base."

"Good thing my own tank is still up in space," Emery grumbled, "alright, place a charge in the rear. Waste of good equipment..."

Maddox planted the explosive, gave a thumbs up, and left the detonator with Emery, who grumbled his way back down into the bowels of his tank.

"Alright, Mads you're in charge."

"Isn't Steele ranking corporal?"

"Yeah but he's not going to come down, go on I trust you," Frost flashed a smile to his compatriot before heaving himself into the turret. The gate slid open and Emery rolled the Scorpion forward. The army fireteams arrived and took positions around and on the tank. From the gate to the first charred hulk of the lead Wraith was open ground, a perfect killing field for Frost's machine gun. No targets had reached it yet.

The gunfire intensified above them. The Rhinos were opening fire,adding to the cacophony of gunfire and artillery. Similar to the Scorpion, the large heavy tanks fired plasma rounds. Though in limited supply, the mechanized detachment of Frost's MEUs had been augmented with a small number of them. Each piece of self-propelled artillery was a fine example of using the Covenant's technology against them. Each time a Rhino's shell landed in a shower of plasma energy, a man felt a small semblance of satisfaction, knowing he wasn't the only one having to sit through a bombardment of ionized gas.

The relentless barrage of artillery and the main gun of the Scorpion caused the Elites to drive their Grunts even harder. They entered the killzone, and Frost opened fire. He raked the sand in front of him, turning the turret back and forth in a semicircle. Dozens of Grunts were torn to shreds. Red, yellow, blue, and green armor chips sprayed from their chests. Some dropped their weapons and turned tail, only to be killed by heavy rounds to their backs. The Elites roared and charged, but their personal shielding didn't last long in the face of constant streams of lead. Bodies began to pile up in front of the gate, the gravity lift equipment buried beneath them.

Starting to flank Frost at the turret, the Jackals and Skirmishers steered clear of his turret range, instead trying to climb the walls. Firing until a continuous flow of empty bullets fell from the barrel, Frost continued firing, shorter bursts for Grunts, and longer bursts for Elites.

Empty casings flowed from the side of the machine gun. His entire from shook. Thankfully, It wasn't as jarring as firing the turret on a Warthog. Frost kept up the fire. Grunts and Elites continued to fall in droves. Then he started to hear the tell-tale signs of frag grenades exploding.

Maddox's voice came over the SQUADCOM, "Frost, the Skirmishers have reached the walls, they're trying to climb up, and-"

"Banshees!" a cry rang out, "Banshees at six o'clock!"

Frost turned in the turret to see several formations of the purple aircraft jetting down at the base with the sun at their backs. He could hear the ripple of Wolverine missiles being fired, and saw them streak through the air. The missiles struck the formations, obliterating half into fiery wreckage. But half kept coming, and he could see their fuel rod guns charging.

"Emery, get out of the tank! Incoming!"

Frost began to get out but his harness got caught on the hooks inside the turret pit. He looked back up and saw that another salvo of missiles were barreling into the Banshee formations, but it was too late. Three of the Banshees had fired, and three blots of bright green plasma were gliding down at the gate. One of the plasma missiles was heading right for the center of the tank, as if it were aiming straight for Frost.

He struggled to get his harness free. He tugged and pulled as hard as he could, but the metal hooks were snagged into the material of his harness.

"Fuck. _Fuck._ "

He drew his combat knife and started sawing at the strap that was caught. It was frighteningly and infuriatingly difficult, forced to use his left hand. After a few split seconds of frantic cutting, the harness strap snapped. Frost sheathed the knife as he ambled out of the turret and leaped off the tank. The plasma struck just as he did. It felt like needles were pricking all of his back as the concussion of the blast surged him forward.

He landed hard on his stomach, groaning. His ears were ringing again. Frost rolled onto his back, sat up, and gripped his left bicep. A piece of metal of the tank had been shorn off and flung through the air, cutting his bicep in the process. Thankfully it was only a surface wound, but deep enough so that it wasn't just a mere graze.

Frost looked back at the tank. Surprisingly, it was still in one piece, save for the main cannon which had melted away from the plasma strike. The armor was scorched, smoke rose from the engine and treads, and the entire frame seemed to snag. The tank was beginning to burn, and the flames were growing more intense by the second.

Before he could even manage to get on his feet, Frost watched a trio Grunts jump through the flames onto the tank. They turned to face him, shrieking and cackling. He went for his sidearm, but then the hatch of the tank was thrown open. Emery appeared with a shotgun, and quickly pumped each Grunt with buckshot. Each little alien was thrown off the tank by the force of the weapon.

The tanker jumped down from his vehicle and jogged over to Frost, "You hit?"

"Shrapnel," Frost muttered slowly, feeling dizzy. Emery pulled a solid black bandanna from his pocket and wrapped it around the gouge in Frost's bicep, then dropped the shotgun into his lap.

"I'm gonna find another tank, you gonna be okay?"

"I think so."

The greasy tanker nodded and ran off. Frost pushed himself to his feet, one hand clasping the shotgun. He turned and saw the Army fireteams recovering as well. Frost pointed at them, "Hey! Push back fifty yards and start building that redoubt. Get some armor support up here and cover the gate!"

The troopers began running to the unfinished redoubt, slapping sandbags on top of one another and setting up machine guns. Frost headed back to the stairs that would take him back to the top of the wall and into the gatehouse when his earpiece crackled.

"We've got Skirmishers on the walls! Repeat, Skirmishers are on the walls!" Steele yelled over the TACCOM.

Frost bolted up the stairs, skipping two or three steps at a time. He bounded past the troopers still manning their positions and into the gatehouse.

The gatehouse felt like a furnace from the flames below, and smoke was filled it up rapidly. Frost found it immediately hard to both see and breathe. The machine guns had stopped firing. Grant was pinned to the floor by a Skirmisher who was trying to strangle him. Bishop was holding another of the scrawny beasts by its neck and slamming his huge fist into its face repeatedly. Knight had a Skirmisher pinned against the top of the sandbag wall; the Skirmisher squaked and flailed as it tried to free itself, but Knight had more strength than it. Moser was fighting to keep his weapon in his hands, but the Skirmisher was fighting tooth and nail to snatch it from his hands. Maddox was on the floor with one, rolling and trading blows with an alien almost a foot taller than him.

Frost cocked the M90-he had nine shells left. He first went over to Grant, and smashed the stock of the shotgun into the base of the Skirmishers skull. Screeching in surprise, the alien keeled over onto its side. Grant gasped for air and rolled to the side. Frost kicked the bird-like monster in the gut, pressed the barrel of the shotgun against its head, and pulled the trigger. Purple blood spattered the walls and Frost's combat gear.

He whirled around and trudged over to Bishop, pulling him off of the half-conscious Skirmisher. Frost fired from the hip, flinging the beast against the wall. Its gut was torn open by buckshot. As it slid down limply, and Frost directed his attention to Maddox, who had gained the upper hand on his adversary, remarkably. But Frost pulled him off of the Skirmisher by the collar of his battle armor, then pulled the shotgun's trigger again. The barrel barked and the alien's midsection was pulverized. Frost then made his way over to Moser, who was still dancing with his opponent. "Out of the way!" he yelled to Moser, who let go of his battle rifle. The Skirmisher immediately dropped the weapon as soon as it was in his claws as if it were covered with thorns Seizing the opportunity, Frost struck the alien, then snatched it by the back of the neck and pushed it down to its knees. At the same time, he brought up the shotgun with his free hand and fired into the Skirmisher's back. Armor and flesh were torn away and Frost could see what was left of the creature's spine as he dropped it. Finally, he went to Knight, who stepped out of the way to allow Frost to pump a shell into the alien's chest.

Four shells were left in the weapon.

"Everyone alright?" Frost asked, hardly winded. The others, wide-eyed and panting, all wheezed out an affirmative. Frost nodded, then remembered Steele. He ran out the other door of the gatehouse, where Army troopers and marines were fighting hand to hand with Skirmishers. Avoiding the brawl, he scrambled up the ladder to the roof of the gatehouse. It was scorched by plasma, and the sandbags had been thrown all over the place. A pair of dead Skirmishers were on the roof, and Steele was fighting with a third. Steele was pinned but had his thumbs in the skirmisher's eyes. The alien screeched and wailed as the sniper's thumbs dug deeper, but did not relinquish its weight on him. Frost dropped the shotgun and made his way over to them; as he did, he drew his combat knife.

Frost's combat knife was a twelve inch serrated blade with a black hilt instead of the standard olive drab. It glinted in the sunlight as he strode towards the pair. He hooked his left arm around the Skirmisher's neck, grabbed the bottom of its jaw, and hiked it back. In that moment, Frost caught a glimpse of Steele's surprised face as he withdrew his hands. Then, Frost plunged the knife into the Skirmisher's frail throat, and dragged it the blade to the left. The alien sputtered and gurgled, and Frost felt blood leak over his fingers as it hacked up blood. The beast shuddered, then went limp. Frost withdrew the blade and tossed the corpse to the side.

"You okay?" Frost asked as he lowered a hand down to his friend.

"Okay? _Okay!?_ I have fucking eye goo on my thumbs!" Steele cried, frantically wiping them on his pants.

"You're alive though," Frost said without humor, helping him up, "that's what matters. You've been through worse."

"Fucking hell, I doubt it."

Frost and Steele got back down and saw that the Skirmishers were taking the platforms despite more troopers coming into the fray. The former thought quickly, then called on the TACCOM, "Everyone, get off the walls! All units on the right side of the gatehouse, get off the walls!"

Almost immediately the soldiers began falling back. Some made for the stairs, others leaped from the platforms onto the floor of the base. Others went further down the walls to more defensible positions where there was no fighting yet. Frost didn't need to say more. Machine guns and tank shells opened up on the mass of Skirmishers flowing over the walls to the right of the gatehouse. Dozens dropped dead in seconds, but a dozen more immediately took their place. Instead of chasing the retreating troops, the Skirmishers turned their eyes onto the gatehouse.

Frost and Steele headed back inside and immediately threw down crates, boxes, and sandbags in the entrance.

"They're coming! Grab anything you can and barricade the door!" Frost ordered. The smoke was thicker, but it was bearable enough as some was vented out through the large open section in the front wall. "Move one of those machine guns over there to fire on the door, Knight keep that other one firing out of the gatehouse!" Frost barked.

Before they had even stacked enough equipment in front of the entrance the Skirmishers were trying to break in. One leaped over the barricade only to catch a burst of assault rifle fire from Grant. More attempt to break through, clawing and tearing boxes and sandbags from the barricade as the squad attempted to add to it. Pistols were drawn. Green bolts of plasma were fired into the gatehouse, then handgun rounds were fired in return. Frost and his men ducked and dodged as they built the barricade, exchanged fire for a few moments, killed a Skirmisher or two, then went back to building.

"I thought the blokes at Rorke's Drift had it bad!" Steele quipped amidst the din.

Despite waves of Skirmishers trying to break through and firing through every crevice possible, the barricade was almost finished. But as Frost placed another crate on the assortment of equipment cases, ammunition crates, and large boxes, he saw a pair of Skirmishers lob plasma grenade sat the barricade. The pulsating blue grenades landed somewhere on the front of the barricade, and he was close enough to hear them hissing.

"Grenade!" he cried and dived for the floor. Everyone did as well, and the explosion rocked the gatehouse and destroyed half of the barricade. Some boxes were melted away while others were toppled over by the blast's immense force. The entrance was still partially blocked, but there was now a gap between the largest crate and the right side of the passageway.

Frost was the first one to get to his feet and turned around with his shotgun raised. Skirmishers were coming through. He fired the last four rounds quickly into the breach in the hasty barricade, dropping several aliens. _Click_. The M90 was empty. Frost flipped the weapon end over end, gripping it by the barrel as if the weapon were a baseball bat, and charged at the first assaulter that dared to enter the gatehouse. He smashed the stock of the weapon against its head as if he were hitting a home run, and sent the creature spiraling to the floor. He brought the weapon down like a sledgehammer onto its skull several times, hearing the crunch of its skull each time. Satisfied that it was dead, Frost whirled around to find a Skirmisher aiming a plasma pistol at him. Before it could fire, Bishop tackled it and slammed its head into the wall until it stopped moving. Steele covered him, firing his pistol with one hand and an SMG he had scrounged with the other. Bodies piled up over the barricade, purple blood splashed the walls. The aliens relented briefly to pull some of the dead away, suppressed by the squad's gunfire the entire time. A renewed assault began. Frost unslung his assault rifle and began firing in short bursts as they came in. The entire squad backed up to the center of the gatehouse, where the heavy machine gun had been moved. Bishop took hold of it and began firing into the gap. More Skirmishers fell. Scores of the aliens were torn apart by the large caliber bullets, until it jammed.

"Fuck me!" the Scotsman roared, "It's the Twenty-Sixth-goddamn-Century and shit still manages to find a way to _not bloody work_!"

The Skirmishers pressed the attack, clawing and screeching. Frost was reloading when he took a moment to look at his men. They were determined, but tired. With smoke pouring in, the flames creeping up to the sandbags, and Skirmishers climbing over their fallen dead just to get to them, the gatehouse was going to be their tomb rather than a defensible position.

"Bravo Squad, on me!" Frost yelled as he slammed the clip into his rifle, "We're leaving!"

As soon as he finished, he yelled over the TACCOM, "All gatehouse units, abandon the walls. Any teams in or around the gatehouse, fall back!"

Frost went to the other door in the gatehouse and covered his men as they filed out the door.

"What is this, the siege version of musical chairs!" Steele said as he passed by. Bishop, right behind him, shoved him roughly.

"Shut your bloody trap and keep moving!" he snarled.

"Everyone on the walls, off the walls, on the walls..." Steele went on, his voice fading in the stampede of retreating soldiers and shouting voices.

Frost waited until the last man was out, then tossed a frag into the gatehouse. He then barreled out, and joined the tail end of the troops vacating the wall. The crowd of olive drab colored men dispersed behind tanks, sandbag walls, and into nearby buildings. Frost and his squad vaulted into the redoubt, now finished and heavily armed.

"All armored units, focus fire on the main gate," Colonel Hayes ordered calmly over the TACCOM, "wait for my order."

Elites and Grunts had established their gravity lifts and were now floating onto the platforms. Skirmishers darted in and out of the gatehouse. The alien attackers began to organize their fireteams, preparing to rush down into the base. The throngs of barking Elites, squeaking Grunts, and screeching Skirmishers and Jackals grew larger every second, until it seemed as if they would fall off from the lack of space.

"All units, fire at will!"

Frost watched as the dozens of Scorpions around him fired simultaneously. The rounds collided with the gatehouse and the walls on either side. Volley after volley of high explosive shells hurtled forward. The walls disappeared in a gray cloud of concrete dust that billowed higher and larger with each fiery blast. The concussion of each of the cannons forced Frost down to his knees, crouching behind the sandbags with his hands over his ears. Each man in the squad hunkered down, their ear drums taking a pounding. The world beneath their feet seemed to be shaking.

When the salvos of tank fire ended, Frost was the first to rise to his feet. It took some time for the dust to clear, but when it did, all that was left was a ruin of twisted steel, piles of concrete chunks, and clumps of crushed, bleeding alien corpses. Frost could see the Covenant retreating, the infantry pulling back, darting between the smoldering wreckage of their convoy.

"Nice view," Steele commented tiredly, his elbows propped up on the sandbag wall, "I was starting to get tired of the large defensive wall blocking it. When did that evac say it was getting here?'

"Four hours," someone muttered.

Upon hearing that, Frost glanced at his watch.

Only thirty minutes had passed since the first shots were fired.

* * *

" _Knowing the situation you're in, all you can really do is punch back into your shitty nine to five job. Because, after five years, that's basically what it was for us. Or at least, maybe in that moment it did for me. Right then, right there, I felt like your average clock-puncher back on Earth."_

-Nathaniel Frost


	4. Chapter 4: Ambition's End

Chapter Four: Ambition's End

* * *

"If you were to recall," Frost heard Steele yell as they crawled behind a sandbag wall with plasma flying over their heads, "evac was supposed to be here in four hours!"

"Yes, it was," Frost grunted, slithering over a pile of spent shell casings.

"Correct! Now tell me, do you see any bloody ships above us?" Steele asked exasperatedly.

Frost didn't need to look up. His eyes had been glued to the golden, hazy sky since the start of the second Covenant assault. Not a single UNSC vessel had appeared. Not a single Pelican was descending. Even the ships that were already present were holding position in orbit, fearing that if they moved to support the garrison, Covenant ships would move in. The battlegroup commander wanted to avoid a space battle.

 _Which will cost this entire garrison,_ Frost thought bitterly to himself.

The battle had been raging for almost six hours. The Covenant had been surging over the devastated remains of the gate walls, and the amount of dead had brought the rubble pile almost several feet higher. But the Covenant numbers seemed endless; they had taken almost half a dozen positions on the walls which they were using to safely move more troops into the base. Covenant gunners had set up plasma turrets within the rubble, dueling with the marines' machine gun for fire superiority. Their air attacks were growing increasingly ferocious, having knocked out a quarter of the available vehicles, including all but two Rhinos. The army garrison had been whittled down, and only two companies were fit for combat. Frost and the rest of the marines had taken light casualties, but were becoming exhausted from having to pick up the slack.

Frost's battle armor was coated with plasma burns, making it practically black. His face was covered in a layer of soot over his mask of sand war paint. The chaotic fighting had left him feeling more drained than ever before. It had gotten to hand-to-hand multiple times, and his combat knife was practically coated in blue blood. Somehow, he had lost his assault rifle and was lugging a battle rifle with him now.

Ammo was low. Medical supplies were low. Water was low. Everyone's energy and morale was low. Frost pondered how much longer they could hold on.

"Phantom!" somebody hollered. Frost stopped briefly to watch the dropship hover over the base. A Wolverine quickly swiveled its launchers around and fired a volley. The missiles slammed into the side of the dropship, taking out large chunks of its armor plating, and sending it into a downward spiral. The sleek purple craft erupted in white and purple flames, just as it crashed into one of the walls. Aliens tumbled out, aflame, while UNSC troopers hurried to put them down.

Frost and Steele clawed their way into a sandbag redoubt, snuggled in between the wreckage of several burnt-out Warthogs and an immobile Scorpion. Their position was part of what was a shallow trench network, consisting of hastily dug foxholes linked by barely function vehicles and wreckage. A makeshift defensive line cut through the center of the base, running from the headquarters to the armory and barracks. Marines and Army troopers were wedged into every crevice and shred of cover from burned out vehicles, to hastily dug foxholes and trenches.

The rest of the squad were dug in, covered in filth, and sitting in a squalor of spent clips, bloody bandages, discarded food packages, and a few tin cans filled with urine.

"Any word on that evac?" Moser asked as Frost sidled up beside him against the sandbags.

"None," Frost muttered, taking a quick swig from his canteen before tossing a bundle of ammunition onto the ground, "rearm and reload. They'll be coming again. Bishop, is that machine gun there functioning?'

Bishop was wrestling with another turret. He angrily banged the side and then said, "Damn thing just won't fire anymore. I think something inside warped."

Frost rubbed his chin, then went over to the Scorpion. Emery was working on it, balanced on his heels as he tinkered with the engine.

"How's it look?" Frost asked.

"I need some more time to get the engine fixed up. A lot of shit got knocked loose. I bet the one buried under the gate is in better shape," Emery grumbled in his drawl.

"Make it quick, this thing may be our only chance of falling back if they overwhelm us."

"The last thing I need is Jack the Ripper telling me shit I already know," Emery muttered.

Frost, agitated, went back to the others and sat down on a crate. The others formed a semicircle around him, panting and cursing.

"Whose idea was it to come to this damn planet?" Steele said after a moment. Everyone chuckled, including Frost.

Before anything else was said, green and blue blots of plasma darted over his head. The squad ducked down and grabbed their weapons. Aliens spilled over the rubble and charged at the line.

"Here we go!" Frost shouted, "Grant get into the tank turret! Knight, load the rocket launcher!"

The main body of the Covenant were made up by Grunts. It was a mass of multicolored armored tiny aliens with towering Elites in the midst. Frost grimaced; hearing the small beasts shrill voices crackle and scream and wail was worse than watching them storm at him.

An order went out to open fire.

The entire line erupted in yellow muzzle flashes as machine guns, assault rifles, submachine guns, and shotguns chewed into the mob of aliens. Entire rows were felled by the sweep of a machine gun turret. Bodies piled on top of one another. On and on the aliens went, cut down like blades of grass. Frost fired his battle rifle as fast as he could, one three round burst after the other. The rifle drummed against his shoulder with each squeeze of the trigger. More Grunts went down, and like an ocean wave another row rushed over them.

They were now less than a few yards away. Frost let go of the battle rifle, drawing his knife. He planted his feet into the ground and readied himself. Then, the Scorpion cannon fired. The force of the round caused him to stumble, but in that moment Frost watched the shell cut a swath into the horde of aliens. It exploded in the thick of them. Half a dozen other tanks opened fire, erasing multitudes of Grunts in fire. After a few more tank rounds exploded in their ranks, the aliens were forced to retreat, and the immense wall of gunfire dwindled to a few withering potshots. But as they retreated, Frost spotted a furious Elite who turned on its heel and fired a single shot from its fuel rod gun.

He turned to his men, "Take cover!"

In the next moment, he felt a terrible crash and immense heat, before things went black.

* * *

The wind blew gently, sending ripples through the thick flower gardens that lined the ranch house. Yellow buttercups and marigolds, pink roses, blue columbines, white daisies; they all moved and flounced with the ease of water. Frost blinked, stretching out his arms, as if to catch the old Nova Scotia wind he had grown up with. He looked to his right, and saw the horses trotting in the fields, their dark manes dancing. He saw his older sister, Adelaide, riding one, pounding on alone. Her long orange hair was like fire spilling over her shoulders and back.

The air was chilly, so he pulled the collar of his jacket tight. It was quiet at the ranch, save for the wind. He walked up to the deck, and spied his other older sister, Sadie, sitting on the swinging bench.

"Why do you have to go?" she asked, her voice angry but quivering. Her silvery eyes gazed at him through her brown hair that brushed her face. She had delicate features. A soft face and chin, a small nose, small ears, small eyes, small lips. She was like a doll, with pale porcelain skin.

"Why?" she asked again, "You're only sixteen. Why do you have to go? Gone for three years, and you've come back, just to leave again?"

Frost looked down at his booted feet, his camouflage fatigues, covered with his old work jacket.

"They chose me. I've got to go. It has to be me."

"Why?"

Frost and Sadie stared at one another for some time. He knelt down in front of her and finally said, "I'll come back soon. and everything will be like it used to. I promise."

* * *

Frost felt a hand shake him roughly.

"Frost! Frost!"

He opened his eyes and saw his squad standing over him. Knight was kneeling over him on his left, and Steele was down on one knee on his right. The others' filthy faces relaxed when his eyes opened.

"Bloody hell," Steele sighed, "since I've known you, I think you've been knocked out for the collective span of a year."

"Two in one day, that's a new record," Knight chimed in with a broad grin.

Coughing, Frost sat up with their help, "What happened?" he asked.

"Shellfire drove the Covvies back. Funny though, if they had kept coming they would have been right under the barrels so our fire would have become ineffective. A melee may have broken us," Bishop said, taking off his helmet and wiping a sleeve across his soot-covered forehead.

Others mumbled their agreements and disagreements, but eventually they went silent. Frost looked at his men, then all around. Not a single bullet, not a single blob of plasma, not on single artillery shell, was in the air. The aliens had retreated from view; Frost could catch a glimpse of them scampering away over the hillside.

"There's no way they'd break the siege now," Maddox said.

"Better not be another fucking Scarab," Steele said, sliding a fresh clip into his DMR as he looked all around, "I'm not in the mood."

Frost scanned the horizon, then his eyes went to the sky. His heart sank.

A pair of Covenant light cruisers were gliding towards the base, one in front of the other. The sleek spacecraft made no sound. They had long, thin forward sections, with larger, rounder midsections, petering off into small tails. Their overall appearance looked like some kind of ocean creature.

Steele trudged up next to Frost. They exchanged a glance. This wasn't their first time staring at the face of defeat in the shape of a Covenant warship. Numerous times, the pair and their squadmates had narrowly escaped the glassing of a planet. Frost found the beams to be haunting, the way the concentrated plasma laser burn entire worlds into ash. After five years, there were too many glassed planets to count. Frost felt his shoulders sag and his head hang.

"Guess we should load up the Pelicans and get the hell out of here," Steele muttered.

"Race you," Frost said in return.

The comms came alive with Colonel Hayes' desperate voice.

"Goddammit, Hugh! Those ships are heading right for us! Your carrier is twice its size, down here and blast this thing away!"

"It could be a trap, they might be luring us into something!" Captain Hugh of the UNSC _Burnside_ whimpered, "I'm not moving my ship, I'm sorry Colonel."

"Listen to me, you coward. If you don't move your ship into position and take down those cruisers, this entire garrison is going to burn. Do you understand that?'

No reply came. "Hugh!" Hayes hollered over the radio.

"I'm sorry, Hayes," came Captain Hugh's meek voice.

Frost shook his head. He turned to the others, trying to find something to say. But before he uttered even a single word, he stopped. The men's eyes were as wide as saucers and their mouths had dropped. Frost whirled around, turning his gaze forward once more. His eyes widened as well, "Holy shit."

A massive UNSC vessel came into view, splitting through the clouds at a tremendous speed. It was longer than any ship Frost had ever clapped eyes on. The ship was larger than a _Marathon_ -class cruiser despite having its shape. The starship possessed a bulky rear section around its massive engines, a bulky midsection, and a sleek bow. It charged at the rearguard light cruiser's left side, and the alien craft began to bank right. But the enormous starship was far faster. Frost watched in awe as the human vessel's bow crashed into the flank of the puny Covenant cruiser. Purple and white flame filled the air around it. The starship kept going, splitting the enemy cruiser in half. As the two flaming halves cascaded downwards, the UNSC vessel's emergency thrusters on its left side flared and was flung rightwards. Its front was now pointed at the stern of the leading enemy cruiser. Its duo of MAC guns fired straight into the cruiser's engines, and it quickly exploded. With the engines gone, the ship's systems failed and plummeted planetside. A frenzied cheer went up as the garrison watched the spectacle unfold. The mystery ship came gliding towards the base, without a scratch, as if it hadn't even realized or cared at the feat it had accomplished.

"All UNSC ground forces," said a female voice over the comms "prepare for evac. There's a possible enemy fleet heading to the system. It's time to abandon the planet and retreat to a safe system."

"Solid copy on that!" Hayes yelled back over the radio, "Head our way and drop your Pelicans, we'll be up there before you know it! Net call, net call, all units, it's time to pack it up and ditch this shithole."

A steady stream of Pelicans floated down from the massive ship, sitting directly over the base in an orbital position. The original task force which had brought Frost and the 89th MEU to Ambition, made up of a carrier and a pair of frigates, were also in formation. Their Pelicans descending and ascending with the wounded, cargo, vehicles, and the garrison. Gunfire was stilling being exchanged with plasma, but the Covenant were licking their wounds. It was a decent reprieve from the hours of combat.

Frost and his squad were helping the wounded enter the Pelicans. He and Steele lifted a litter holding a bloodstained army trooper and slid it into the rear of a Pelican.

"I can't believe it!" Steele said happily.

"Look how big that is!" Frost exclaimed, taking a moment to glance up at the vessel, "What kind of ship is that? I don't think I've ever seen one before."

"It's an older one," Hayes said, appearing out of a crowd of troops waiting to board, " _Valiant_ -class. One of the strongest ships our navy has next to the _Marathon_ line.

"Doesn't Admiral Cole command one of those?" Grant asked, approaching with Bishop, both of them holding another stretcher.

"That's right," Hayes said. Despite the elated troops around him, Hayes remained grim, saying, "Frost, get your team together, I need a word."

Frost finished with the wounded, making sure the Pelican dusted off, before heading over to where Hayes was standing with Melendez. Melendez looked haggard. His face was dirty and his battle armor had taken a few carbine hits, though none had penetrated. As the men assembled in a semicircle around the pair, Frost felt that the Army officer had been redeemed from his earlier behavior, to a certain extent. At least he had fought with his men.

"Alright, with the arrival of our evac, I guess it would be redundant of me to say that we're abandoning the planet," Hayes began, "I've been communicating with the commander of that vessel, and there are more Covenant ships inbound. We'll be able to get what's left of our forces and equipment into the ships in no time flat. But we have a problem. I'll let the lieutenant colonel explain."

Melendez had been putting his weight on an assault rifle with the stock planted in the ground, but at the mention of his name he stood straight.

"We need to wipe any trace of Earth's location or other colony planets in our database. If the Covenant don't end up glassing this rock, there's a chance they may be able to access the database and retrieve the coordinates for countless colonies, including Earth. My techs would have taken care of it by now, but the HQ has received the worst of the shelling all day and it's ruined our operating systems. We only have three working datapads left, and all of our terminals are damaged or destroyed. Repairing them is out of the question."

"Are you sure that all of them are unusable, sir?" asked Knight.

"We consolidated our main terminals on the top floor of the HQ. The top floor is gone now. Any others in the building are, as I've said, damaged beyond use."

"Blimey," the marine said quietly.

Melendez took a breath, closed his eyes for a second, then said, "Even if we _could_ purge our databases right now, it wouldn't be enough. Since this base was still under development, there are all manner of documents, both electronic and hard copy, all over this base. Supply forms, cargo manifests, transfer orders, material lists, you name it. It's spread out all over this base, and there's no way we can comb through it in the time we have."

"Blow the base then," Maddox said with a shrug.

Melendez shook his head, "We don't have enough explosives or time. Those are our two main problems. Time and explosive power. Hayes and I have gone over multiple ideas, and nothing we've come up with works. If we can't figure out a way to erase this base in its entirety, then no one can leave."

Hayes took a step forward, "We do have one option. It's...drastic, to say the least. Insane, would be a better word. I'm talking to you because you're some of my best of the vanguard troops."

Out of the corner of his eye, Frost caught Steele tossing a nervous glance his way. Despite his gut trying to fight it, he also felt uneasy. When Hayes referred to the squad without any hint of endearment, it never ended well. Painful memories dared to resurface, but Frost held them at bay..

Hayes went on, saying, "A Pelican from the rescue vessel is going to be landing within the hour. By that time the evacuation will be nearing completion. On board this Pelican will be a Medium Fusion Destructive Device-"

"Uh, sir?" Steele said, raising his hand. Frost, standing right beside him, slapped his hand back down. The two friends exchanged a glare before turning their attention back to Hayes.

The senior officer gritted his teeth. Then, Melendez took over, "The plan is to place the MFDD at the headquarters building, defend it until all forces have been evacuated, and finally arm and detonate the nuke.

Hayes took over once more, "Fifteen kilotons of explosive power will be enough to vaporize this base and any shred of evidence, hard copy or otherwise."

"Um, sir?" Steele said again, raising his hand again only to have it slapped down once more by Frost.

"What is it?" Hayes snapped.

"Sir, are you asking us to stay behind? Furthermore sir, there are not one by two HAVOK warheads sitting in the silos just over near the airfield, why can't we use those, sir?"

Hayes grumbled but Melendez answered for him, "Detonating the two Variant V missiles won't do the job, even if the combined yield is sixty megatons. Those silos are designed to contain an accidental nuclear detonation as well as protect them from enemy attacks. I've talked with the nuclear team we have on base, and we've agreed that while the immediate area around the silos would be demolished, we can't take the risk of not destroying the entire base. The MFDD will be able to wipe the base off the map, so the silo doors have been shut indefinitely."

"And no, I'm not asking you to stay behind, Steele!" Hayes interrupted.

Frost reached over and quickly grabbed Steele's forearm as the latter took an aggravated step forward. Hayes was well loved by the men of the 89th, but Steele couldn't be counted among them.

Hayes glared heatedly, then said quietly, "You were the first boots-on-the-ground of the entire MEU, the first ones to fight while we watched from orbit, and now I'm asking you to be the last ones off the field. Place the nuke in the HQ building, defend it at all costs, and once the last transports are away, we'll divert a Pelican to your position. Once you arm the MFDD, extract via the Pelican."

As Steele breathed a sigh of relief, Hayes shifted his attention to Frost. The newly promoted sergeant felt his heart tighten as his commander's vivid hazel-green eyes darkened as they stared into his own gray ones.

"This isn't an order," he said, but Frost felt as though it was, "I want you to talk among yourselves and decide if this is something you all want to do. If we cannot destroy this base, the Covenant will most likely discover information leading back to other colonies and possibly Earth. If that happens, we'll lose this war. You'll be on your own without much support, especially towards the end of the evacuation. Being overrun is highly probable. And if you can hold out and get on the bird, there is a chance you will be caught in the blast radius if you don't leave the base's airspace in time. I'll give you five minutes to discuss."

Five minutes, Frost thought to himself as he trudged away from Hayes and Melendez. Five whole minutes to decide whether or not to stay, fight, and most likely die.

The others gathered up in a semicircle around him. Steele stood closest to him, tilting his helmet higher up on his brow as he braced himself against his DMR. Maddox had flopped down in the sand, leaning back and propping himself up on his arms. Moser had knelt and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. The others stood by silently, staring at Frost. Their expressions were searching and nervous. It was clear that they didn't want to discuss it. Everything would be made easier if it were an order but they weren't going to get one from Hayes.

Frost's eyes fell downwards. The order had to come from him. Six lives were his, given to him by Teo. He had been struggling with that fact since he had died in his arms earlier that day.

How badly Frost wanted to tell them that he wouldn't ask them to spend their lives on such a desperate, last ditch effort to carry out some improvised version of the Cole Protocol. His mind wandered for a moment; only a few hours earlier he had driven his men off a cliff into an assault platform that was so large it had shaken the ground. Maybe this was just how it was going to be from now on, one insane task after another. Maybe, staying as close to the edge as possible was the best way to get them out of the war alive.

Perhaps the most infuriating aspect was that he himself was ready and willing to carry it out. Frost would do it, gladly. But his friends' tired faces, looking at him to make their decisions for them, caused his hesitation. It wasn't their fault. They were soldiers, and when faced with indecision, it was second nature to look to the leader, and that was him. He gazed at each face, each set of eyes, trying to hide the struggle within. Eventually, he came to Steele who offered him a fatigued but gentle smile. Frost smiled back. How he wished to be Steele. Steele could crack a joke and they'd all merrily walk into the fires of Hell roaring with laughter. And he wished to be Teo, who would speak a few words and the men would be willed back into fray, without any fears or doubts.

Frost made his decision, then and there.

"Well, seeing as how we just face-planted into a Scarab, I think the only way we could top something like that is by riding the wave of a nuclear explosion," he said.

The others chuckled and their faces lightened up.

"Who's up for it?"

After a moment of searching hesitation, everyone agreed with a nod. Their expressions were a mixture of countless emotions, yet the light remained. Such was one of contradictions of human feeling caused by war. Fear had become mixed with exhilaration into something that could not be named. Or maybe it was just the adrenaline.

"Alright then," Frost said, "we do this together. I promise that we'll all make it. I'll make sure that everyone of us gets on that Pelican. Let's get it done."

The squad got to their feet and filed past him. Steele was the last one who passed Frost, a planted a hand on his shoulder.

"I know you'll see us through," he said, half-joking, "just make sure you have a better one-liner than you did in the Scarab."

He squeezed Frost's shoulder, then gave him a reassuring pat, and trotted after the others. Frost couldn't help but crack up, and turned to follow his men.

By the time the Pelican carrying the MFDD had landed, the entirety of the wounded had been evacuated. Droves of troops were being withdrawn from the defensive line. It had been decided that any remaining vehicles would be left behind. As Melendez had said, time was not in the garrison's favor. Covenant ground reinforcements had arrived and were pressing the attack. They knew the garrison was trying to escape and wanted to annihilate as many as they could. However, Longsword starfighters had descended from the mysterious rescue ship, and were now tearing through the air assets the Covenant were throwing into the fight. Not a single Pelican had been lost since the evacuation had begun.

While the rest of the garrison was fighting or evacuating, Frost had spent the last forty-five minutes squatting inside a sandbag redoubt with the squad. Hayes had ordered them out of the fight to rest for their upcoming mission. MRE's and water had been passed out once more. Everyone was quiet and were absorbed in some small activity. Last weapon checks, reading a letter, finishing off one of their MREs; Grant was eagerly tapping a beat on both of his knees, Moser was holding the crucifix he wore around his neck in his palm as he mouthed a prayer, and Steele was tracing the image of scantily clad woman in the sand.

"Guess who that is?" he asked Frost, pointing at his art piece. .

"Michelle Clarkson," Frost answered tiredly, "it's always Michelle Clarkson."

Michelle Clarkson was an actress who had starred in several films over the past two years. Like most films that the marines were used to seeing, they were action-dramas depicting grand battles that had taken place over the course of the war. More or less, the movies were propaganda to help keep spirits up on the homefront. Total war meant that everything and everyone was dedicated to the war effort, even the film industry.

"She has ten years on you, brother," Frost said.

"Who cares?" Steele replied, "even if she was twenty years older I'd still bury my face in that rack of hers."

"Yeah, she had to give up two things for tits like that," Knight joked, "brains for the left one and personality for the other."

"And any acting skills for her ass," Grant added, "for God's sake man, she's one of the shittiest actresses ever. What was that one film she was in we saw last month? 'Come Home to Me,' or some garbage like that?"

"It was called 'Homecoming,' I think," Bishop piped up as he took a drag on a cigarette.

"Yeah, that was it. She was standing there on the porch of this house, right? She's supposed to be like this southern belle and her boyfriend or fiancé is leaving to join the marines. And she stands on the porch while he's walking away and she's all like, "Promise me that you'll come back!"

Grant pretended to sob and talk like Clarkson in the film, putting a southern twist to his American accent that made everyone chitter with laugher. He laughed himself, saying, "And then the guy turns around and is like, 'I love you baby, watch over our kids,' and blah, blah, blah."

"Those movies are utter shit," Moser chuckled, "why are all the actors in those movies Americans? Not a single person from another country shows up, it's like they'd have you believe that the Corps is made up of nothing but burly American men."

"That's the movie industry for you man," Grant said, shaking his head and leaning back against the sandbags, "I guarantee you that you'll never see anybody of another nationality in any of those dumbass movies they make us watch."

Maddox shook his head, "I never knew you were such a movie critic, G."

"Hey, I can give them as much shit as I want. I'm from California and I had to grow up with all that bullshit plastered everywhere on billboards and posters! It doesn't take long for you to realize they're nothing but crap."

Frost had remained quiet. Grant had the right of it; each movie had the same generic plot with subpar writing and atrocious acting in it. More aggravating was the fact that they were insulting misrepresentations of the truth. Then again, Frost couldn't blame them. They hadn't had to fight on the frontlines, hadn't had to track Covenant for a month through swamps and woodlands, hadn't had to watch entire planets burn. More so, they had never had to tear themselves away from their families, make promises that seemed as though they would never be fulfilled, never had to leave their homes and be sent across the stars to fight on some world with a strange name.

"There's no chance in Hell that they'll ever make a movie about what it's really like," Frost said. The others ceased their chatter and turned to look at him. He tapped his finger against his knee, thinking, then added, "The only way they'll ever be able to do it is if they come out here and pick up a rifle."

"That'll be the day," Bishop grunted, "when's the last time you saw a combat cameraman?"

Silence fell on the group, but only for a moment. Steele coughed and said, "At least she's got great tits and a big ass. Doesn't that make it worth sitting through?"

"Maybe if you ask real nice when we go home, she'll go on a date with you," Moser teased.

"Date? Bugger that, mate, I had something else in mind! I'll have her bent over and begging for more before you can even blink!"

"The blink of an eye? Isn't that how long you last in bed, mate?" Bishop cracked.

The men laughed raggedly, save for Frost and Moser, who only smiled. Frost lowered his gaze back down to his rifle. His sister Sadie lingered in his mind, a ghost from his memory, fixated as if she were in a picture. Her voice, her face, everything about her haunted him. Every recollection about his family did, but out of all of them, Sadie plagued him the worst. That day he left their home ate away at him. Frost wondered, bitterly, how some movie could capture what it was like to turn one's back on their sister, on their home, and leave for war? How could some director or producer put that gut-wrenching feeling, that self-loathing, on the silver screen? There was no possible way a camera could convey the hardship of not seeing a single family member for five years, and that every action a soldier performed, no matter how terrible, was to get back to them. Frost's head sunk. What would Sadie say if she knew what he was about to do? What would she make of his rationalization? She'll probably think I've lost my mind, Frost thought. Maybe only a madman could believe that being on the verge of danger was the best way to stay alive.

"Hey, Frost, you okay?"

Frost looked up to see all of his companion staring at him, concerned and confused. He looked at all of them, semi-shocked from being broken from his trance. He followed their eyes and saw that his hands were wrung tightly together, resting on his battle rifle.

The sergeant coughed, "Just wondering how we always end up talking about something stupid before a battle."

"Stupid!?" Steele said, mocking outrage, "Michelle Clarkson is _not_ a stupid topic!"

Everyone snickered until Hayes walked up, "The package is here."

Frost followed Hayes to the Pelican in question. With his squad assembled behind him, they watched as the rear door opened and the ramp extended. A team of Orbital Drop Shock Troopers, in their gray battle armor and sleek helmets, trooped down the ramp. One of the ODSTs was carrying a large case.

The leading ODST approached Hayes. The visor on his helmet depolarized, revealing the face of a man with stubble on his pale cheeks and blue eyes.

"Major Rutger Holst," he said, "ODST commander."

"Colonel Avraam Hayes."

The latter saluted back, and the pair then shook hands. Hayes smirked, "Dutch or Danish?"

"Danish. How'd you guess, my accent or my name?"

"Little bit of both, I have a few Danes under my command. But I heard you brought us a present."

Major Holst smiled, "One Mike-Foxtrot-Delta-Delta. Sorry that we didn't have time to wrap it."

The trooper carrying the MFDD came forward. He sank to one knee, laid the case on its side, and flipped the lid open. Within was an egg-shaped metallic object, with a wide, round bottom and a bulky but smaller cylindrical upper section with a handle on the side. On the center of the cylinder was a black touchscreen with nine digital keys the color of yellow. There were nine keys in three by three rows, consisting of six numbers and three letters.

Frost and the team gathered around and stared down at the miniature nuclear device. Sitting there in its case, the MFDD seemed almost harmless.

"Do you know how to operate one of these things?" the Major asked, turning to the marines.

"Yes, sir," Frost said firmly, "we've used them before, just not in circumstances such as this."

The Major stared at him for a few moments, then said to Hayes, "Maybe my ODSTs and I should handle this. They looked tired."

His voice, although even, possessed a hint of smugness.

"I assure you," Hayes said diplomatically, "my marines are up to the task. You can stay and help hold the line, or you can get back onto that Pelican."

Major Holst and the marines shared sour glares as artillery thundered around them. The stare down was interrupted by one of the ODSTs, who approached Holst and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Major," she said, her voice accented as well, "they volunteered. I don't think would have if they didn't know what they were getting into. I think we'd be more useful on the line anyhow, seeing as these troopers are being diverted."

Holst looked to the ODST for a moment, then nodded, "Alright then. We'll help along the line. You just make sure you deliver the package. The arming code is seven, five, two. You'll have a five minute countdown. I'd advise you to be far away from it unless you want to get roasted."

With that, the ODSTs marched off, toting their distinctive M7 SMGs. The second in command lingered for a moment, looking at the marines. She seemed to have something to say, but instead chose only to nod and followed the rest.

"Wanker," Maddox spat, staring at Major Holst.

"Yeah, some war hero," Grant added, "what a prick."

"Lock it up," Hayes cut in, "Frost, you know what to do. Get to the HQ building and meet with Lieutenant Daramy."

The pair shook hands, and Hayes pulled Frost close, "I'll see you in the Pelican bay of that cruiser, son. Good luck."

Frost clutched the MFDD by the handle with his left hand as the team jogged down the ramshackle defensive line. Confidence had returned to the Covenant ranks and they were advancing slowly. Instead of suicide charges with Grunts, Elites and Skirmishers darted from cover to cover. From the stretch of rubble where the main gate had stood, Covenant turrets raked the line with light blue plasma. Concussions from fuel rod guns sent sandbags and other debris flying through the air.

More soldiers were peeling away from the line, scrambling into the Pelicans, resulting in less return fire. Only the air support was successfully in keeping the Covenant from storming through the line.

The rectangular headquarters building sat as the anchor to line, with sandbags and makeshift cover leading right up to its entrance. Originally four stories tall, the top floor and the roof had been destroyed. All of the radar dishes and antennas were gone.

The squad made it to the doorway and paused. Marines and Army troopers were withdrawing from the building. Some hefted crates of equipment, others carried wounded comrades or the dead. One haggard soldier after another raced out, until an officer appeared.

"You the demo team?" he asked

"Yes, sir!" Frost answered.

"Lieutenant Daramy," said the officer, and shook Frost's hand, "Colonel Melendez filled me in; I'm the last man out, so you don't need to worry about anybody in the building getting left behind. I think you're damned brave for doing this."

"All part of the job, sir," Frost replied.

Lieutenant Daramy un-clipped a bandoleer of shotgun shells and handed them to Frost, as well as his shotgun, "Here, take these. You may need them. We left you more ammunition and grenades on the third floor."

"Thank you, sir."

The officer bumped his fist against Frost's breastplate, "Give them hell."

With that, Daramy ran after his men, and Frost led his squad into the building. Inside, the floor was covered spent ammunition cartridges, bullet casings, scattered kits, and backpacks. There was blood on some of the walls and on the floor, and in a few puddles were bits of flesh. Near one window, there was a severed arm. By another, were a pair of feet still in their boots.

Desks were overturned, wall-mounted monitors were shattered, electrical equipment was sparking, and terminals had been turned into burned out husks.

"Jesus Christ," one of the marines whispered.

"Come on, third floor!"

Frost led the way and the squad pounded up the staircase. The second floor was just like the second, worse even. As he turned to go up the next flight of stairs, Frost caught a glimpse of an M247 turret mounted on a raised tripod base near one of the windows overlooking the ground in front of the defensive line.

The squad flew onto the third floor. Frost looked up; on his left he saw that the fourth floor, along with half of the roof, had collapsed. The other half of the roof had been melted away from the near constant plasma bombardment. Studying the collapse, Frost noticed that combined remnants of the roof and fourth floor formed a kind of makeshift staircase. The rubble had fallen in such a way that there were platforms and grippable edges in the large rubble pile, which led up to a section of the flat rooftop that hadn't fallen. Frost stared at it for a few moments while his troopers collected the supplies left for them by Daramy.

"Maddox, take the MFDD and set it down someplace where it won't be hit by stray fire," Frost ordered. The combat engineer set his weapon and down took the nuclear weapon, grumbling the entire time. Frost then came to the lowest piece of rubble, and climbed up onto it. It was stable and offered enough room for him to stand comfortably. He scaled to the next one, testing it, and once he was sure it was safe, he clambered up the next, and then the next, and the next.

"What the hell are you doing, man?" he heard Steele yell. Frost didn't bother to look down. Clawing up a few more feet, he found himself at the top, standing on the undamaged section of roof. It was only half a dozen feet wide and just as long, but it did not sag and held firm. Frost didn't bother to take in the view, he quickly scurried his way back down. When he found himself back on the floor, Steele was in front of him.

"Mate, what was the point of that?"

"When the Pelican comes to extract us, I'll have the pilot wheel himself around and hold the bird right there," Frost said, pointing at the sliver of remaining rooftop. "We climb up the wreckage to the top and hop right in when the bird comes. That way, we'll avoid having to fight our way out and we'll have plenty of time to get outta here."

Steele blinked, and then nodded. Frost made sure the others heard the plan as well, then he joined them in organizing their position. From the right of the staircase, they had a relatively open space. They had two long windows to fire down into the Covenant controlled ground. Sandbags lined the wall below the windows, and they placed their grenades and clips on the top of the sandbags for easy access. Expecting the Covenant to try and storm their position, Bishop set up a crate with a dozen fragmentation grenades and extra shotgun shells at the corner of the staircase closest to the windows. He had taken the extra shotgun provided by Daramy and propped it up against the crate, to quickly grab if there was no time to reload his own shotgun. Maddox had taken off his ballistic vest and body armor and placed it on and around the MFDD. Frost had tried to persuade him to put his gear back on, but Maddox argued that if the nuclear weapon was somehow damaged and detonated early, they would all die and possibly take a part of the garrison with them. Frost reluctantly accepted, but ordered Maddox to remain low and with the MFDD. He and the others lined the windows, their weapons drawn.

"Alright, try to make your shots count. Focus on Skirmishers so the men on the line can focus fire on the Elites."

The ground in front of the defensive line was littered with alien corpses, most Grunts from the earlier assault. There were piles of them, five and ten feet high. Elites were using these piles as cover as they advanced. He could see bullets grazing their shields; they shimmered white but once recharged they blinked and vanished. Elites never appeared to have shields until a bullet hit them. It was almost mocking to watch a bullet absorb into the shield and then drop harmlessly to the ground. From where they were standing, it would have been a waste of ammo to try and fire on them. Skirmishers on the other, had only light body armor and small, elongated physical shields along their arms. Only a few of a particular classes possessed shields, forcing the others to rely on speed to avoid bullets.

Frost raised his BR55 and peered through the scope. He spotted a sprinting Skirmisher, who dashed forward until it took cover behind a destroyed Warthog. Training the sight on its head, Frost pulled the trigger. The three round burst ripped through the air, struck the Skirmisher's skull, and it crumpled over. He trained his sights on a runner and fired, and the alien tumbled to the ground. Ten minutes passed, then twenty. Frost found himself burning through his ammo. As he reached for another clip, plasma fire began hammering away at their position. The squad ducked down, popping up only for a few moments to return fire.

"We need more firepower," Frost said, and then remembered what he had seen on the second floor. "Bishop, with me, there's a M247 on the second floor. Let's nab it and set it up here."

Frost and Bishop quickly hurried back down the stairs and quickly located the gun. They grabbed a nearby backpack and threw the ammunition for the weapon into it, which Frost hefted over one shoulder. The two marines removed the M247 from its tripod; Frost carried the weapon while Bishop hauled the tripod. Both were roughly ten kilograms, which the pair considered light. The combined weight of their weapons, ammunition, body armor, and all of the supplies in their packs, belts, and pouches came to almost forty kilos.

When the pair was almost to the top of the stairs, they heard Melendez's voices over the comms, "Net call, net call. All units still manning the barricade, fall back. I repeat, fall back to the Pelicans!"

"Frost," Hayes called over the comms, "this is the final stage of the evacuation. Once these teams get on board, the Covenant are going to swarm through the base. I'm going to be on the last bird, and when it dusts off, I'll give you the go ahead to arm the nuke. How copy?"

"Solid copy," Frost answered, "sir, when you sent that Pelican over, tell the pilot to wait for us at the roof. There's a small section remaining and we'll exfil from there."

"Copy, out."

"Okay guys, get ready to bolt! Knight help with this gun, Bishop cover the stairs, Maddox, get ready to arm the nuke!"

Frost and Knight wrestled the M247 over to the window and mounted the weapon onto the tripod. As the former knelt down to make sure the gun was locked in place, he heard Steele shouted, "Holy shit, look at that!"

Frost jumped back onto to his feet to see a horde of Covenant swarm over the rubble and the sea of dead bodies. Watching hundreds of Elites, Skirmishers, and Grunts rush forward with a tremendous, distorted war cry, caused everyone to stop firing and watch. From where the squad was, they could not see where the Pelicans were. Frost snapped them from their stupor, "open fire! Open fire! Cover the Pelicans!"

Knight jumped on the M247 and began firing in long bursts into the crowds of aliens. Dozens, hundreds dropped as the squad fired indiscriminately into the mob. Piles of bodies grew into hills at the barrel of the M247. Frost pulled the trigger as fast as he could, draining the battle rifle's thirty-six round clips in a matter of seconds. They lobbed frag grenades as far as they could, and watch as dozens of Grunts were thrown about from the explosions. Even as plasma flickered through the windows and past their heads, the marines kept firing. The Covenant pressed forward and overran the barricade, now devoid of any human defenders.

The marines ducked down to reload. Sounds of guttural, alien voices came from below.

"They're inside the HQ," Bishop said calmly over his shoulder. He was crouched at the corner, shotgun aimed down the stairs.

"Everyone get back from the windows," Frost ordered, "everyone stay back from the stairs. Bishop and I will cover. Grant, switch weapons with me."

Grant tossed Frost his assault rifle and a bandolier, while Frost gave him his battle rifle and ammunition. He then went to the other corner of the staircase and aimed down his sights. He could hear the heavy footfalls of Elites, the quick bounding of the Skirmishers, and the patter of Grunts. They were clearing every inch of the building, ensuring they wouldn't be ambushed. Frost felt sweat rolling down his face. He gripped his assault rifle tightly, and his eyes kept darting over to Maddox and the MFDD. Hayes hadn't radioed yet. The garrison was still evacuating, as far as he knew.

As he began to look over at the MFDD again, he saw a Skirmisher appear at the bottom of the stairs. He could looked back, raised his rifle, and peppered the alien with a half clip. The Skirmisher, riddled with rounds and bloody, slumped out of view. Squawking, barks, and roars were heard below. Frost turned and pointed at Knight and Moser, "Get some frags ready."

Looking back, he saw a Skirmisher peering around the corner. Bishop fired several slugs, which slammed against the corner where the Skirmish was. Gray dust and chips of concrete flew about the stairwell. When it cleared, the body of the second Skirmisher fell forwards. A few seconds passed. There were no sounds from below. Frost's adrenaline pumped, his heart pounded in his chest. He could feel his legs shaking.

A pair of Skirmishers rolled out from the corner on the stairwell and fired up at the marines. Frost and Bishop took cover. "Frags!"

Moser and Knight lobbed the grenades in their hands down the stairwell. There was a great deal of shrieking before the explosives went off simultaneously. The screeching stopped after that. Frost glanced around the corner. He heard nothing. Then, his earpiece erupted.

"Frost, this Hayes, arm the MFDD now! The Pelican is en route!"

"Maddox!" Frost hollered, "Seven-five-two!"

The combat engineer punched in the code. Frost saw the screen turn red, and the words, 'DEVICE ARMED,' appeared.

Frost unclipped a grenade from his vest, pulled the pin, and chucked it down the stairwell for good measure, "Climb! Up the rubble! Get to the roof!"

Practically flinging himself against the rubble, Frost led the way up. The others hurried behind him, mimicking his every move. Each of the seven marines ambled their way up and in a heartbeat, found themselves at the top.

Frost watched as the fleet of Pelicans ascended upwards. When he looked down at the rest of the base, all he saw were aliens. They streamed into the base like water, swirling around and flooding every building they came across. Vehicles, equipment, tents, bodies, everything seemed to disappear as they steamrolled through.

"Where the bloody hell is the Pelican?" cried Steele.

Frost scanned the sky and soon spotted the bulky dropship coming towards them from above at a fast rate.

"Bravo Squad, this is Yankee Triple-Seven. I'm coming right for you. Be ready to jump, over!" the pilot yelled.

"Copy!" Frost replied.

The Pelican leveled out and began flying directly towards the marines. When it was about a hundred yards away, the Pelican banked and turned one hundred-eighty degrees, with the rear facing them. It slowed down and covered the last few yards stern first. Frost could see inside the Pelican, dark save for a red light inside. The crew chief waved frantically.

"Everybody in!" Frost shouted, turning to look at his men.

Time froze.

As he turned, Frost saw two green bolts soaring up through the air towards the Pelican-and the squad. An Elite had fired its fuel rod cannon.

"Wave off, wave off!" Frost shouted over the comms, "Incoming!"

The Pelican immediately banked right and flew upwards. Steele had been on the roof's edge, about to jump for the Pelican, but Frost pulled him back mid-stride. They both stumbled backwards and fell back down the way they had come, taking several of their comrades with them. Those that remained jumped back down as the green bolts crackled by, narrowly missing them.

Amidst many curses and grunts of pain, the squad slid down the wreckage. Grant, Moser and Maddox managed to jump and grab a hold or gain a footing. Bishop and Knight were knocked back along with Steele and Frost, Knight had been able to grab a hold of a piece of twisted metal before falling further, Frost, Steele, and Bishop fell the total fifteen feet back down the wreckage, bumping into every piece of concrete and metal supports along the way. Frost felt his right foot get stuck in a crevice just before he hit the floor; there was a painful jerk in his ankle as he landed on his stomach.

"Shit..." he groaned angrily through gritted teeth as he freed his foot; the pain was bad. Steele had landed on his back but had avoided being caught. Bishop landed on his stomach, sparing his back from pain.

"Bugger me," Steele coughed, the wind having been knocked from his chest, "so much for that plan."

The others climbed down and began to assist them. Moser knelt in front of him.

"Right ankle," Frost hissed.

Moser felt with both hands, squeezing and applying pressure.

"Is it broke?" Frost asked.

"No, I think it's fractured."

Moser reached into his kit, retrieving a roll of military grade kinesiology tape. He applied some to Frost's ankle, taping and splinting it while Frost put an ear to his earpiece.

"Bravo, are you there, I don't have eyes on you."

"We're here," Frost seethed, "we fell back inside. Come back around and we'll try again."

"We're taking too much small arms fire," the Pelican pilot said through gritted teeth as he pulled his aircraft away to a higher altitude, "we need to find a new EP, they have us zeroed if we try from the rooftop."

"We don't have time!" Frost pleaded.

But the pilot insisted. After a moment he said, "Bravo, can you get eyes on the PT track across the field from the HQ?"

"Wait one," Frost muttered. He got to his feet, groaning, and made his way over to the window. The Covenant were everywhere, but he spotted one area that was clear. Across the field was the track for PT runs. Bases in early development were usually established with one, so that troops could stay and shape while they spent more time on base helping with construction, rather than going out on exercises or combat patrols. The orange colored track was a long rectangle with rounded edges. On the inside of the track, there was a wide, open space of flat sand. Barely any Covenant were present on the track.

"I have eyes on the track, over."

"Okay. We're going to stay high and exfil you from the center. How copy?"

"Solid copy, out," Frost fumed. He switched channels, "Colonel Hayes, our original exfil point was compromised. We're moving to a second exfil point over on the PT track. We need air support, do you have anything?"

"Wait, one."

Frost turned to the other, explained the plan, and the group moved down the stairwell. Steele offered to help but Frost ushered him on. He was the last man down, and before he headed down the stairs, Frost saw the timer on the MFDD. They only had a little over two minutes.

The HQ was clear, the grenades having wiped out all of the Covenant that had entered. Their mangled bodies littered the bottom of the stairwell. The squad flew down the remaining stairs and found themselves at the exit.

Frost went to the corner and looked out. The way was mostly clear, but he didn't want the main body of the Covenant turning around and charging them.

"Sir, what's the word on that air support?"

"I've got a stack of bombers flying low and fast towards the base. How copy?" Hayes responded.

"Have them dump their ordinance on the largest group of Covenant they see and we'll make our run over to the Pelican."

"Solid copy, out."

Ten seconds.

Twenty seconds.

"Fuck, what's taking them?"

"We're going to get blown away!"

"There is a fucking nuclear bomb right above us!"

"Quiet!" Frost hissed as he heard the tell-tale sounds of incoming B-65 Shortswords. He looked out of the doorway and saw the three aircraft in a wedge formation flying so fast over the base they were like a blur. Black, metallic objects fluttered down from their bellies and fell into the main force of the Covenant. Orange explosions billowed upwards among the throngs of aliens. Three long streaks of fire split the Covenant apart, engulfing hundreds and dispersing the survivors. From the twisting, curling flames staggered aliens of all kinds, flailing and screaming. Their armor burned away and their flesh turned black.

"Go, go, go!" Frost shouted, waving his hand towards the track. The marines broke into a sprint, with Frost bringing up the rear. His ankle burned with pain but he kept pace, bounding with the others. He had never run so fast in all his life. The few Grunts that remained around them were ignored, as they fled at the first sight of seven armed marines. A pair of Skirmishers were directly ahead, but met their end in a hail of gunfire before they could raise their weapons.

As he ran, Frost couldn't help but remember Grant earlier in the battle, during the first bombardment. He had been smiling, laughing, and enjoying every second of the display of firepower. Whatever had gripped him in that moment-perhaps it was the thrill of imminent of being close to death, outrunning it even-Frost felt it now. Running for his life across the base, moments from certain death, Frost found himself grinning from ear to ear, hooting and laughing.

The Pelican appeared and quickly descended to the center of the track as the marines crossed over the edge of the course. Frost saw once more the dark haven of the Pelican's interior, the red light, and the crew chief waving.

A moment later, he found himself climbing inside the dropship as it took off.

" _Fucking gun it!"_ Steele hollered. The marines fell to the floor or the benches as the Pelican accelerated. The rear door shut and Frost peered through its window. Already they were breaking through the clouds and the base was growing smaller and smaller.

There was a bright flash. A massive shockwave blossomed along the earth, taking with it a massive dust cloud. An enormous ball of fire rose upwards and upwards, followed by a column of thick, gray smoke rising thousands of feet up. The Pelican rocked, and the marines were tossed about the interior for a few moments.

When Frost regained his balance, he looked back out the window. All that was left was cloud of grayish-tan smoke cloud in the shape of a mushroom. The base, or rather where it had once stood, was covered in a shroud of dust and smoke.

Frost found a seat on the bench closest to the door and stared at his grimey boots, panting. That was all the sound to be heard, the heavy, burdened breath of the squad. Each man picked himself up from the floor and sat on the bench. They all slumped back, their heads hanging with exhaustion.

His heartbeat was still racing. Frost looked to his left. Steele had sat down beside him. The Englishman took off his helmet and wiped his forehead.

"You good, bruv?" he asked.

Frost nodded, then looked up, "Is everyone alright?"

All of the marines responded with a nod, or a tired, "Yes."

Frost leaned forward a bit, and tapped the crew chief, "You good?" The crew chief gave him a thumbs up.

"You guys all set up there?" Frost called to the pilots.

"Ooh-rah," one said weakly.

"Yeah, we're squared away here," said the pilot.

"Thanks for coming to get us Triple-Seven," Frost replied.

"That was a one time thing!" the pilot yelled back, "Next time you guys decide to set off a nuke, you're taking a bus home."

Everyone chuckled a little, then broke into a loud bout of laughter.

"Holy shit, I can't believe we pulled that off!"

"Man, I thought I was gonna piss myself."

"I think I did piss myself."

"How the hell are we ever going to top _that_ one!?"

"I think that's enough excitement for one day," Frost said, his adrenaline finally wearing off. He put a finger to his earpiece, "Colonel Hayes, this is Bravo Squad. Mission accomplished."

The dropship swooped into the hangar of the mystery vessel. The rear door and ramp dropped, and Frost led his squad out. They were greeted by a swarm of marines and Army troopers who reached out and rattled their helmets, shook their hands, and offered all manner of praise. Frost smiled as he pressed his way through the crowd. Emery appeared and socked him endearingly in the shoulder. Lieutenant Daramy also turned up and shook his hand as if he were the President of the UEG. Lieutenant Colonel Melendez had not joined the mass of soldiers, but Frost caught a glimpse of him standing far off among the Pelicans. Even some of the ODSTs showed their faces and congratulated the squad.

As Frost and the others reached the end of the congregation, Colonel Hayes appeared.

"Well done, I knew you could do it," he said with the satisfied tone of a father congratulating his son after a successful football game, "I'm proud of you."

He gripped Frost's hand tightly, "Damn proud. Teo would be too."

Hayes stepped back, placed his hands on his hips and gazed at all of the soldiers, "That goes for everybody here. I'm proud of each and every one of you, my marines and our Army brothers. You all fought like devils today and we gave the Covenant a good kick in the teeth. And thanks to the Navy, we get to fight another day."

Marines and G.I's roared with approval. The squad, dirty and disheveled, remained silent. All Frost wanted to do was head to the medical bay and take care of his many wounds. He still managed to feel proud; they had saved the Army task force, destroyed a Scarab, obliterated the enemy in nuclear fire, and hadn't lost a single man. Maybe Teo would be proud. Frost reached into his shirt pocket and retrieved the single dog tag with its chain. He stared at it for a few moments while soldiers cheered and threw their fists up around him. Maybe Teo wouldn't have been so proud of him for volunteering the men's lives like that. Frost's fingers curled around the tag, the chain dangling between his fingers. Victory was always bittersweet.

As the crowd dispersed after Colonel Hayes offered a few more words, he pointed at Frost and his squad, who hadn't moved from where they were.

"And you lot, you magnificent seven," he said, "I plan to pin some medals on your chests. You can't get away with blowing up a death machine _and_ detonating a nuke without some kind of award."

"Yes, sir," Frost answered quietly. Hayes only laughed, paying no heed to the somber tone of Frost's voice, and walked away.

"I really don't want to go to another award's ceremony," Steele grumbled.

"After all we just went through, that's the one thing you don't want to do?" Knight asked.

Before Steele responded, a female voice said, "Sounds like you men have had one rough day."

Frost had turned to look at his men, but now looked forward once more. A young Navy officer, clad in gray, approached. Her blonde hair was in a bun and her piercing green eyes seemed wearied, but she offered them a kind smile.

"I'm glad to see you all made it," she said, "my name is Commander Vivian Waters. Welcome to the UNSC _I'm Alone_."

* * *

' _Reflex in the sky warn you you're gonna die_

 _Storm coming, you'd better hide from the atomic tide...'_

 _-"Electric Funeral"_

by Black Sabbath

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BA-BOOM! I'm back, with not one but TWO chapters! Hell yeah! Anyways, I'm sorry for the long wait again. My summer job was utter hell and now that I'm going back to school I'll have some more time to write. Imagine that, more time to write at college. *eye roll* Anyways, I decided to continue with a theme of over-the-top action for our cast of characters that we'll be taking a break from soon enough. Thank for your patience and thank you for reading, as always.


	5. Chapter 5: Stranger

Quick heads-up: I like to respond to comments, so if you've left a comment, you can see my response down below at the end of the chapter. Thank you!

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Chapter Five: Stranger

* * *

 _13 day to arrival at Ambition..._

Mars wasn't what Vivian had expected. As the transport from Luna descended towards the planet, all she could see was a red or yellow haze surrounding it. It was as if the terraforming that had taken place in 2080, nearly five centuries earlier, had never taken place. But as the small ship entered the atmosphere and broke through the clouds, she saw brown trees, green leaves, grass, and bushes, and bodies of dark blue water all surrounding sprawling cityscapes and industrial stations. If Mars, a desolate red rock, could be transformed into this, she could only wonder what Earth looked like.

The complex she arrived at was situated next to a wide reservoir, shared with two other industrial centers. Beyond these two compounds, more industrial buildings stretched past the wavering horizon. The largest of the reservoir-based hubs belonged to the well-known Misriah Armory. Cranes and warehouses stretched all along the eastern shore, constantly moving cargo from dropships, trucks, and even small ferries that went back and forth across the water. Forklifts rolled all around and the multitude of workers went to and fro, moving materials to the post-production lots. All manner of interceptors, fighters, bombers, VTOLs, and dropships were being moved upon long flatbed trailers. Hordes of air and spacecraft sat in wait, ready to be shipped off to some distant part of the galaxy. Smokestacks porturded high into the air, belching clouds of white into the air.

Across from Misriah Armory's factories was a surface-based shipbuilding yard that looked just like any other one would find on Skopje, Reach, or any starship-productive world. A massive, _Valiant_ -class super heavy cruiser sat in the yard's dock, where engineers tinkered away on the hull.

Vivian stared out the window of the Special Operations Assignment Offices, looking at the starship. Her emerald green eyes were constantly adjusting from looking at the cruiser and her own reflection. Her skin was becoming more pale, yet still had a hint of some of its natural tan color, with freckles delicately scattered across her cheeks.

 _Is this what a soldier looks like?_

She had visited home after she graduated from Officer Candidate School. Her parents, brother, and sister had all welcomed her back like she had never left. But being there felt different all the same. They had all stared at her like she was a drifter. She hadn't changed, but the entire week they had talked to her like she had. There were no more endearing remarks, no more displays of affection, no joking around or horseplay. No one had cried when she left like they did when she departed for OCS and only her brother had accompanied her to the spaceport.

Her eyes fell from the starship. The flickering lights of the workers' tools reminded her too much of home. As a child, on nights she couldn't fall asleep, she would watch the lights of the shipyards from the window of their seventh story apartment. Sometimes she still felt like that little girl, but perhaps in her family's eyes, that little girl was gone.

"Lieutenant Commander Waters?"

That was it. Vivian Waters of Skopje had been replaced by Lieutenant Commander Waters of the UNSC. She was the outsider in a uniform who had walked back into the apartment to everyone's surprise. That was who she was now. Vivian Waters, the little girl, had vanished five years ago.

"Er, Commander Waters?"

Vivian turned towards the desk. She had decided not to sit in the waiting room of the SOAO. Completely devoid of personnel save for the lonely secretary behind the desk, its sterile white washed ambiance reminded her of an operating room. Chairs lined the walls adjacent from the window and a large metal coffee table stood in the center. Magazines ranging from _STARS_ to the weekly glamour journals, featuring the going-ons of actors, politicians, athletes, and other celebrities coated the coffee table. Vivian felt uncomfortable in room, and was glad that the secretary beckoned.

"Yes?"

"Rear Admiral Travers will see you now. Go right in," the secretary said quietly, as if they were in a library.  
"Thank you, Petty Officer. Will you see that my belongings are left alone."

"Of course, ma'am," replied the secretary before returning to his work, tapping away on a terminal. Vivian almost laughed; she doubted that anybody else was about to stroll in and take a seat. She approached the door, which slid open with a _hiss_ and stepped into the office. When the door shut behind her, she snapped to attention. Her heels clicked, her posture straightened, her eyes went straight ahead, and her hand flew up to her forehead in salute.

"Lieutenant Commander Vivian Waters, reporting, sir!"

The Rear Admiral was sitting at his desk, gazing over a datapad. His desk was covered with forms and datapads. A mug of coffee sat beside an ashtray, which had a half-smoked cigarillo resting in it with wisps of smoke still slowly ascending into the air.

Vivian was shocked by the man's appearance. Wearing an identical dark gray tunic to hers, the Rear Admiral's was filthy. The upper part of his tunic had food and coffee blotches all over it, and his right sleeve had numerous alcohol stains. The left sleeve was the cleanest, devoid of any impurity. The sleeve, however, was empty, and tied in a knot at the end. It was then Vivian realized he didn't have a left arm. He had a ragged brown beard that hid acne scars and thick brown hair that was blasted back. The man didn't have any appearance of seniority-more of a thirty-year old mountain man.

His dark, muddy brown eyes finally darted upwards he looked over Vivian. Her uniform was pressed and neat. The left side of her chest was coated with all her graduation and commendation ribbons arranged properly. Her dirty blonde hair was tied up into a regulation bun.

"At ease," Rear Admiral Travers said. His voice was a scratchy rasp.

Vivian became less rigid and folded her hands behind her back. Half a minute ticked by, and she watched the senior officer mull over the contents of a datapad.

Travers suddenly groaned irritably, "For God's sake, are you going to sit down or not?"

"What? I mean, yes, sir," Vivian said, then took the seat in front of his desk. The Rear Admiral aggravatedly tossed the datapad harshly onto his desk with a clatter, and locked eyes on her. He looked extremely annoyed.

"Look kid, you can drop that 'sir' crap right now. I'm not in the mood for it," he grumbled, taking the cigarillo back up. He puffed on it once, then seemed to grow momentarily disgusted, and proceeded to grind the stub into the astray.

"Is something the matter?" Vivian asked.

"Sumthin' the matter? You're damn straight! You try flying around the galaxy in a titanium juggernaut blasting alien ships to space dust for a decade only to end up commanding a desk and the only missions you get are looking over files and paperwork," he grumbled loudly. He exasperatedly threw a the datapad in his hand onto the deck, turned in his chair, and gazed out the large window behind him. After a few moments of silence, his aggravated stare returned to her, "although I doubt you'd know anything about that."

His voice was bitter but also probing. Vivian thought for a moment, sizing the man up. She then said confidently, "No. Not yet at least. I won't learn a thing if all you're going to do is assign me my own desk and order me to complain, if that's all you're good for."

Travers stared at her for a moment. Vivian felt her heart skip a beat. Perhaps she had overestimated the unorthodox manner of the Rear Admiral and her gamble was about to earn herself a stiff chewing out. But then he smiled a shark-like grin and laughed.

"Looks like you have a little more salt than I imagined," he chuckled, "want to smoke?"

"No thank you, I don't smoke."

Rear Admiral Travers nodded as he lit another cigarillo.

"Let's get down to it then, because I'm sure you're wondering why I requested you here personally. I was given a list of candidates for an unfilled position," he began, pulling up a file on his datapad. "Out of all of them, you were the most impressive. Graduated from high school with high honors...a year early. You signed up for an OCS program that brought you to the academy on Luna. You excelled in leadership classes, strategy classes, tactics, ship-to-ship warfare in any setting...you have excellent scores in mathematics, engineering, physics, astro-navigation..." He paused but kept scrolling down one of his datapads, examining her data, "you displayed high proficiency at any of the key positions on the bridge of a UNSC vessel, whether it be a battle wagon or mobile repair station. Also says in your file you have distinct understandings of ship design and crew roles, and your instructor on Luna stated in your profile that he believes you're qualified in almost any position on a starship. Given all of that, I'm not surprised you graduated from Luna OCS after two years _and_ with the Basic Training Honor Graduate Ribbon. And how old are you?"

"Twenty," Vivan answered apprehensively.

"Twenty," the senior officer quirked nodded slowly. He set the datapad down and folded his hands together.

"Honestly, Commander," he said with a slight shrug, "with your talents and skill-sets, you could be a valuable asset on any ship in the entire UNSC fleet. I think the reason you've been out of OCS waiting for a damn assignment for two months is because nobody knows what the hell to do with you."

Vivian felt somewhat flattered, although it felt strange to be apparently considered a 'valuable asset.' Was she another tool in the UNSC's arsenal? Another weapon? Were soldiers and sailors products, where one's ability to perform was their only significance to the human race? Or did one's higher rating just separate them from the cannon fodder? It was a dreadful thought and it made her skin crawl. She really was a soldier now.

She focused again as Travers took a puff on his cigarillo to end his chortling, "But most folks who have the job of assigning personnel couldn't know what to do with you anyways. Putting you in nearly any position in the fleet would be a gross mis-allocation of resources, in my opinion. Your aptitude in a multitude of different roles leads to so many different options, and we don't have a lot of people coming out of OCS like that. That's why the other assignment officers were baffled when your name came across their desks. There's just so many positions in the fleet none of them could decide where to put you, but that's because none of them are like me," he said this with air of cold confidence.

"Is that so?"

"It is so, Commander Waters. Just because I hate this job doesn't mean I'm not good at it. And that's why when an XO slot opened up on that super heavy cruiser out yonder I sent for you."

Vivian blinked, "Executive Officer?"

"Yes. Those idiots knew you ought to be in a leadership role, but they couldn't just skip a couple ranks and promote you to Captain. So, you're a Lieutenant Commander. Well, I need you to command! You accept, I promote you to a full commander and you become Executive Officer of that ship."

"On that ship, out there in the yard?" She said, still in disbelief, nodding back towards the door leading to the waiting room.

"Yes, that one," his smirk disappeared, "it's been going through a series of overhauls and retrofits. What they're doing out there are some last minute touch ups, just to make sure it's tip-top. It's a unique ship, and I helped the Brass come up with the idea."

"Unique in what way, sir?"

Travers exhaled deeply. Smoke drifted up from his cigarillo, creating an eerie gray cloud around him. In an instant, the man appeared visibly tired and worn out, as if he had aged half a century in a moment.

"Ever since the whole shebang started, we've been getting our asses kicked by Covenant fleets appearing the hell out of nowhere despite all of our long range deep space scanners and early warning systems. The eggheads are working all the time to make them better or dream up new ideas. But even when they do work, Covenant's got troops hitting the ground before we can get a battle group in the system to deal with them. So I put a thought into their heads."

He paused for what Vivian thought was effect, but then she realized by his expression he was waiting for her to ask.

"What kind of thought?"

Travers stood up and began pacing, "That we need to be aggressive. We need smaller battle groups, four or five ships at the most, made up of heavier ships, like cruisers and carriers with destroyers or heavy frigates to patrol in Covenant hotspots. We'd give these groups more autonomy instead of relying on orders and set-design patrol routes. It would allow a group of this nature to move with greater speed and flexibility between systems. As well, the added firepower and armor plating for the larger ships means that they would last longer in a direct confrontation. And that's essentially the goal of these smaller battle groups; harass, spy on, and engage the Covenant at their own discretion. This would soften up invasion fleets, give a steady stream of intelligence on their whereabouts, cause the Covenant to divert assets to hunter-killer duties, and also put these fleets closer to colony worlds that are in danger of being attacked, fulfilling the role of a quick reaction force as well.*

"Top brass decided to go ahead with my idea. At my suggestion, I wanted to upgrade one of the biggest ship-types we have in order to serve as the flagship. That _Valiant_ -class super heavy is going to be the centerpiece of the battle group. Some old pals in the science and engineering departments took care of the upgrades, and now that ship has some of the most recent and powerful experimental upgrades. All of which you can find out if you accept the position of Executive Officer."

Vivian was surprised. She had expected some grand, extravagant idea. All this man had presented her with was a plan to achieve more with less. In fact, it seemed rather archaic. It brought to her mind the privateers from the Age of Sail, when governments hired privateers to raid other nations' shipping lanes, or the Royal Navy slave catchers that policed the West African coast after the slave trade had been abolished, or even the American strike forces during the Barbary Wars. But this was space, not the ocean. Patrolling from system to system, planet to planet, was far more complex. Executing slipspace jumps, moving multiple starships within a system, and engaging in fleet actions was intricacy impacted by a multitude of variables that couldn't be left up to chance. And that was what the core of the Rear Admiral's plan: chance. Prowl along the edge of the frontline and hopefully bump into a Covenant fleet, and use superior firepower to eliminate them or hold them off until reinforcements arrived.

But there was something enticing about it as well. There was chance indeed, a chance to fight. The last thing Vivian wanted to do was join the Home Fleet and reside in Earth's orbit for the rest of the war, or wind up like Travers, piloting nothing but a desk. Being an Executive Officer levied a great deal of responsibility onto her, but that was what Vivian had hoped for. She wanted to do her part, and this was her chance.

"I'll accept the position," she said.

Travers nodded, then added, "Are you sure? I'll be the first one to admit that this is a risky assignment."

"We're at war, sir, every mission is risky. I accept."

The Rear Admiral's shark-like grin returned and his eyes seemed to light up. He slammed his hand on the desk approvingly, rattling his coffee mug.

"Damn good of you," he said. He opened a drawer and slid a box across the desk to Vivian. She opened it and saw a pair of silver oak leaf pins for her tunic collar.

"Put those on, and we'll take a visit to the _I'm Alone_."

Vivian took out the two bronze pins from her collar, and quickly replaced them with the silver.

"That's the name of the ship?"

"Yes. Seeing as how she needed a new name and is the only _Valiant_ -class vessel we have in the Sol system, the retrofitters started calling her that, and it stuck. Some of the crew are already on board, including the Captain. Come on."

After grabbing her belongings, all of which fit into a single standard-issue olive drab duffel, Vivan boarded a shuttle with the Rear Admiral. It was a short trip, but Vivian was lost for a great deal of time in her mind.

She didn't feel proud. She wasn't sure if she was supposed to be proud. Twenty years old, right out of OCS, and she had just become the second-in-command of one of the largest and most powerful starships in the entire fleet, just below the carrier classes. Executive Officer of a super-heavy cruiser. Responsibility of the ship would fall to her when the Captain was not present. Keeping a track of the crew and their abilities, making sure that their spirits did not dampen, had become her duty. Convening with the ship's officers, developing plans and strategies, seconding the captain's decisions. And she had just been promoted to the rank of Commander. A full Commander, a rank that made her even with a Lieutenant Colonel in the other three branches of the UNSC. Truly, she had become an important asset to the UNSC, or at least this ship.

Five years ago she had watched a man of the UNSC kill her five friends in the night. Gunned four of them down with his rifle, and brutally killed the fifth with his combat knife. Vivian remembered sitting in the closet for hours afterwards, listening to the gunfire fade away into the distance. She remembered opening the door and forcing herself to turn on the light, to see their blood pooling on the floor, their bodies torn open by bullets, their faces frozen in agony and fear. There were bloody boot prints on the floor. A soldier of the UNSC had murdered them, stood in their blood, while his companion made jokes.

 _Would they hate me now?_

What had brought her here? Her beliefs, she guessed. Even after their deaths, she remained steadfast. No, they wouldn't have hated her for joining them. She meant what she had said that night, and in some strange way of honoring them, she had decided to put her money where her mouth was and enlist. Becoming an Insurrectionist wouldn't have solved anything, anyways. Vivian didn't want to fight human, steal from them, hold them hostage, or worse. The thought had entertained her for a few years. After the news went public of anti-Insurrection activity, the inhabitants on Skopje had become deeply divided. While there was little love for the rebels in the Inner Colonies, the killing of humans brought back painful memories from the waning days of Operation: TREBUCHET. No one wanted to see humans killing each other anymore, especially with the Covenant killing so many by the day. Many Skopje residents were outraged; why had the UNSC bothered to kill humans who were just trying to stay low, why were they diverting troops to fight rebels instead of the Covenant, and why were they pulling the trigger on teenagers? She remembered seeing their school pictures from that year on the news, their deaths being one of the major boiling points for the protesters. Others had shrugged, arguing that rebels were traitors, and that they were still a threat, stealing ships and material for the war effort, as well as stealing supplies meant for struggling populaces in the Outer Colonies.

Vivian, sitting in the shuttle next to a window, closed her eyes. Those had been bad days. She had wanted to speak up, but she didn't want to bring attention to her family and herself. She also didn't want her parents, who had been soldiers in the Army, were devout to the UNSC and their cause. There was a fear that they would punish her, reviled her, for even contemplating the idea of rebelling. Part of her reason for enlisting in the OCS program was to get away from her family so she wouldn't have the weight of keeping that secret on her chest anymore. Would they hate her for that? Vivian didn't think so. If they were still alive, they'd understand the need to preserve one's well-being. A secret eroded the body and the mind, and the last thing they would have wanted her to become was a husk.

But Vivian remembered the most important reason why she had joined: the man who had killed them. She saw his face, the young features, his pale skin, stubble on his chin, the way he had been grinding his teeth as he fired his rifle.

 _Never forget_.

They wouldn't hate her for finding him.

"Wake up, Commander!"

Vivian looked over from the window. Rear Admiral Travers was standing at the exit of the shuttle. "Come on, what're you waiting for, Christmas?"

She disembarked and slung the strap of her duffel bag over her shoulder. Her eyes traveled up, and up, as she gazed the massive starship. The _I'm Alone_ seemed to stretch for a mile and just as tall. Her battleplate was silver in the fashion of most UNSC vessel. She bristled with point defense weaponry. All of the viewports in the side were shining bright white from the light inside. Her large stern section, bulky midsection, and small but sleek bow were almost like a work of art. Vivian felt her jaw drop slightly and she couldn't help but feel some butterflies in her stomach.

"Yep," Travers laughed, "I fall in love with her every time I look at her, too."

"She looks larger than a normal _Valiant_."

"Good eye. She went through a massive refitting process. Engineers had to take some sections of her apart, then put them back together. Originally, she had the standard dimensions; one thousand five-hundred eighteen meters in length, three hundred seventy-three meters in width, and one thousand one-hundred forty-five meters tall. After her refitting, she's now two thousand one-hundred twenty-eight meters long and one thousand two-hundred forty-five meters tall. We kept the width almost the same though, she's three-hundred eighty-seven meters wide now, to compensate for new internal facilities and increased storage."

He waved a hand, and they headed towards an elevator.

"She has a Naval and Air crew of four thousand eight-hundred sixty-seven, an intelligence team of one hundred-fifty, a small science team for monitoring the experimental upgrades-there's about ten of them-and accommodations for a marine complement of one thousand and a complement of five hundred ODSTs."

They stepped onto the elevator built into the steel scaffolding that surrounded her hull. The engineer on board pressed a button and the lift began ascending.

Travers continued, "Like all _Valiant_ -class cruisers, she was designed for fleet command and control. With her new upgrades, she's effectively a multi-role ship, capable of direct action and ground deployment on top of her original duties. From stern to bow, are the mess hall, barracks, armory, hangar, and HEV bay. Having them in that order allows ODSTs and marines to gear up as they head to their respective deployment area. Her hangar has been expanded and a vehicle bay has been added as well, so she can take on some of the marine complement's mechanized component. The HEV bay has been redone and outfitted with state of the art stealth variations of the normal HEV's. At the recommendation of our Marine advisers, the barracks has been enlarged and divided in such away that squads will be occupy a single cabin, rather than having them stay in larger rooms with more individuals."

"Why make that change?" Vivian asked.

"To make things more private for individual squads, make their quarters feel more like home. I can appreciate that. Poor ground-pounders live on ships most of their lives, with only a cot and a footlocker to call home. And the majority of sailors get a bunk in the wall and a couple of drawers."

"Do each of these cabins have a bathroom?" Vivian inquired sarcastically..

"Yes, actually. Showers too. The airmen and the Navy personnel will have the same accommodations. Remember, Commander Waters, this ship has been designed to be far away from friendly ports longer than the average starship. That means the crew and the troops on board won't see land for long periods of time. Making the ship a comfortable living environment was a concern."

"I'm not sure I agree with those kind of arrangements. We're at war, Admiral," Vivian said stiffly, "no one is content or comfortable. This is the Navy, not a cruise line."

The senior officer stepped closer. He had a strange twist of a smile, half entertained, half insulted. .

"That may be, but how long is a normal starship out from port?"

"A month."

"Correct. You'll be out for two, three, four months, and maybe even longer. Would you rather the marines and the crew be able to rest comfortably during their downtime, or do you want them clawing at four steel walls begging for solid ground?"

Vivian kept silent, her sternness gone. She considered and her eyes lowered a bit.

"I thought so," Travers said. The elevator, after another minute or so, came to a stop. A ramp was extended from one of the ship's entrances, and the pair walked in.

Vivian was confronted with silver walls, and sailors wearing all dress in a variety of colored uniforms busily going about their work. Many held datapads, others were carrying cargo, some making last minute inspections. There was a great deal of chatter and bustling.

"Come on, let's head to the bridge," Travers said, leading the way. "The mess hall, which has been extended and with an added recreation area, where off-duty crew members and marines can relax. Books, films, games, and more are available there, plus comfortable seating. There's also some smoking lounges too."

"Smoking lounges? Are you serious?" Vivian asked, bewildered, momentarily forgetting rank.

"There are multiple regulations against flammables and combustibles on board a starship, Commander. Considering the fact that most of our ships carry nukes, I find it amusing that ship designers worry about few cigarettes. Anyways, it was my idea to have a place where sailors and marines could go enjoy a smoke on their downtime. Moving on, there's the armory which doubles as a training area. It's been outfitted with an array of exercise and weight lifting equipment. There are sparring rings, first aid classrooms, and of course the actual armory portion which has been stocked with weapons, ammunition, tools, attachments, and maintenance stations, and an advanced firing range-"

"A firing range? On a starship?" Vivian interrupted, shocked.

"Yes, Commander. There are many classified projects within the UNSC. Thanks to some help with the UNSC Oversight Committee, we were able to obtain some technology from another project."

"What project?"

"Hell if I know," Travers shrugged, "but the firing range has been equipped with extra armor so that a bullet won't be able to pierce the armor and hit anything vital. But any ammunition being expended on the range will be non-lethal-either paint rounds or rubber bullets. The range also offers holographic targets as well, with a modified ammunition type that the holograms will register as they pass through it. You'll see eventually .Other than that, there's also a room for soldiers to practice close quarters combat scenarios, and an observation deck so the armory personnel can keep an eye on things.

"Guess I should mention the science team. Their lab has been built in the rear of the ship in engineering. It's a small, modest setup, but it's designed to keep a track of the ship's upgrades. Not much to say about it really, but they have a direct link to the bridge and their monitors keep track of the upgrades' effects on the rest of the ship. If there's an issue, they'll let you know in an instant. Oh, the Cryonics Bay has been enlarged for the increased number of crew, with the more upto-date Mark VIII CSC's, so you don't have to worry about cryo-itch."

"That's a relief," Vivian muttered, remembering her own experience from training in the Mark VII's.

"But I suppose you want to know about the experimental upgrades, huh?" Travers asked with his sharkish grin. "Well, first, there's the armor plating. Same old Titanium-A battle plate, but much thicker. _Marathon-_ class heavy cruisers have one hundred ninety-one centimeters of armor, normal _Valiant_ starships vary in the one hundred to one-hundred fifty range; the _I'm Alone_ has four hundred centimeters of battle armor."

"Four meters thick?"

"That's right. Not exactly as thick as the _Trafalgar's_ but for a ship like this, that's basically making this thing a floating fortress. Furthermore, its weaponry has been enhanced. We had a choice: the ship could have been built with three MAC guns, or two MAC guns that fire two times each. We went with the second option."

"Ship-borne MAC guns that fire twice? I've never heard of that."

"It's one of the experimental features of the ship. The fucking techs wanted to make them fire three times per charge but I think they're only going to be able to do that with only one MAC. Anyways, these MAC guns have booster capacitors, added magnetic field recyclers, and lighter coils. Both MAC's can be charged at the same time and can be fired in unison or separately. You also have some new experimental rounds. They're made of tungsten carbide, which means they're not as heavy but they're harder. You'll get more shield and armor piercing power from them. And an added bonus, the MACs charge faster."

Vivian was astonished. She almost had stop walking. Her mind could hardly grip around the fact. When she was in OCS, she has studied all of the blueprints for every kind of ship in the UNSC as well as their weapons. She had never seen a single blueprint have weaponry as powerful as this.

"How do you think the MACs charge faster?" Travers asked.

Vivian thought for a moment, "the fusion reactor is experimental as well."

"That's right. This is as experimental as experimental gets, sister!" Travers said, loudly clapping his hands together and cracking his knuckles. "She's got one one primary reactor and two secondaries, extremely unique in design and power output"

Vivian felt excited. Timing, she had learned in OCS, was everything during combat. Using the MAC, the Archer missile pods, the emergency thrusters-all of it revolved around timing. Covenant ships had stronger weapons and had shielding technology, time wasn't a problem for them. But with a pair of MAC guns that could fire twice per full charge, that was enough to cripple an enemy ship; three rounds to break the shields, the fourth to deliver the lethal blow.

"I guess I should mention you have several extra pairs of emergency thrusters on each side of the ship. We've increased the fifty millimeter point-defense guns from forty-five thousand to fifty thousand and she carries an extra fifteen Shiva nuclear warheads, bringing the total to one hundred-twenty. There Archer missile pod has been increased from eighty to one hundred, which comes to a total of three thousand pods. She's got some real teeth."

They had been walking for almost ten minutes. The corridors were large and long. Crew members flowed along in both directions like ants. Eventually, they came to an elevator, which took them up to a short hallway that led into the bridge.

 _I'm Alone_ possessed a vast bridge in the shape of a pentagon. There were a twenty-four work stations throughout it, not including the Captain's chair and console in the center. The stations lined the large window that stretched around the bridge's front and sides. There were large screens on either side, almost like drapes. Information about other ships in the area, the facility, retrofits, and more streamed down the long streams, and on one there was even a map of the entire Sol System. They were orange instead of the usual blue of normal terminals.

"Captain Oswald," Rear Admiral Travers said loudly, causing everyone to briefly look up from their work.

Captain Oswald had been sitting in the center command console. When he stood up, Vivian was surprised to see that he was a frail looking man in his forties. He was thin for a man his age, and his hair had turned completely white. His forehead was deeply lined and his cheeks were sunken in. His shoulders drooped and his posture was hunched.

He smiled wide but saluted rather weakly, "Good to see you, Admiral Travers."

Oswald talked slowly, quietly, and without any strength to his words.

Travers hastily saluted back, "Oswald, meet Commander Vivian Waters. She's to be your XO."

"My Executive Officer?" he said with a few surprised blinks. He looked over at Vivian, shocked by her. It was almost as if he hadn't noticed her presence. "But she's so young. She looks younger than my daughter."

"That may be," Travers grumbled, "but she's tough and she's got one hell of a skillset. She's new but she'll do just fine. I think it's time she met the ship's AI?"

Before anyone could say a word, a hologram flashed into view on a pedestal next to the Captain's console.

"Did somebody call for me?" said a dignified voice.

Vivian stepped forward. The hologram consisted of a man with dark hair that was just beginning to recede and long sideburns. He had eyes the same color as his hair, a long nose, a oval-shaped face, lips that seemed to smile natural, and a strong chin. Despite the blue hue of the hologram, Vivian could make out dark blue linen and gold trimmings of his overcoat, tight sailor's trousers the color of snow, and black leather boots. He stood tall with his head raised. He wore a cutlass on his right side and a pair of flintlock pistols in his belt. Looking closer, Vivian realized he was wearing the uniform of a naval officer from the 19th century.

"Commander Waters, meet Decatur," Travers said with a broad grin.

"Decatur? As in-"

"Stephen Decatur, Commodore!" the AI beamed, saluting "I once served the United States of America's Navy, but now I sail under the flag of the United Nations Space Command! A pleasure, madam!"

Vivian slowly looked over to Travers with a bemused expression. The Rear Admiral leaned close and whispered, "He's a recently developed Smart AI. When he was created, he took the form of Stephen Decatur, the famous U.S. Navy officer. He decided to take his personality too, I guess."

After a few moments of staring at the AI, Vivian coughed and said, "It's an honor to meet a distinguished Naval officer such as yourself, Commodore."

"Why thank you. It's very rare to get such a compliment from any of these lads all around. Especially that monstrous Admiral Travers!"

Travers laughed, as did Decatur. The AI continued, "But please, madam, you can simply call me Decatur, if you please."

"Decatur will help you with virtually everything that there is to be done on this ship, from combat to monitoring the Cryo Bay. We've made multiple pedestals all over the ship so he's easy to access, but you really only need to say his name and he'll hear it," the Rear Admiral explained.

"Indeed! I'm never out of earshot" the AI smiled broadly, then winked away.

"Well, there's more to see. Would you like to take over the tour Captain, or shall I continue?" Travers said, turning to Oswald.

Oswald shook his head slowly, "Oh, no. I'll leave Wallace in your capable hands."

"It's Waters, sir," Vivian corrected.

"Hm? Oh, yes, Walters, fine. If you'll excuse me, I've many duties to attend to."

Travers began walking for the door, but Vivian lingered. She studied Captain Oswald for few moments after he had retaken his seat. Despite what he had said, he simply sat in his chair, completely immobile.

"Waters!" Travers hissed. Vivian turned on her heel and followed him back to the elevator.

When the doors slid shut, Travers muttered something under his breath.

"Sir?" Vivian asked.

He sighed and turned to Vivian. His voice became low. "Look, I'm going to warn you right now: I didn't choose that man to be the master of this ship. Oswald is a coward and a brown-noser with a spotty record and a penchant for indecision and laziness. He has no qualities that a UNSC captain should have, but the only reason he has a commission is because of a wealthy family and friends in high places. A few months ago he was supposed to be getting honorably discharged but one of the other overseers of this project-a family friend-pulled some strings and convinced enough of the top brass to give him another chance."

Travers shook his head, his lips forming a terrible scowl. His eyes burned vividly. "You need to watch that man. His incompetence has gotten people killed before. Don't let it happen on this ship."

The Rear Admiral turned and jabbed Vivian in the shoulder with his finger, "Understand?"

"I do."

Travers breathed a sigh. It wasn't one of relief, but it seemed to lighten his mood all the same.

Travers took Vivian to the rear of the ship, where she saw the reactors. The primary one was massive, but the pair of secondaries were also of a good size. She liked the way the engine room hummed with power. They had attempted to meet the science team, but a passing engineer mentioned that they were busy and didn't want to be disturbed. Later on, they traveled forward again. The intelligence team had a separate control room, but one of the operators explained that there was always at least one of the intelligence officers at one of the terminals on the bridge who had a direct link to their chamber and its information. It was a wide space, packed with terminals, screens, and datapads.

Afterwards, Travers took Vivian down another elevator, where they came to the Medical Bay. He smiled at her, though it was less animal-like this time.

"I have a surprise for you," he said.

Vivian was puzzled, "A surprise?"

Travers said nothing, leading Vivian down the corridor where medical facilities were. She could see medical personnel clad in white stocking supplies and setting up equipment.

Towards the end were a few offices, and they came to one that lacked a sign with a name on the outside. As soon as they entered, Vivian was happily stunned.

Standing in front of a desk was her friend Jasmine Ebrahimi.

"Jasmine!" Vivian exclaimed, dropping her duffel bag.

"Viv," Jasmine answered happily.

The two friends embraced tightly and laughed merrily. When they parted, they looked one another over. It had been two months since they had seen one another, but it had been much longer for them.

Vivian poked the tag on Jasmine's white lab coat, "Dr. Ebrahimi. How does that feel?"

"I could ask you the same, Commander," Jasmine said, flicking one of the silver oak leaf pins.

"What are you doing here?" Vivian laughed.

"Dr. Ebrahimi was in notes section of your profile," Travers said, "I looked her up and that she was going through the medical OCS program. She was the top of her class, just like you. So, I offered her the position of Chief of Medical Personnel."

Vivian looked at Jasmine. It had been a dream of theirs, an unrealistic one she admitted, since they met at Luna to serve aboard the same starship. The prospect had been appealing but they had none it was unlikely. Now here they were, standing on the same ship. Euphoria could hardly describe it. There was a strange feeling Vivian felt. Going to war with her best friend beside her instilled a feeling of invincibility. With the pair reunited, the future didn't seem so bleak and the Covenant didn't stand a chance.

"I'll let you two so time to yourselves," Travers said, "first I'll just fill you in on a few other things. Firstly, your cabin is on the same deck as the rest of the commission officers. Secondly, all off the ship's personnel has arrived or will be arriving before the day is out, including the Orbital Drop Shock Troopers. The marines and the other ships that'll make up this task force won't be present."

"No marines and no support?" Vivian questioned,

"Not yet. The marines selected for this assignment are unfortunately already in the process of being transported to a planet in the Rey System. The 89th Marine Expeditionary Unit are an elite unit of line marines, a cut above the normal rank and file. They have five years of experience as frontline troops as well as special operations. As for the other ships, the marines' transports are made up of the carrier UNSC _Burnside_ and the _Paris_ -class heavy frigates _Lion's Den_ and _Determined Guardian_. I couldn't pull any destroyers for this operation, but they'll do. Tomorrow, you'll head to the Rey System and rendezvous with them at planet Ambition. After you rendezvous with them, head to Reach, where you'll receive more supplies."

"If they're being deployed, won't we create a gap in the frontline by taking them from their current assignment?"

"Another task force from Reach will be heading to Ambition a few days after you depart, to account for slipspace travel times. They'll have a force to replace the 89th; the Eighty-Niners will probably grumble about being reassigned so quickly."

"Are you sure they'll be up for an operation of this nature?" Vivian asked.

"If there's one thing the 89th, they enjoy a good fight," Travers grinned. He extended his hand, "This will be the last I see of you I imagine, Commander. I know this is rather short notice, but I have confidence that you'll excel at all of your duties and more. Good luck."

Rear Admiral Travers turned and headed out the door, "Maybe I'll see you again when the war is over!" he barked over his shoulder. With that, the doors slid shut and Travers was gone.

For the next hour, Vivian and Jasmine sat in the latter's office talking of the last two months. Jasmine had not changed a bit. Her hair was still long and thick, a mixture of black and gold which she kept in a lengthy, loose ponytail. Her skin retained its deep tan and her eyes were still a radiant light brown sprinkled with dots of amber. She had full lips, a small face, narrow cheeks, and a small nose which her glasses sat on. She was slim, but athletic, like Vivian. Jasmine had risen to the rank of lieutenant commander had now had a staff of nearly two hundred surgeons, nurses, physicians, and other Navy medical personnel.

"That doesn't mean I won't be doing the work myself," Jasmine said, "I didn't sign up for OCS to get fat behind a desk. I want to be there with the people under my command and work with them."

"Good thing, too," Vivian added, "out of all them you're the best of the best. You can do all of their jobs and more."

"They're all highly trained and many are veterans," Jasmine countered, "I have full confidence in the staff."

"I know, I know," Vivian smiled. She looked around her friend's office. Jasmine's desk was made of steel, with a terminal in the center, a lamp, a few framed holographs, a notebook, and a datapad. On the desk's left was a pedestal for Decatur. There were a pair of metal bookcases adjacent from it on the wall. Medical textbooks ranging from different types of injuries to infectious diseases lined the shelves. In front of the desk was two sets of armchairs and a couch and seated on a olive drab carpet.. All three pieces of furniture were of a brown leather material.

Vivian kept glancing over at the furniture, and eventually jerked a thumb towards them, "Okay, I gotta ask. How come you have non-regulation furniture in here?"

Jasmine chuckled and walked over, motioning for Vivian to follow. The two sat in the armchairs that were space across from one another, with the couch adjacent to them.

"When I accepted the position, I explained that if we were going to be out in space longer than other vessels, crew members and marines will have less outlets to relieve stress from their duties or combat. The marines especially will have problems with calming down from the intensity of battle. So, I recommended that I take on the role of a therapist of some kind, and establish walk-in hours for anybody who needs to discuss problems they've been having."

"That's actually a good idea. I guess I was wrong about those psychology classes you were taking," Vivian said with a nod.

The two were silent for a moment, then smiled, "I'm really glad you're here, Jasmine."

"Ditto," Jasmine's pushed up her glasses and smiled. "Why don't we put your duffel in your cabin and get something to eat?"

 _6 days to arrival at Ambition..._

Vivian had felt her heart jumped when the _I'm Alone_ left its dock and soared into the sky two days earlier. She had felt like a madwoman, her eyes darting between several different screens at once. On one screen were the readings for the ship's engines, on another the reactor levels, and on a third their distance from Mars.

During the takeoff process, Vivian had been standing next to Oswald, who was slumped in the Captain's chair, mumbling orders to the other officers on board. He had been asked to repeat what he had said a dozen times and on a few occasions Vivian had to speak for him. Oswald didn't seem to care. His expression had been bored and his eyes were constantly half-closed, as if he were a moment away from taking a nap. Vivian had noted that he smelled as though he hadn't showered for a week. Despite being selected for a project as well as a 'second chance,' he didn't seem to care.

With a twelve day journey in slipspace, a majority of the crew had been placed cryo-preservation for the journey. The captain had left Vivian in charge of a small group to keep an eye on the ship while he stayed in his cabin for the majority of the trip. The complement was made up of the bridge operators, a small number of the intelligence staff, a few ODSTs, the scientific team to monitor her reactors, and some of the engineers. With the days slowly ticking by, Vivian took the opportunity to orientate herself with the crew. On the bridge, there were four lieutenants: Sosa, Bassot, Tsang, and Koroma. Sosa was a thin woman from Chile - the only Earthborn officer on the bridge. The ranking lieutenant was Bassot, a stout man with fiery red hair and a deep voice. He hailed from the Outer Colonies, but he never specified which planet. He served at the weapons station, monitoring the ship's weapons and munitions. At the communications station was Koroma, a young woman from Harmony. As befitting of her role, she was chatty and sociable, with warm brown eyes and a big smile. From the planet of Coral there was Tsang, a tall, angular man who had a dark sense of humor. He worked at operations, monitoring the planets and systems they were in, as well as the ship's status and the other ships in the task force-at least when they rendezvoused with the _Burnside_ and its escorts. And finally there was Sosa, a thin, solemn looking woman with three faded, diagonal scars on her left cheek. Her duty was navigation, plotting destinations and essentially steering the ship.

All four were good officers, Vivian had decided. They were diligent and hardworking. Against her better judgement, when she was able to speak them privately, all voiced concerns of Captain Oswald. The Four, as she called them, were loyal as well. None of them attacked the Captain's behavior or character when she had heard them out, sticking to their fears of what he may or may not do. Except for Bassot, who was the most outspoken. "That man ought to be thrown into the brig and dumped off at the nearest port," he had said in his menacing, gravel-like voice.

Vivian was no upstart. She didn't want to start a mutiny. But it was the intelligence operative on the bridge who gave her more concern with his counsel.

Lieutenant Delaney was a descendant of the Lakota people and grew up on Europa, one of the Jovian Moons around Jupiter. He was a serious looking sort with hair as black as night and firm facial features. He was not particularly tall nor did he possess a muscular build. What he did have was a keen mind and calm, serious voice that commanded attention.

He had said quietly from his station, "An officer who does not act or refuses to take part in battle should be replaced, forcefully if need be."

Vivian hoped the need wouldn't arise. But as the days passed and the closer they came to Ambition, an inescapable feeling began to grip her gut that Oswald would falter.

As she had often done in OCS, she took her worries to Jasmine. To ease her mind on the seventh day, she walked with her friend through the Medical Bay. All of the rooms possessed a clean, white aesthetic that reminded Vivian of the waiting room in the SOAO.

With a datapad in hand, Jasmine went down the list of facilities, "We have ten bays with a capacity of fifty beds for non-critical cases and in case of emergencies, treatment for an excess of battle causalities. There are two quarantine labs, one for patients displaying general illnesses and one for crew members with more advanced viruses or infections. As well, we have two pharmacies, so anyone who needs over-the-counter medicines for lack of a better term can obtain them without having to go through me or the other doctors. We originally didn't have them installed, but Travers consented when I made my case."

"It's a good idea," Vivian said, "but do you really think it'll be useful?"

"We need every single member of the crew to be at their full strength for the type of mission we will be undertaking. We can't let small, manageable conditions such as asthma, migraines, or food allergies hinder crewmen who have them. It would be a waste of my time and theirs to have a crewman come all the way to my office and go through an entire checkup just to get their inhaler refilled. And it's not like we'd be handing out painkillers. I made sure that the pharmacy is stocked with non-addictive general medications. One of the pharmacies is fitted with compounding equipment as well.

"Besides that, we have a pair of isolation bays that have twelve rooms, each of which has a capacity of two. There are also cabins where patients with more severe wounds can be placed for long-term care. We also have two radiology labs and of course some examination rooms."

"They really decked us out."

"Self-sufficiency is the name of the game," Jasmine said, "and with medical facilities like this, we won't have to dock a ports as often to discharge wounded. But I don't think you came here to talk shop. You seem off."

Vivian smirked a little. Jasmine had a good eye. She was two years older than her, and had spent two years at medical school before shifting to the OCS medical programs. They had been at the top of their class within their respective fields. Two years of training, studying, and living together had made them close.

"Travers gave me a warning about Captain Oswald."

"What? That he's an oaf without a single tactical thought in his head?"

"Basically, yeah. Do you know him?"

"I was offered the position of Medical Chief before you were selected as the XO. I've been on this ship for a week already and Oswald has barely given me any time. By average standards, we have a robust medical staff. But, I thought it would make the crew and the combat troops less brittle if we took the time to host some more advanced first aid classes. It could only help, right? Oswald didn't even want to listen to my proposal; he said he was busy. You know what he was doing?"

"Sitting in his chair doing nothing?"

"Exactly. He said to send him a private message and he'd respond. It's almost two weeks and he hasn't gotten back to me."

Vivian shook her head, "We're in the middle of fighting a war for our very survival as a species, and there are still people who more interested in personal gain, glory, and feathering their nest. You'd think something like this would bring out the best of people."

"People are people, Viv," Jasmine sighed, tucking her datapad into a large pocket on the inside of her lab coat, "some people just don't change.

The pair walked into Jasmine's office, which now had a small metal board with her name beside the door. Vivian, now feeling completely private, slumped tiredly onto the therapy couch. Laying on her back, she brought one of her arms over her eyes. She listened to Jasmine moving some things around on her desk.

"Do you have a headache?" asked the doctor, "I can dim the lights."

"No, it's fine," Vivian mumbled.

"What's up? Tell me what's on your mind, I was chatting your ear off and didn't give you much of a chance."

Vivian snorted, "It feels like all I've done is have my ear talked off. No offense, if anyone's going to do it, I'd rather it be you. But it's just a hard position to be in. None of the bridge officers have faith in the Captain. I don't have any confidence in him either. And when the marines finally board this ship, you can bet they'll tear him apart."

"That does sound tough," Jasmine said.

"Travers said I need to keep an eye on him and more than one of the officers have said he should be removed command, or at least hinted at it."

"Does that make you pressured?"

Vivian raised her arm and looked over at Jasmine, who had taken a seat in one of the armchairs. She pointed at her, saying, "don't try that therapy shit on me."

Jasmine frowned, "I wasn't. I'm just asking."

Vivian sighed, "Yeah, it does. Travers made me the Executive Officer of a grand ship with purpose not many other in the entire Navy have. We have a chance to make a difference, a chance to fight, not to merely wait and defend. But we have a Captain who could get us killed or this project scrapped. If he does anything to endanger us or the mission, it'll be up to me to do something about it."

She shook her head, "it's not what I expected my first posting to be like. I didn't want to get caught up in any games like this."

There was silence for a few minutes. It was a pleasant quiet. Jasmine finally said, "You'll know what to do when the time comes. You just need to keep a clear head and focus on your duties."

Vivian nodded, then recognized the careful tone in Jasmine's voice. She looked over at her. Jasmine wore a concerned expression and her eyes were knowing. The XO slumped back down on the couch.

"I know. But I can't get that night out of my head."

"You have to. We're not trainees anymore. We don't have time to think about the past and let it dictate us."

"The past." Vivian scoffed, "it's been five years but it feels like yesterday. It's not them I think about, it's him. The man who did it."

"He was a soldier. Like us. Do you honestly think you'll find him?'

Vivian didn't answer.

Jasmine inhaled, then said, "don't let that be the reason why you joined up, Vivian. I know you. You want to do good things, the right things. And what we're doing is right, so just focus on that. Not him."

 _1 minute to arrival at Ambition..._

 _I'm Alone_ exited slipspace. Vivian stood with her hands folded behind her back. A green and blue planet appeared.

"Slipspace jump complete, madam," Decatur said, "the crew are exiting the cryo-chambers now."

"How're they holding up?" Vivian asked, looking at the pedestal beside her. The hologram smiled up at her, "Nothing to report, madam."

Vivian nodded, "Thank you, Decatur."

"Commander Waters," said Tsang, "I'm picking up unidentified vessels in Ambition's atmosphere. _Burnside, Lion's Den,_ and _Determined Guardian_ are in a holding pattern."

Vivian felt her gut tighten, "Koroma, patch me through to the _Burnside_."

"Patching you through."

"This is Captain Hugh of the UNSC _Burnside_ ," answered a haggard voice.

"Captain Hugh, this is Commander Waters of UNSC _I'm Alone_. We have redeployment orders for you and the 89th MEU, but we have some mystery vectors in the planet's atmosphere. Can you give me a sitrep, over?"

"The Covenant are on Ambition."

Vivian's eyes widened. The crew began to look at one another and murmur their surprise. Her heartbeat increased and her hands shook.

"I say again," Captain Hugh said, his voice shaking, "the Covenant are on Ambition. Ground forces have consolidated at Alpha Base and are under siege. There are two corvette-class Covenant ships on course for Alpha Base."

Vivian overcame the shock. Anger boiled.

"Captain Hugh, why aren't you engaging the enemy ships? Why aren't your frigates in support of ground forces?"

"The...the enemy ships could be a luring us into a trap. I don't want to risk our ships in case-"

"In case of what?" Vivian snapped, ignoring the fact she was speaking to a superior officer. "There are men dying on the surface, they need support or to be evacuated!"

"I...I..."

Vivian cut the comms, "Sosa, set us a course to get us into Ambition's atmosphere. We're engaging those ships and getting the troops off that rock. Full speed."

"Yes, ma'am," the navigation officer said.

"Decatur, have you scanned the planet? Anything I need to know?"

"Ambition is remarkably similar to Earth in almost every characteristic. Therefore, we shall experience no difficulties in entering the planet's gravitational pull."

"Good. Are there any other Covenant ships within the system?"

"I have several small slipspace ruptures," Tsang said, his fingers racing along his terminal, "but it appears to be ships exiting the system rather than entering. They're most likely retreating to rendezvous with a larger force."

"Let's use that to our advantage."

Vivian stood with her eyes fixated on the planet. _I'm Alone_ started to barrel towards Ambition like a missile. The huge orb grew bigger and bigger.

All she could think about were the troops on the ground. She had studied numerous battles while at OCS, she knew it was always a desperate fight. The last thing she was going to do was sit idly by while the troops were wiped out.

The door swished open.

"What's going on, Commander?"

Vivian turned to see the shambling Captain Oswald actually moving with some speed. His tunic was unbuttoned and his belt was undone. His eyes were puffy from sleep.

"We've arrived at Ambition, sir. Ground forces are engaged and we have enemy ships approaching Alpha Base, most likely for a glassing run. I've ordered the _I'm Alone_ to enter atmosphere to intercept."

Horror crossed Oswald's face.

"Belay that order!" he cried meekly.

Sosa turned. Her face betrayed no emotion, yet she said, "Sir, do you want me to cancel entry?"

"Yes!"

"No!" Vivian barked, and turned to the Captain, "Sir, those men are getting slaughtered down there and the captain of the _Burnside_ won't lift a finger. We're the only ship responding and if we pull off now we're going to lose several thousand men."

"And lose our ship in the process?" Oswald whimpered, running his hands down his face. He paced rapidly across the deck, his entire body shaking. "No, no, no!" he kept blubbering, "do not enter atmosphere, do not engage, we cannot risk the ship."

"Sir," Vivian held out an arm to stop him from pacing, "we need to engage. We're a warship and that's our job: engage the enemy."

"Do not engage!" Oswald shouted to Sosa again. Sosa looked at Vivian, who shook her head, "Keep her on course."

"Have you lost your minds!?" Oswald weeped, tears welling in his eyes, "Those soldiers are already dead, just jump us out of the system!"

He turned to Vivian and pointed an accusing finger at her, "I'm the captain of this ship, and I give the orders! You will carry them out or I will have you court martialed for insubordination! We need to jump, now!"

In the chaos in the moment, she found it hard to to take the squealing little old man seriously. But Vivian looked at the officers present on the bridge. Their faces were etched with confusion and pressure. If they retreated from the system, they would lose the other ships as well as thousands of lives. The project goal, to be aggressive, would be failed. She looked over her shoulder at Delaney, whose strained expression repeated what he had said days earlier.

A thought entered her mind, and she saw her chance.

"Sir, to jump from the system, we need to enact the Cole Protocol."

Oswald shook his head, "There's no time, get me out of here now!"

Vivian took a step forward, "Sir, are you refusing to carry out the Cole Protocol?'

"Of course, we need to leave!"

Vivian drew her sidearm, "Captain Oswald, in violation of the United Nations Space Command Emergency Priority Order 098831A-1, otherwise known as the Cole Protocol, I strip you of your command and place you under arrest by Article JAG 7556-L of UNSC Military Law."

Captain Oswald stared at her, his mouth agape. The crew's eyes were wide.

"You...you can't..." Oswald began to splutter.

"Lieutenant Delaney, take him to the brig," Vivian ordered. Delaney came forward, sidearm in hand, and took Oswald by the arm.

"No! I'm the commander of this ship! I have friends in ONI...and, and the Security Committee, and-"

Delaney had dragged the Captain through the doors, cutting off his voice as they shit. Vivian holstered her side arm and turned. The officers all stared at her. She hoped they didn't see her shaking.

Sosa cleared her throat, "Shall we stay on course, Commander?"

Vivian nodded, "Stay on course, make sure we're heading right towards the enemy vectors."

She looked at the captain's chair for a moment, apprehensively, then sat down. Quickly, she adjusted the terminal and accompanying controls to her preference. Then, she reached over, activating the intercom system, "All hands, all hands, head to your battle stations. I repeat, battle stations, prepare for immediate contact. Bassot, give me the charge on MAC guns."

"Fifty percent, we'll have a full charge in less than one minute."

"Decatur, funnel some more power from the reactors to guns. I want them online as soon as possible. Will that strain the reactors?"

"Heaven's no, madam!" Decatur said, waving his hand, "we've the finest sails in the entire UNSC."

The _I'm Alone_ shuddered as it broke through the atmosphere, plunging through the clouds.

"Evening her out," Sosa said. Vivian braced herself, feeling ship level itself from its diagonal descent.

"Enemy ship, twelve o'clock, less than five hundred meters!" Tsang shouted. Vivian could see both Covenant corvettes, one trailing the other, purple and oddly shaped with curves and wide wings.

"Guns?" Vivian asked quickly.

"Seventy-five percent!"

Vivian turned her attention the second enemy ships. Her gaze turned to a glare.

"Full speed ahead," she ordered with steel in her voice, "cut that ship in two. Decatur, will the hull hold?"

"Ramming speed against a ship that isn't even five hundred meters long?" the seafarer AI asked himself, "I should say the hull will hold firmly."

"All hands," Vivian said over the intercom, "brace for impact."

The corvette began to bank away from the _I'm Alone_ , but it was too late. The ship was now hung suspended in front of the massive cruiser. With the mountain's underneath it and the blue sky stretching behind it, the ship look as though it were in a painting. Vivian gripped the chair tightly.

Suddenly, the corvette appeared from view, and the _I'm Alone_ was shuddering. There was a metallic crashing and tearing noise, and plasmic fire briefly danced in front of the bridge's view. Vivian felt her chair trembling, and everyone was rattled in their seats.

"Enemy ship confirmed destroyed!" Tsang stated.

"Are we clear of the debris?"

"Affirmative, ma'am."

"Sosa, hard to port. Everyone brace!"" she cried, and activated one of the port-side emergency thrusters. The _I'm Alone_ heaved to its right; combined with the turn the ship was now placed directly behind the other corvette, which had not taken evasive maneuvers. "Guns!?"

"Fully charge!"

"Target the corvette's upper left engine, fire one!"

"Engines, roger."

The ship shook again, and a light streaked out from the bow. In the blink of an eye, the MAC round buried itself right up one of the engines. The engine detonated, setting off a massive chain reaction that nearly blew the entire stern off the ship. It sank backwards and began descending to the surface.

Vivian exhaled, realizing that she hadn't dared to breathe since she had given the order to charge. The officers briefly cheered.

"Two enemy ships splashed," Bassot roared, turning to Vivian. She smiled back, but it faded quickly.

"Sosa, bring us up out of atmosphere over Alpha Base," she said, looking at the pillars of smoke rising from the installation. "Tsang, send coordinates to the _Burnside_ and her pickets, get them in position to begin evacuating the troops."

Vivian keyed the intercom again, "Hanger, this is Commander Waters. Scramble every bird you have, begin flying air support to cover the Pelicans. Give me a damage SITREP?"

"Our forward section has an integrity of eighty percent, no casualties. Damage control are making repairs as best they can."

"Good," she said, "Koroma, patch me through to the marine's comms."

"Aye aye, patching you in...go ahead."

Vivian stood up from the chair, "All UNSC ground forces prepare for evac. There's a possible enemy fleet heading to the system. It's time to abandon the planet and retreat to a safe system."

"Solid copy on that!" a gruff voiced yelled back over the radio, "Head our way and drop your Pelicans, we'll be up there before you know it! Net call, net call, all units, it's time to pack it up and ditch this shithole."

Vivian was conferring with her officers when Jasmine came onto the bridge. The former was relieved to see her.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"The ride was a little bumpy," Jasmine joked, but to Vivian it was evident she had been shaken. "I heard what happened. I guess the inevitable happened."

"Yes."

Jasmine offered a smile, "I bet that's a load off."

Vivian snorted, "I'll be at ease when we get those men up here and we jump from this system."

"Um, commander?" Koroma said slowly, "I just received a transmission from commander of the garrison. He asking if we have a Medium Fusion Destructive Device."

Vivian blinked, "What do they need with a nuke?"

* * *

" _She took command of the bridge like she'd been doing it her whole life."_

 _-First Lieutenant Gabriel Bassot, on_

 _Commander Waters in 2541_

* * *

So, this chapter was a lot of dialog and fast paced at the end. My apologies. But I just wanted to get through the description of the ship and a portion of the crew to tantalize you readers but to get some tedious background info out now so it'll be easier to reference later.

As I said above, I wanted to respond to some comments. I honestly do try to respond to comments, it just takes me some time because I'm busy and goal-orientated with the story. But yes, I try to respond, so here it goes:

NathanHale2: The only good Innie is a dead Innie, am-I-right? *high five* Actually, I will give you a quick teaser and say we haven't seen the last of the Innies in this story, so keep your eyes peeeled.

Qrs-jg: Thank you very much for your kind feedback. It's always greatly appreciated to hear that as a write, I can't thank you enough. I'll admit, it was seeing your comment that made me go, "Okay, I gotta get my ass back in gear and get writing again," so really, thank you for giving me that kick in the butt. Appreciate it.

Guest 22: The goal of having Frost do these outrageous things was to capture something we haven't seen in the games, which are marines being badasses. Marines are underappreciated badasses, and as set up quite clearly by the extended universe through comics and novels, marines are quite capable of doing tremendous things in combat. So, through Frost I wanted to show that marines are capable of grand feats. But yeah, he is a little MC? As a teaser, I will say we'll catch a glimpse of the Chief in the story, in the faaaar future. But thanks for your comment, I hope you come back to see more.

As always, thank you very much for stopping by and reading. If you're a fan of the story, please feel free to land a comment, I'll be sure to respond to it in the next chapter. Thank you, I appreciate you guys.


	6. Chapter 6: Aftermath

Hey all, thanks for stopping in. Just wanted to remind folks that I do respond to comments, so if anyone's left a comment since my last upload, you'll find my response in the description at the end of the chapter (talking about you Alpha HighBreed). There also might be a lot of spelling and grammar issues in this one, sorry for that, I'm really scrambling to get this chapter up and there won't be enough time in the near future to edit it. Anyways, here we go, enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Six: Aftermath

* * *

Men were screaming, moaning, and sobbing. There splashes of blood on the walls and pools on the floor. Jasmine Ebrahimi walked slowly in between the two rows of cots, one on either side of the medical bay, documenting the wounded on her datapad.

The majority of the wounded were Army troopers. All were filthy and bloodied. Many had plasma burns that had turned their flesh black. A few of the troopers' armor was melted onto their skin and there was a sickening tear as they were pulled off. There were soldiers without hands, others without legs; one man had lost both eyes.

Jasmine looked at all of them. One soldier was screaming, holding his burned forearms. As she passed, Jasmine could feeling the searing pain on her own arm, and shuddered. Another man's gut had been opened up by one of the crystalline rounds from a Needler. She wanted to keel over, imagining the agony of her own entrails spilling out. A third soldier she saw had a hole through both cheeks; a Needler round had pierced one side and exited the other. He sat there, expressionless, as tears rolled down his cheeks as a pair of specialists treated the wound. Jasmine shut her eyes, feeling the burn of the crystal in her face. Her legs felt like they were made of stone as she roamed down the aisle in the middle of the coats. She could feel the soldiers' suffering, feel their wounds as if they were own, and it took all of her energy to fight it.

Nurses, doctors, and even a few of the combat medics streamed past her. Their clothing was dyed a dark red. They did their work without fuss or without faltering. Jasmine was proud. And sad. Sad that these poor men had gone through what they did. It was amazing to her that any survived.

As she neared the edge of the row, she saw man sitting quite calmly. He was a marine. He was covered with dirt and soot, his armor was a burned husk, and he had several wounds. His forearms were wrapped in dirty bandages, he had a black bandanna tied around one arm, and there was a splint on his right ankle. Yet he sat there, lying back as if he were relaxing on a beach. He had taken off his gloves and his hands, folded together, were resting on his stomach. His helmet was beside him.

Jasmine walked up, "You look awfully at ease for a wounded man."

The marine, who had his eyes closed, opened one, then grinned kindly from the corner of his mouth.

"Calm is all I can be, in a hellhole like this," was his answer. Jasmine couldn't help but smirk. He was too right.

A nurse came up, but Jasmine waved her away, "I'll take care of him."

"Pardon me, ma'am, but there are more fellas a lot more wounded than I am that could use your attention," the marine said politely.

Jasmine felt moved. What kind of presence of mind did this man have to send a doctor away when he needed attention?

"I assure you we're doing everything we can. My staff and I have everything under control. We need to change your dressings."

The marine blinked, and looked at his bandaged forearms, where Jasmine had gestured. "Oh," he murmured, "I nearly forgot about those. I was here for my ankle."

Ignoring the fact that a marine had _forgotten_ there he was wounded, Jasmine carefully began the task of unravelling the dirty bandages from his forearms. The amount of time he had spent in the battle had reduced them to blood stained rags. They revealed several cuts on either arm, but upon inspection none of them were deep. She applied antiseptic and then re-dressed the wounds with fresh, stark white bandages. Next, she untied the bandana, which the marine wished to keep. This wound was somewhat deeper, but not a threat to the artery located in the right bicep. She cleaned it, stitched it, and then added a bandage to keep the wound from being disturbed.

Finally, she pulled up a stool and sat at the foot of the bed.

"What's your name, marine?"

"Corporal Frost. Sergeant actually, I just got promoted. Sort of, anyways."

"Congratulations," Jasmine said absentmindedly as she untied his boots. She glanced up and saw that the marine, Frost, looked lost in thought. "Something that matter?"

"Nothing. Just trying to think about other things," he said.

Jasmine studied him for a moment. He was a young man with light brown hair and a closely trimmed beard. He had a few scars and icy gray eyes. She found it amusing that his eye color matched his name.

"Have you been wounded before?"

"Oh, definitely. But they were much worse.

"I can imagine," Jasmine said solemnly.

"I'm just glad I don't have to get another Purple Heart. Three's enough."

Jasmine chuckled, and the marine, Frost, smiled wide. She noticed a gap in his smile; behind his right canine tooth, he was missing the first premolar.

"How'd that happen?" she asked, pointing at his missing tooth.

Sergeant Frost raised an eyebrow, then nodded, "My missing tooth? Two years ago we were on an Outer Colony planet defending an evac, and we got overrun by this squad of Elites. One of the jumped over the barricade I was at took a swing at me. I ducked, but when I came back up he already had another coming, and his fist slammed my jaw so hard I thought all my teeth came out!" he laughed, then said, "and I as I fell backwards, I saw my tooth flying away from me."

He laughed, but Jasmine was a little disturbed. She coughed and said, "Well, we are outfitted for dental care on the ship. I'm sure we can make a replacement for you."

"That'd be swell."

Jasmine continued her work. She removed the splint and tape, the boot, and his sock. There had been a ridiculous expectation that his foot would smell of sweat and body odor, but the stench of blood and burned flesh filling the bay was too overpowering. The foul stink was something she had never prepared herself for. Several times she had wanted to vomit.

Even thinking about it made her want to wretch, and she coughed to keep what little food she had eaten down.

She carefully applied some pressure to his ankle, feeling the bone.

"There are no physical deformities and no signs of a break. Did you hear a crack?"

"I think so, maybe. Might have been like a crunch. I'm not sure."

"It's probably a small fracture then. How'd it happen?"

Frost sat up a little, "I was in charge of the team tasked to set up the MFDD. We tried to exfiltrate through an opening in roof at the HQ. But we almost got hit by fire from a fuel rod gun and we ended up falling back down through the opening. When I landed, my foot was caught in the wreckage."

"You were part of that team?" Jasmine asked, surprised, "we should examine you in case you caught any radiation."

"We were well out of range before the nuke went off, do you think it's really necessary?"

Jasmine looked at the marine for a moment. It was clear that he wanted to leave, despite his placid demeanor. While she practiced caution when it came to her work, she decided that the man had been through enough for one day.

"I suppose you should be alright, then."

"Thank you," he grunted, "but do I have to get a cast?"

"A cast would be the best option, and that you stay off it for at least two weeks to allow it heal properly. But I gather you're not the type to sit around."

Frost chuckled kindly, "No, ma'am, I'm not."

Jasmine smiled, "I'll tape it, then. And just try and stay off it as best you can."

She retrieved some more kinesiology tape and wrapped it up sufficiently. Frost sat up and looked at his foot. He then looked up at Jasmine, questioningly, "Two weeks?"

"Two weeks," Jasmine replied.

Frost seemed to sag a bit, "I'll give it a shot. Not the first time I messed up my ankle"

Just then, another marine walked up. He was as dirty as Frost, had a mustache, thick blonde hair, and an English accent.

He looked Frost up and down, "You alright, mate?"

"Yeah. I'm patched up thanks to doctor..."

"Dr. Jasmine," she answered.

"Dr. Jasmine," Frost answered, "thank you."

Frost looked back at the marine, "Gotta take it easy on the ankle. Can you give me a hand?"

The second marine picked up Frost's boot, sock, and helmet, then allowed his friend to lean on him as he half walked, half hopped from the medical bay. Jasmine watched the pair leave, going down the aisle of pained soldiers, still wailing. She cleaned her hands and then retrieved her datapad. Treating Frost had been a respite from bloodshed around her. Now she had to return to her rounds.

* * *

Vivian stepped aside as a pair of marines hobbled out of the door. One was hopping on one foot, the other supporting him. She recognized them as part of the men who had stayed to place the nuke. Vivian made a mental note to speak to them later. She sighed, not wanting to go in. But she went through the doorway. Immediately, she wanted to vomit. There was blood everywhere and the air was filled with an orchestra of pained voices.

Quickly, she regained her composure and walked briskly down the aisle. She found Jasmine towards the end, registering more patients into her datapad.

"Things look really bad in here," she said as she walked up beside her friend.

"They could be worse. We've estimated the Army garrison are at fifty-five percent casualties," Jasmine said.

"And the marines?"

"Less than five percent."

"The Army took the brunt of it. And these marines must be as good as Travers said they'd be."

Vivian looked apprehensively over her shoulder at the wounded men. Some cried for their mothers, others for water. Their groans and agonies were never ending.

Jasmine had many stray strands in her ponytail, and her tan skin glistened with sweat, but she seemed less unruffled than Vivian. The latter inhaled and exhaled to quash the nausea building up in her belly.

"We've enacted the Cole Protocol and made a successful jump," Vivian said, "we're going to make another slipspace jump soon, this time to Reach."

"Reach? Why Reach?"

Reach was the largest military stronghold in the entire colony system. Originally colonized for its rich titanium deposits, it developed into a massive shipyard. Nearly four hundred million troops of the various branches were stationed on the surface plus an array of orbital MAC cannons and one of the largest fleets in the entire UNSC located there. Several branches kept their headquarters on the planet. There were countless airports, orbital stations, and multiple space elevators. It was the symbol of UNSC military might.

"Reach will be the best place for us to reorganize and repair any damage to the ship. The marines need to be rearmed and what's left of the Army personnel need to disembark."

Jasmine nodded. Vivian hoped that she hadn't sounded callous. She recognized they weren't a part of the mission, and Reach could take better care of them than her.

"What's more, "Vivian continued, "Captain Oswald needs to be turned over to the proper authorities. After that, we wait for his replacement."

Vivian sighed, looking over her shoulder at the wounded.

Jasmine, who had noticed, said, "You made the right call. If you hadn't arrested him, none of these men would have survived. And if he had managed to get us to jump without enacting the Cole Protocol, he could have led the Covenant straight to one of our colonies. The evidence against him is overwhelming."

Jasmine was right, Vivian admitted. The punishment for violating or attempting to violate the Cole Protocol was severe: life imprisonment or death. It was something Vivian didn't take lightly.

"I need to head to the bridge and make sure all of the other ships are ready to make the jump."

"How long will the journey take?"

"About a week."

"A lot of these men haven't been finished being treated. Many are in surgery or pending surgery. We've already fired up the flash-cloning lab to replace organs. My assessment is that the wounded shouldn't enter the cryo-chambers. We need to stabilize and monitor them."

"Agreed. Seeing as how the journey is only seven days and we'll be re-stocked with provisions at Reach anyways, I'm not going to order anybody into cryo-preservation. It should give the marines and the crew a chance to wind down from this mess. If you need anything, let me know."

Jasmine nodded appreciatively. Vivian turned on her heel, made her way down the aisle, and then out the door.

She was glad she hadn't thrown up. Now, as the acting captain, she had an image to maintain. This was no time to appear weak or squeamish. As Vivian walked down the long corridors, crewmen were walking past her. There was an air of excitement, nervousness, and confusion. When they saw her, they would salute and appear calmer, more relaxed. Some stopped to ask what was going on, and Vivian explained the situation to them fully. Whether it was an officer or an enlisted man, Vivian remained honest and forward. She refused to hold any details about what had happened back. Although she was unsure, the crew seemed to appreciate it. They would thank her and return to their duties. Some were energized by her presence just as she walked by. She would greet them, wave, return salutes, and check on every individual or group that appeared lost or dazed.

It was hard on them just as it was on her. Everyone had their misgivings about Oswald, right down to the lowest ranks on the ships. Still, their very first mission had gone awry with the enemy attack on Ambition and the Captain breaking at the first sign of trouble. This hadn't been what they wanted. Their mission was to be aggressive and their Captain instead was a coward. Now, the weight of his shame was on their shoulders.

Vivian felt herself growing angrier as she checked on the crew.

"What happened on the bridge was between the Captain and myself," she said to one group, "don't blame yourselves for his actions. All of you performed well and I'm proud of you."

Everybody smiled when she said something of that nature to them. It made her angrier. These good sailors. They were brave, loyal, and determined. And their Captain had failed them, and now they were depending on her.

Vivian turned abruptly from the elevator to the bridge and boarded another. When she exited, she found herself in Security.

The ship's security usually fell to a mixed contingent of sailors and marines. As the marines had only just embarked, the ODSTs had been fulfilling that role along with a group of Navy personnel. Their facility was made up of a single, wide control room with a large data screens, computers, and camera feeds. There were some office rooms and a lounge as well.

One of the security personnel, dressed in black, stood up at the sight of her.

"Commander Waters, are you here to see Major Holst?  
Holst had been given the position of Chief of Security on top of his duties as the commander of the ODSTs. Vivian had made the recommendation to Oswald herself; Holst was a veteran and a war hero, and he seemed to juggle both responsibilities splendidly.

"No, take me to the brig."

The operative led her through one of the doors on the far side of the room. It led into a small room occupied by a desk, a terminal with a clerk behind it, and a pair of ODSTs guarding the door into the largest cell. On either side of the door was a thick window, where one could see into the cell. There were a dozen wall-mounted cots and a single toilet. Oswald was seated on one of the beds, his tunic still unbuttoned and his entire uniform unkempt.

The ODSTs stood at attention.

"At ease," Vivian said, "I'd like to speak to Captain Oswald in private."

"Yes, ma'am."

The ODSTs and the clerk left. Vivian peered through the glass. Oswald was still in his bedraggled outfit, sitting on one of the cots in the cell. He seemed to be staring off into space.

She pressed a button on the sill of the window, activating the intercom.

"Captain Oswald?"

The old man quickly look her way, then shambled over to the window.

"I'll have you know that when we reach the authorities, you'll be the one in this cell, not me!"

It was the first time he had ever spoken with any authority. Vivian remained silent. Unable to solicit a reaction, he continued, "I have friends in the upper echelon of the UNSC. Powerful friends, friends who could strip you of your rank. They could dishonorably discharge you or even throw you in prison! All I have to do is snap my fingers and you'll be behind bars!"

Vivian said nothing. Oswald shook with anger momentarily, then approaching the window.

"I'll make you a deal, yes a deal!" he said skittishly like a mouse, "If you let me out and don't tell anyone what happened, I'll forget what you did. Yes, I will. I promise."

"You're not in a position to make any deals," Vivian answered.

"Of course I do, I have powerful friends-"

"No, you don't," Vivian interrupted, "not anymore. As far as I'm concerned, you're not longer a part of the UNSC Navy. You're a cowardly son of a bitch who's more concerned about his own skin than that of his crew."

Oswald trembled where he stood and huffed, "You can't speak to me like that, I-"

"Yes I can," said Vivian, "I just did. You're in a cell, I'm not. I can speak to you however I wish. And you'll listen to what I have to say, unless you want me to bound your hands to your feet."

The aging officer didn't utter another word. Vivian inhaled sharply, "Why? Why did you accept this position? This project, this ship, are designated for offensive behavior. One way or another, we would have engaged the Covenant eventually. Why did you even bother accepting if you were just going to turn tail and run?"

Oswald's look softened, and he sadly went over to cot he had been on and sat down. He seemed to shrink.

"I was recommended early on, before the project was even fully approved. Travers was adamant that I be disregarded, but my friend who chose me resisted. I wanted to back down, but there was no budging. Eventually, I just stopped arguing. It felt...rewarding, in some way, to be selected for a project of this nature. And the ship was incredible, just like Admiral Cole's. I imagined myself being just like him, on the bride of my own _Valiant_ -class vessel. But, honestly, I never though the project would be greenlighted, which was fine by me. So, I enjoyed the prestige of this daring project thinking it would never leave the ground. And it did, and I couldn't back out.

He sighed, then glared at Vivian, "I'll admit that I am a coward. But I've been in battles before, did my best to fight. But I saw too many ships disintegrate into dust with all hands on board. I didn't want to die. I still don't want to die. So, when I came onto the bridge and I heard there were Covenant ships, yes, I wanted to run. Can you blame me for that?"

Vivian bristled, "I can. You were willing to let thousands of men die."

Oswald's eyes flitted downwards, and he said, "I was terrified. I didn't want to die. I just wanted to be known, wanted to be important. I never thought the project would be accepted. I never wanted any of this, I just wanted..."

"To be important," Vivian finished bitterly, "you're pathetic. You think there's glory in this war? We're fighting for our survival. I guess you just wanted to ride on the curtails of those who do the real fighting, and share the hero's welcome when you go home."

The old man said nothing in return. Vivian continued, "I want you to understand the consequences of your action. You chose to abandon a besieged garrison, displayed cowardice in the line of duty, and violated the Cole Protocol. Mr. Oswald, you will be tried at a military court, you will be found guilty, and the proper punishment will be levied against you. You could spend the rest of your life in prison or be executed"

Oswald came right up against the glass, putting his hands against it, "I, I was wrong! I know that! I was just trying to get away, I forgot about the damn Protocol-"

"Then you have no business in the Navy."

"How can you let this happen to me?"

Vivian wanted to snap then and there. She wanted to open the cell and pummel him. Still, he considered himself the victim. He simply refused to accept the responsibility of his actions. How could this man live with himself?

She took a step closer to the viewing glass, "I stand by my actions. Whatever punishment you get, my conscious is clear. You've shamed this crew, and your actions could have seen over five thousand men die."

With her anger satisfied, Vivian stormed away. Oswald's wails and sobs were cut off by the doors sliding shut.

Vivian arrived on the bridge. All of the officers were still at their stations, checking their systems and filing reports. When she stepped up to the captain's chair, Bassot stood up from his seat. He saluted sharply.

"Commander Waters," he said, "I'd just like to say on behalf of everyone present that we think you did the right thing removing Captain Oswald. We're all willing to testify against him and support you."

All of the officers stood up as he said this, saluting.

"If they try to turn this around on you, ma'am, we've got your back," Koroma added.

Vivian stared at all of the officers saluting her. They offered smiles and expressions of pride. She felt honored. After nearly fourteen days, a few conversations, and one defiant act, they held her in the highest esteem. They respected her, trusted her. The entire crew did. As far as they were concerned, she had saved thousands of lives, turned a defeat in a successful escape, and prevented the crew from being humiliated.

"Thank you," she murmured, thank cleared her throat. "You all performed excellently in a terrible situation and I'm proud of you all. But I can't ask you to risk your positions on the ship by sticking your necks out for me. If the brass thinks I'm at fault, that's just the way it turns out. Furthermore, I want to make it clear that the Cole Protocol is law. I expect you to take the necessary actions to see that it is always upheld, no matter what."

"Yes, ma'am!" came the resounding response.

Vivian nodded, then took a seat in the captain's chair. The others returned to their work immediately.

"Decatur, situation report."

The AI appeared in an instant, "UNSC _Burnside_ and her pickets are in formation with us. We were also able to contact the fleet carrying the replacement unit for the 89th MEU before they entered the system. They're already heading back to Reach."

"Then we're hot on their heels,

"Madam, Captain Hugh sent a message asking if you would like him to come aboard for a gam."

Vivian's nose wrinkled. She held the man in contempt for refusing to help the marines. "Denied. Tell him we have no time for idle chatter. Set coordinates for Reach and begin the slipspace jump."

"Very well, madam,"

"All hands, this is Commander Waters. We are initiating the slipspace and heading to Reach. It will be a week long journey but we are not activating the cryo-preservation chambers. Continue on with your duties."

"Coordinates set, engaging," Sosa said stoically."

Vivian watched as a massive blue-white rupture appeared in front of the _I'm Alone_. It was circular, white in the center, blue on the edges. The slipspace rupture seemed to swirl in a counter-clockwise motion, with tendrils and wisps hanging off of its edge. The _I'm Alone_ plunged inside, and soon Vivian was confronted with a strange looking world of black and purple as far as she could see. Her ship seemed to travel forth an unimaginable speed. Directly ahead of it was a white, aqua, and golden colored mass, with a dozen more colors appearing and disappearing every few moments. It was not unlike the rupture that had appeared a moment ago, but it was different, as if moving in the same direction as the _I'm Alone_ , always just out of reach. It rippled and flow almost like water. Streaks of gold parted from it and disappeared out of view on either side of the ship.

"All systems nominal, the jump was successful. We'll be at Reach in a week's time," Sosa said, emotionless.

"Good," Vivian said flatly, gazing into eleven dimensional space. After some time, she suddenly felt exhausted. She pinched the bridge of her nose. Ever since she had taken command, she had been on edge. Her heart and her mind were constantly racing. She had been going all over the ship during the evacuation, directing troops to their quarters and checking on the crew. Vivian felt as though she were mad.

She rose to her feet, "Bassot, I'm giving you the bridge. If anything comes up, I'll be in my cabin."

"Yes, ma'am."

Vivian's cabin was nothing special. One would imagine that the Executive Officer's space would be at least somewhat more luxurious than the other rooms. Of course, it was a step up from the average XO's cabin. On a normal starship, the room would be as small as a cupboard, with a cot built into the wall, complemented by a small desk and a computer. The other furniture would consist of a footlocker, and if an XO was lucky, a nightstand to put some more personal items on. The _I'm Alone's_ XO cabin was larger but not by much, with a military-issue dresser, a wider desk, a larger stand-alone bed, a comfortable chair, and a small bathroom. And of course, a nightstand.

Still, it wasn't a hotel suite. It was still relatively small and confined. Vivian didn't mind. She was a naval officer and she was aboard a warship-as she had told Travers, being comfortable wasn't the priority.

Although she felt on edge in small spaces, she welcomed the room as if it were a suite in a five star hotel. As the door shut behind her, she exhaled as if she had been holding her breath for five hours. Vivian trudged over to the bed and slumped face-first onto it. Her body ached and she finally was able to lower her guard.

That was until she heard a _ding_ from her terminal. Vivian almost groaned. She had received a message.

She plodded over to the terminal, and was surprised to see that it had been sent by the ship's AI, Decatur. Vivian was puzzled; his message was brief, asking for permission to enter. Vivian, curious, responded that he could. A moment later, his hologram appeared on a small pedestal no higher than an inch that was linked to the terminal.

Decatur saluted sharply.

"Madam, I'm sorry to disturb you."

"Is there trouble?'

"No, madam, I was concerned that you were troubled, so I wished to extend some words that may help. That is, if you would allow me."

Smart AI's were different. Vivian had never dealt with one personally before, only the "Dumb" ones. It was somewhat of a heavy term to lay upon them, they could still perform an amazing amount of tasks. Smart AI's could do much more, being created from an individual's own brain. Not to mention they had a little more personality than the Dumb ones.

"Go ahead."

Decatur cleared his throat, which Vivian found humorous for a hologram to do.

"In the year of 1799, I was recruiting men to for one of our ship's in the United States Navy. A man, a mate on a trading vessel, insulted our young Navy. I, myself, thought that this man's words were simply that, words. They could not harm the Navy. So, all I did was remove myself. I did not seek trouble nor did I wish to start any. But my father, oh my father," Decatur chuckled, "he told me that the mate had committed a grave offense against our beloved little Navy. My honor as was the Navy's was at stake, he told me, and demanded that I solicit an apology, or challenge the gentleman to a duel. Well, as it would turn out, the mate did not issue an apology, and a duel commenced. That man was no sailor, and half in his cups, so all I did was wound him in the leg. And with that, the affair was settled. Honor was preserved."

There was a long silence between the commander and the AI. Decatur smiled, "I'm not sure how much correlation my story bears to your action on the bridge, but there are times when officers such as we, must act to preserve the Navy, even it be against fellow seafarers. Captain Oswald dishonored the Navy, but you have restored it. I hope that you do not believe you are in some way wrong in this affair."

Vivian smiled kindly, "No, I don't. Thank you, Decatur."

The AI beamed and bowed, "No, thank you, madam. I understand that when we return to port, there is to be a new captain. Well, I say, if they should consider to ask this old salt of his own recommendation, I will put your name forth!"

Vivian laughed, "Thanks, but I think we'll leave that to the higher ups."

"We shall see, dear commander, we shall see. With your leave, madam, I'll return to my duties."

Vivian couldn't help but laugh again, knowing that the AI was still working while he talked to her. He stood before her, yet his mind touched every part of the ship.

"Very well, you're dismissed."

Decatur bowed, saluted, and then disappeared.

Vivian was smiling as she sat back down on the bed. Suddenly she didn't feel so tired anymore. She decided that she liked the AI. It was one thing to have an entire crew believing in her, but another when a hologram did as well. With that, she set an alarm for two hours, and laid down.

Upon awakening, Vivian decided not to head back to the bridge but continue rounding the ship and checking up on their new passengers. She had learned that a commanding officer should always be present on the bridge, but Vivian didn't agree with that. An officer that remained on the bridge became a ghost, a name that drifted among the lips of the crew and a disembodied voice coming through the intercoms. An officer who didn't show their face, didn't offer their time, didn't deserve to command. Vivian promised herself that as long as she was on board the _I'm Alone_ , she would make herself known to both the crew and the marines, despite her disdain for the latter.

There had been little time to discuss what had occurred on the planet with the marines' commander, so she decided to seek him out. She was directed to the mess hall.

The mess hall was a cavernous room with multiple long rows of tables with benches on either side in the center. Near an observation window on the left side of the hall, if one were coming from the bow and heading to the stern, there were smaller tables with chairs instead of of benches. To the right was the recreation area Travers had outlined. There were several large wall mounted television, a multitude of couches, coffee tables, and chairs bolted to the floor. Below one of the screens were several chests that were filled with movies. On another, there were at least three different video game consoles set up, with at least two dozen controllers. Small storage containers filled with board games were located among the furniture. Behind some of the couches were short bookcases made of metal. Upon first exploring the mess hall, she had been glad to see that they had physical books of paper and leather, instead of terminals with the digitized versions of them. A few recreational computers where sailors and soldiers alike could send messages home if they were close to a communications outpost or a colony world. And beyond that were the contained areas Travers had designated as smoking lounges; they were a few doors that led to the rooms. Vivian had peered inside during their journey to Ambition and saw that the rooms had tables, couches, and chairs, much like the main recreation area.

Walking into the mess hall, she realized the smoking lounges had been a waste of space. A horde of marines and G.I's were all over the hall, sitting at the tables, in the recreation area, even on the floors. They were mangy, filthy, and almost half seemed to be smoking. Vivian couldn't blame them; regulations seemed pointless after a battle, she assumed. Troops were shoveling food into their mouth and guzzling water. She could see the men behind the central counter scrambling to fill food trays as the line of hungry soldiers grew longer.

Vivian offered the mess hall as a rally point of sorts for uninjured troops, so that they could rest, regroup, and then be sent to their accommodations. The sailors she had assigned to the task looked as though they wanted to pull their hair out as they tried to piece squad-based units back together and send them to their cabins.

The noise of hundreds, thousands, of men chattering was almost deafening, and the cigarette smoke appalling to the nostrils. Vivian made her way through the crowds. She spotted a large man barking orders and point in every direction.

"Colonel Hayes?" she said loudly as she approached.

"Commander Waters!" he bellowed. The two saluted one another, then shook hands. Hayes' grip was like iron and Vivian did her best not to wince.

"How are your men?" she asked.

"Tired but sure as hell happy to be on your ship," the big half-Russian answered with a grin. He gave her a clap on the shoulder that almost knocked Vivian over. "That was some damn nice flying by the way. I tell you, that took some brass balls. That was a glorious sight, watching your ship come cutting through the clouds and taking out those corvettes. Damn good!"

"Thank you, Colonel," Vivian said. She felt dwarfed by his presence. He seemed to have so much energy. Hayes was tall and muscular, always standing with his hands on his hips. His jaw was huge and his smile was wide.

"Thanks for getting us out of there, we would have been toast. I have a half a mind to beat that Captain Hugh to a pulp when we arrive at Reach."

"You're not the only one," Vivian muttered, gazing into the swarms of soldiers around her.

Hayes laughed, throwing his head back, "I bet you whoop his fat-ass in no time flat! Oh, I meant to ask you something. I have some men I want to decorate. Do you think we could hold a little ceremony here in the mess hall?"

Vivian sighed and shook her head.

"Sorry Colonel, but I think that should wait until we are on Reach. Right now, my priority is to make sure the wounded are treated and that your men are rested."

Hayes was disappointed and didn't bother to hide it. Vivian felt sorry for him. She knew there were men deserving of an award, but it didn't seem right to have one while there were so many men in the infirmary. As well, it felt out of place, since she was only the acting captain, and the real one was in the brig.

The big marine nodded, "Yeah, I think you're right."

"My men deserve to be awarded," said an officer in an Army uniform as he walked up to the pair.

"Your men will be given their dues," Hayes said sternly, "but you and I are having a discussion as soon as time permits, Melendez."

The lieutenant colonel, Melendez, glared at him, "My troops could have handled the situation."

"Oh really? That's the thanks my marines get from you?" Hayes growled angrily. Melendez was good looking man despite his apparent fatigue and battered armor. But Vivian didn't like his voice or the words he spoke. There was an air of pompousness around him that she didn't trust.

"My troops fought bravely-"

"They did, and a lot of them died because they were out on a pointless exercise on open grounds that got them ambushed."

Melendez stiffened, "my men-"

"Just shut up. I'm in command of the infantry forces on this ship, not you. You answer to me, and we both answer to the commander. Now piss off."

Melendez marched away. Vivian watched him, perturbed.

"Asshole. Only known him for a little bit and I know his type. He likes to put on shows. I'll give him this, he fought with his men and helped come up with the idea to nuke the base. But he oughtn't be in command."

"Lotta that going around," Vivian said, absently. Hayes chuckled.

"Heard about that Oswald fellow. What's in store for him?"

"He'll be turned over to the military authorities and court martialed."

Hayes grunted. "He's a dead man. No one breaks the Cole Protocol and gets away with their life unless they put them behind bars. May be a Navy doctrine, but the Protocol is one of the most important rules in the book. Nothing's more important than protecting Earth. That's why we detonated that damn nuke down there, so they wouldn't find a trace."

Vivian glared at him sharply, "Earth _and_ her colonies," she corrected.

Hayes laughed, though not as loud as before. He leaned in closer, saying, "all of my men are from Earth, and so am I. We value home a little bit more than everywhere else."

She couldn't blame them for that. They were human, after all. Men would fight tooth and nail for other people's' planets, but in the end, it was for their home. Earth. Lots of people Vivian had met over the years were not from Earth, but they talked about it like they were. In a way, Earth was home to everyone. All the colonists there ever were could trace their family lines back to Earth. Even Vivian could. But she didn't share the affection for the blue-green rock as many others did. Colonies were burning every hour. There were hardly any Outer Colony worlds left. The fringe of Inner Colony space was beginning to be attacked. Their livelihoods meant more to her than Earth did, so many light years away from it all. As Hayes departed to attend another matter, Vivian left for the engine room. She tried not let what he had said affect her, but in the end, she couldn't help but feel insulted.

The chief engineer, Lieutenant Commander Burgess-Chief Burgie, as his staff called him-was one of the few who didn't bring up Oswald. Vivian was glad for it; the less he came up in conversation the better. It was beginning to bother her. She made her way to the stern to ask how the reactors had held up, and Chief Burgie was excited to tell her that they had exceeded every expectation. Not once, he said, had they been overtasked, during the descent to Ambition, when she diverted power to charge the MAC guns, or during their slipspace jumps. They were solid. He commended her on the destruction of the second corvette's engines. She inquired how a single MAC was enough to disable the ship's engines. Burgess explained that corvette's of that type were the small vessels in the Covenant's navy. They didn't have the armor or shield technology their their capital ships possessed. As such, their shields weren't strong enough for a close range MAC round, especially an experimental one that was designed for piercing. And with the ship being so small, the armor lacking especially in the rear, its internal machinery and components were much closer together, hence the chain reaction. Vivian pondered if this meant all Covenant ships' armor and shields were weaker in the stern. Burgess couldn't confirm or deny this, and the pair decided that they would look into it further if it was possible.

She liked Chief Burgie. He was a middle-aged man descended from Aboriginal Australians, although he had been born on Roost. He was friendly, often smiling, and beloved by the engineers. He was talented too; he explained that he had made some modifications to the reactors himself, against the wishes of the science team. He had been able to increase their power output a bit further, showing up the science team who reluctantly accepted his tinkering. Vivian asked about the scientists, and Chief Burgie wrote them off as recluses consumed with their work. "They hardly come out of their lab. I don't think I've ever seen one eat," he had said.

Vivian decided not to bother checking on the science team. They seemed less concerned about the situation on the bridge or of the evacuation that had taken place than with their experimental reactors and weaponry. If they hadn't bothered to poke their heads out, she assumed they were working. That was good enough for her.

The commander spent the next few hours touring the ship, checking on the crew as she had done before. The mess hall began to empty out. There were less men in the corridors. The excitement was dying down and life was returning to normal, albeit slowly.

Vivian decided to check on the armory. She was certain that it would be empty, yet she never reached it. As she came to the corner leading into the corridor to the armory, she could hear two voices. One was defensive and angry, the other collected by accusing. Against her better judgment, Vivian paused at the corner and peered quickly around the corner.

The two leaders of the ODST's, Major Holst and Captain De Vos, were standing outside the armory door. They were both still in their dark green armor, save for their helmets. Holst had sandy blonde hair and the beginnings of a beard. His blue eyes were dark and sinister. Vivian was glad to have a man with his background on board but she was always uneasy around him. Looking into CSV earlier on the voyage, she had seen in recent reports that he was prone to anger and behavior unbecoming of an officer. This stemmed from some altercations with superiors, over what, the dossier did not say. Still, she hadn't a single problem from him while she presided over the bridge when they left Earth, and he had done everything she had asked of him when she took command.

"What do you mean I made a fool of myself?" he said sharply.

"Sir, I didn't say that. What I'm trying to get across is that it wasn't the best idea to insult the marine's when we handed over the MFDD."

"Insult? I don't think it was an insult. I was just trying to offer that we could take their place instead of them."

De Vos shrugged slightly, "I understand, perhaps insult was too strong of a word. But they will take it that way and they'll hold it against you. Word will spread among the marines. Having that animosity between the two units will harm unit cohesion and joint operations."

Vivian had previously sized De Vos up as a "yes man" type, but had been a little too quick to judge. De Vos never failed an order, whether it come from Vivian or Holst. She was dedicated to her superiors but possessed a keen mind that just wasn't for tactics. She knew more than she let own, Vivian figured. And from what she heard, she was one hell of a soldier. "She breathes ODST," she heard someone say of the orange haired trooper. Even her eyes possessed the same olive drab color of her armor.

"Marines and ODSTs have never gotten along," Holst said with a dismissive wave of his hand, "they might be a little rough when we're on the ship but on the ground they'll do fine."

"I have confidence in both our troopers and the 89th, but if we burn too many bridges with them, they won't have any to cross if we need their help on the ground."

"Eloquently put, Captain," Holst said sarcastically, "and how would you go about forging better relations with them? Should I go apologize to them on my hands and knees? Beg them to forgive one little comment?"

"No, sir. But avoiding such remarks in the future might be a good approach."

"They may have been a bunch of child soldiers, but they're big boys now, they have some sand, they can handle one itty-bitty mean joke."

Vivian decided to walk around the corner. Both Holst and De Vos spun in her direction and snapped to attention; Vivian noted that De Vos had been faster.

"Captain Waters, ma'am," the XO said.

Vivian returned the salute, "At ease. How are the ODSTs?"

"Just fine, commander," Holst answer, "my team did well on the ground. When all of my ODSTs drop into the next hot zone, the Covenant will wish they never met us."

Vivian nodded, "Good to hear."

De Vos spoke up next, "I'd like to note that many, myself included, appreciate the bravery of the men who stayed behind to place the MFDD. They could have lost their lives in a dozen different ways, but they were all able to make it."

De Vos was Belgian, and her quiet voice possessed a minor accent. Despite her quiet nature, Vivian noted that whenever she spoke, she did it with much great reason and diplomacy.

"All of the troops on the ground were brave, those few especially," Vivian agreed.

Holst snorted, "suicidal more likely."

For a moment, De Vos glared at the major, but she hid it quickly. Changing topics, De Vos said, "Captain Oswald will be court martialed, yes?"

"Yes," Vivian said for the upteenth time."

"Poor sod," Holst said.

De Vos looked over at him, surprised, "Poor sod? Sir, he would have broke the Cole Protocol and left those men to die."

"He was wrong," Holst explained, "but it's a poor fate to be executed or imprisoned by your own people."

The major cleared his throat, "Commander, some of the ODSTs are a little shaken by the change in command."

"I've spoken with some," Vivian said, "I've explained what Captain Oswald did, and that this matter is between me and him. I won't have the crew take any blame for what happened."

"Still, it could have some consequences for the project."

"I will deal with that. Don't worry, major."

The look he gave her was one of unfaithfulness, but De Vos nodded approvingly. Vivian took her leave, deciding to leave the armory. De Vos had reminded her of her mental note, and decided to search for the marines she had greeted in the hanger earlier.

The barracks was a long stretch of barren looking steel hallways with door after door on either side. Most were open, however, and as Vivian searched for the marines in question, she saw that many were settling in. Many marines were already out of their battle armor, others were in towels, having utilized the showers as soon as they had seen them. There wasn't much to unpack; she overheard some of the marines' officers saying that'd have to transfer their personal belongings from the _Burnside_ once they made it to Reach. Still, they made themselves at home. She spotted more than one marine lying face down on their bed, snoring away. Others were even smiling, chewing fat with their friends. Many were in the hallways conversing with friends in other squads. To think, less than a day earlier, the halls and the rooms had been entirely empty.

Vivian felt an air of brotherhood among them. She had seen marines fresh out of basic before together. They were highly trained but raw. It was as if they didn't know their place in the world and were unsure of themselves as well as their companions. But these marines were different. They moved so easily around one another, talked to each other like friends on a high school yard. Everybody seemed to know everybody. To an extent, it was almost refreshing. City life was the closest thing to compare them to. There was a great deal of bustling and chatter, but a sense of knowing and togetherness. Walking down the hall, listening to the voices and feeling their excited clamor, Vivian was reminded of nights on Lionel City's streets.

She came across some chatting troopers, asked for direction, and was directed to room B100. After a few more minutes of walking, she found the room and walked into the doorway. The marines were spaced across the room. A few were in the chairs, the others sitting or lying on their beds. One was taking off his battle armor.

For a moment they didn't notice her. The squad leader was lying back on his bed while the mustached companion from earlier was sitting at his feet, untying his boots.

"I'm not a cripple, I can untie my own boots," the squad leader grumbled as he ate from a mess hall tray.

"Just take it easy," said his English companion, "you're banged up enough."

A tall German fellow finally looked her way and stood up, "Officer on deck."

Everyone jumped their feet and saluted, even the hobbled squad leader.

"At ease," Vivian said quickly before he could stand. The men slowly returned to their seats.

"How can we help you, commander?" asked the squad leader.

"I just wanted to check on you all," Vivian said, entering the room, "is there anything you need?"

The room smelled of sweat and soot. Vivian tried to ignore it.

"We're all green and mean, ma'am," said one of them, a plucky American with a big smile.

"Have you all gotten something to eat?" she asked.

"We grabbed some chow at the mess hall," said a Scotsman.

"Good. Well, if you need anything, just let me know."

"Thank you, ma'am," said the squad leader, flashing a smile that was missing a tooth. Vivian smiled back. Her grievances with the Marine Corps as a whole aside, she was humbled by these men. They didn't ask for much and continued on with their lives as if they hadn't just stayed behind to set off a nuke. They had been ready to sacrifice everything, just to ensure the Covenant wouldn't find anymore planets or their homeworld.

"You all did one hell of a thing today," she said, "not many would have volunteered for something like that. It might not be much, but I'd like to say that I admire your courage and I'm proud to call you comrades. Thank you. "

It didn't feel like a profound thing to say, but Vivian meant it. The marines stared back in silence, their faces betraying only a hint of pride in her words.

The squad leader put his tray aside and stood up.

"That means a lot, ma'am. Thank you. And thank you for getting us out of that hell hole; if it weren't for you, we'd be corpses now."

Vivian bowed her head for a moment, then went to the door, "I'd like you men to rest, now. Again, if you need anything at all, please feel free to tell me."

* * *

"Again, if you need anything at all, please feel free to tell me."

Frost was surprised by the commander's appearance in their cabin. Out of everybody who congratulated them and thanked them, her words were the most touching. She seemed to understand what they had done, in a way.

She was a slight young woman, his age by the looks of her. Her skin was of a light, fading tan. She was fairly slight, with a somewhat long, heart shaped faced. She had slightly thin, narrow pink lips. Her hair was a dirty blonde, nearing brown, done up in a military regulation bun. Frost noticed her eyes were a sparkling emerald and were piercing even in the causal state she was in.

"Thank you, commander," Frost said again. Commander Waters nodded, and with a smile, departed.

The marines stared at the door.

"Well, that was very nice," Knight said. The others agreed.

Over the past five years, Frost had spent a great deal of time on starships. This marked the first time a ship's commanding officer had taken the time to come to their quarters and speak to them. He thought very highly of them, but this XO was different. For a few bit, he wasn't sure how to place it. Perhaps it was that she had instantly given them respect, rather than treat them with a cold distance that many starship officers had towards marines.

"We owe her a lot," Frost said, his admiration cemented.

* * *

" _It took a lot to not call her captain during that trip back to Reach,"_

 _-L.C. "Chief Burgie" Burgess,_

 _On Commander Waters_

* * *

Hey all, sorry for the wait again. Just moved back to school and it was a hellish time. Being at school, I'll actually have more time to write, believe it or not, compared to when I was working over the summer. Be that as it may, I do have a strong workload so I won't be able to throw up a chapter every week or something like that. I'll do my best, and I assure you I'm not going to abandon my work without one hell of a good reason. So, this one is a bit talky, I figured it might be a good way to decelerate from the three chapters of action we've had. As I've stated, I do respond to comments, it might take some time but I will eventually respond, I'm trying to be pretty regular about it.

Alpha HighBreed: I appreciate your enthusiasm and I'm humbled by your words. And yeah, there are some demented and insane stuff. But hey, it wouldn't be realistic without some demented stuff, and it wouldn't be Halo-y without insane stuff. Think of all the crazy stuff you've done in the Halo games; I want to translate some of the fun players of have had in the game into the story and try to have a serious take on it. On another note, it would be so awesome if more folks left reviews and comments and such; whether they be positive or negative feedback, remarks, or just fine stuff, it always helps me and gives me some energy to write. I would love for more folks to take a look at the story and see if they'd like it, but in the end it's not really about the views. I just want to have equal chance to get my work out there and hopefully some people can get some entertainment out of it. But hey, if you want to spread the word, be my guest. XP I'll give you a tidbit of some stuff going on behind the scenes. I'm trying to actually get in touch with an artist, hopefully somebody who does comics on DeviantArt, and actually transform my story into a webcomic. It would be posted on DA, but I would still upload the prose here on . I'm still searching because I honestly don't have the ability to pay an artist for their time, but I feel like my story would be somewhat more accessible if we had some artwork behind it. I am in touch with someone who can do character portraits and will donate their time, but they're very busy, so you might see in the upcoming months some illustrations of my characters, but it's not set in stone. If it happens, I'll leave a link here in the description for you to follow. If you'd like to see the story in comic form or become illustrated and you know some DA artists, let me know, throw in a word for me if you'd like. I'd find a way to repay you in some way for doing that. And sorry for this long-ass response, Alpha. But thanks for commenting, I appreciate ya, feel free to leave a comment whenever you want.

On that note, I should say that yes, I would love to the story become a comic, but I just can't pay the artist. If anybody knows a budding artist that wants to get their work out there but is just having a tough creative time, send them to me, and hopefully we can get some work out there. Anyways, thanks for stopping in and reading, I appreciate you all, I welcome your feedback, and stay tuned for the next chapter.


	7. Chapter 7: Hard Words

I really appreciate the reviews, you guys really breathe a lot of life back into me. If you want to see my responses, they're in the end description. Enjoy. :)

* * *

Chapter Seven: Hard Words

* * *

 _Dear Sadie, I just wanted to let you know that I'm doing well. Things have been quiet in our sector, there's been very little fighting. I'm far from the frontlines. There's not much to say about me, I suppose. I'm a marine, after all, and I do all of what you'd expect a marine to do, so there's not much use in talking about it. Why don't you tell me about home? How are you these days? Is your little art bar doing well? Are Adelaide and her husband getting along alright? How're Karen and Danielle? Have they finished school yet? And what about mom and dad, are they okay? I know it's been a long time since I've written. I know you're probably upset. I just don't want you to think that I don't care. I do. It's just hard to stay in communication when we're far from home. Five years is a long time, but it won't be much longer, I promise-_

 _Dear Sadie, I know it's been a long time since I sent you a letter. Things have been hectic out here. The fighting is hard. I've lost friends. I'm tired all the time, and I get scared a lot. I've been made a sergeant, and now I have six lives to look after. Sometimes I just want to curl up in a ball and shut off. I wish I was home. We could pick flowers from the gardens like we used to. You'll have to send me a picture of them when you write back. It'll probably be a while after I send this actually. I'm in slipspace right now. You'd like it. It's beautiful in a way, the strange lights and the darkness. It reminds me of those nights when mom and dad would drive us through Halifax. Do you remember? Do you even remember me? Do you even know what I look like now? I can hardly remember your face after five years. Do you guys even think about me anymore? I think about you all the time. Do you even remember that you have a younger brother? Do you even-_

 _Hey Sadie, I just outran a nuclear explosion. Being a marine is great fun. I get to kill things every day and get to shoot big guns, I'm really glad I decided to be a marine-_

Frost crumpled up the letter and tossed it onto the floor. It landed with the others, a dozen or so crushed wads of paper.

The cabin was empty, the seven beds vacant save for his. Their kits were seated around their beds, their unloaded weapons stored in their lockers. All of their battle armor would be in the lockers too, but they were so charred that they had been sent to the armory for repairs. It lacked a homey touch. No posters, no pictures on their block-like nightstands. Only the trio of armchairs and a mirror Steele had hung on his locker were the only furnishings.

The sergeant was sitting on his bed, back against the wall, struggling to scribble a letter to his sister on a pad of lined paper. Frost had been trying since they had first settled into the ship. Now, four days had gone by and still he couldn't find the words.

He wondered if it was even worth it. Five years away from home, with hardly a holo-photo or a video chat in between, made him feel like a stranger. Sadie still wrote him, telling him about life back on Earth, about their family; sometimes she'd beg him to write back. It had been three years since his last letter. Written words had become difficult for him. When he was in middle school, he had won an award for a poem he had written about the family ranch. Teachers, friends, and family alike trumpeted that he would become the 26th Century's great poet. That poet had become a marine, whose hands trembled every time he picked up a pencil. There were simply no words to describe what he had seen and what he had done. How could he? How could he tell Sadie that he could pull the trigger of a sniper rifle and punch a massive hole in an alien's head miles away? Entire planets had been burned turned to molten rock in a manner of seconds. Droves of fellow marines had been cut down by never-ending plasma fire. The sheer magnitude of suffering and death he had witnessed was nearly unspeakable. Every time he was on the line, he nearly died. He had been shot, crushed, and blown up; how could he ever describe those experiences? The pain, the fear?

Eventually, Frost just tossed the pad onto his nightstand along with the pencil. There was no use in trying, he decided. All he was going to do was make himself angrier, angrier at his own inability to speak. Home was something he dreamed of yet it was a place of dread. If the war ended tomorrow by some miracle, he would be sent back home and would never be able to speak again. His family would never be able to fathom his experience, the _truth_ of it all, the war. This was a war unlike any other. Political motives, ideology, lusts for power, expansionism, imperialism, petty rivalries; all were absent from this war. A war for their very survival-not a single nation's survival-but their entire species. How could he explain what that kind of war was like? How could he tell them what it was like, that the sum of their efforts was basically delaying the inevitable?

He ran his hands down his face. Thinking too pessimistically would hinder him in the field. It was then the door slid open and Steele walked in. The Englishman looked more like his normal, well-groomed self. His mustache was trimmed and neat, and his thick hair was combed to the side like usual. No one could have guessed that a few days earlier he had been fighting for his life, save for a small bandage on his left cheek.

"What's your bugger?" he asked, nudging one of the balled up pieces of paper with his booted foot. "Writing the fam again?"

"Yeah," Frost muttered.

"Not going well?"

"Mhm."

Steele bent over and picked up one of the letters, unwraveled it, and began reading. He stopped halfway through, "is Sadie hot?"

"Dude, that's my sister, what's wrong with you?" Frost laughed. Steele chuckled as he gathered up the rest of the paper balls and dropped them in the waste basket at the one desk in the room. He sat down beside Frost and bumped his shoulder against his.

"You'll figure it out eventually. I haven't written my dad since we left for basic."

Frost nodded. He remembered that once their three-year long training was completed, they were allowed to go home for a few days. Everyone did, except for Steele, who stayed on base. He didn't come from an easy life.

"You good?"

"Yeah, just finished eating brunch with the boys."

"I'll think I'll check on everybody."

Frost stood up. He walked over to his locker and slipped on his overshirt; the tops of the shoulders and arms were a green digital camouflage pattern, while the under arms and torso were an olive drab color. He glanced in Steele's little mirror, seeing the three stripes on each shoulder, under the small pouch on each bicep. It was the squad leader's duty to be aware of the squad's well being, and he couldn't do that if he was sitting around moping.

"Before you go, I wanted to talk to you about something."

Frost stopped just before he made his way through the door. Steele's voice possessed a serious tone for a rare change.

"What?"

Steele jokingly patted a spot on the bed beside him. Frost rolled his eyes, "what are you, my mom? Just be straight with me and tell me what's up."

"Alright, alright, don't get your knickers in a twist. Knight told me the other day that he found you rubbing sand on your face again."

Frost groaned.

"I know you have this whole warrior code thing," Steele continued, "but it's beginning to weird people out. Everybody in the MEU knows you do it."

"Everybody knows what everybody does in the MEU."

"Right. And people think it's _weird_. Look, I'm your pal, I wouldn't be bringing this up if it wasn't important. Personally, I could care less what kind of shit you rub on your face. But it's bad for squad morale, especially if they hear the rumors I've heard."

"What rumors?" Frost asked, his brow furrowing.

"A couple mates in Delta Company said that you do it because you're off your rocker."

"That's not true."

"You don't have to tell me that, it's why I said I'd bust their faces in if they went spreading it. But you see my point? We can't have everyone thinking you're nuts."

"Nuts? They all call me Jack the Ripper. What does that tell you?"

Steele smiled, "That they think you're one tough motherfucker who knows how to use a gun. Come on, don't let that bother you."

"I don't," the sergeant gritted.

"Right, sure," Steele said, "but just stop putting shit on your face. If you want to wear war paint, use our actual face paint like some of the other guys do, alright?"

If it had been anybody else in the MEU, Frost would have given them a cold shoulder and stormed off, even if it had been Hayes. If it had been anybody else from their squad, he would have disagreed with them in a semi-respectful manner. Not that he didn't respect their thoughts and wishes, but none of them could have made the argument as convincing as Steele. Perhaps Moser or Knight, but definitely none of the others. But this was Steele. When the most undisciplined and soberless marine in the MEU shed his usual skin for a more contemplative one, you had to listen.

"Fine, I'll use the face paint. People won't find that strange?"

"Nah," Steele said, waving his hand, "lots of other blokes do it."

"Alright."

"Cheers, mate."

Steele stood up and clapped Frost on the shoulder, making the latter smile.

"Hey, I wanted to tell you something too. I was waiting until we got to Reach, but we might as well get it over with."

"Sure, hit me," Steele said, plummeting onto his own bed next to Frost's.

"I know you're not the biggest fan of Hayes."

"Oh, bloody hell. Here we go again..."

"Hey, I heard you out, you can do the same for me. You can't speak out against him like you did on Ambition. I know what he was asking was a lot, but he came to us first because he knew we could do it. Hayes doesn't consider us expendable, he considers us among the elite. You should be proud of that."

"That wanker's word doesn't mean shit to me" Steele spat.

"It does to a lot of other guys. So, keep that kind of talk to yourself. And try not to buck orders, okay? Do it too many times will get yourself dishonorably discharged or a long spell in the stockade."

"You're saying don't ask questions and become a drone?"

"If there's ever a time to question orders, I'll be the first one to speak up. But Hayes was giving us a choice-"

"Was he?"

Frost sighed, "I have to believe it. Just try not to piss the old man off, okay? The last thing I need is for my right hand man to go to prison."  
"Fine, fine. I'll behave." Steele opened a _STARS_ magazine he had brought from the recreation center, paused, then looked questioningly at Frost. "Right hand man?"

Frost smiled as he stood up, "When I see Hayes, I'm putting you in for a promotion to full corporal. If I'm not around or need to the squad to split into fireteams, I need you to look after them and lead the second team."

"Mate, come on..."

"Nonnegotiable."

"Twat."

"Now, where's the rest of the squad? I need to make the rounds." Frost asked.

"Don't know about most of them, but I know Bishop and Maddox are still in the mess hall."

"Then that's my first stop."

"Remember to eat something," Steele called after him.

The mess hall was only partly filled, finally maintaining its normal appearance. It had been cleaned and straightened up, and now a mixture of G.I's, marines, and sailors were seated at the tables or occupying themselves in the recreation center.

Frost spotted Bishop and Maddox instantly. The two men weren't hard to find. Bishop was a squat man, muscular, with a squarish head. He reminded Frost of a bulldog. Maddox was lanky, shorter than Bishop, and had a head of orange-blonde hair. It accentuated his pale, gauntly skin and scowling features, so he stood out-that and he was usually next to his larger contemporary.

The two were seated side by side at one of the long tables and Frost slid onto the bench across from them. Bishop immediately pushed a tray with another tray on top of it over to him. Lifting it off, Frost found two slices of french toast with a side of bacon and scrambled eggs. Maddox also offered him a cup of coffee.

"Thought you might be hungry so we saved you some. It's still warm," Bishop said as he slurped his own coffee. "This is some ship. They don't serve the normal grub like they do on other ones."

Frost gingerly took a bite of the bacon, then realized how hungry he was. He quickly began wolfing down his meal.

"Did you even taste it?" Maddox asked when Frost finished. The latter sipped his coffee and smiled.

"How are you two doing?"

"Slipspace is incredibly fucking boring," Maddox answered, nodding towards one of the large observation windows on either side of the mess hall. There was nothing but darkness and occasional shining lights. "I'd rather be frozen."

"No thanks," Bishop muttered, "I'll take slipspace."

Frost chuckled. Four days of peace and quiet were welcomed in his opinion, even if there was nothing to do. Perhaps it was for the better. The calm after the battle was always tense, but it was different when it was on a ship. There was something about starships, their firm walls, layers of titanium, the huge guns maybe, that made him and the rest of the marines feel safer. A second bout of combat was never a reality for them when they were on one of their beautiful silver warships. And after four days to calm down from the stress and fatigue of battle, the rigid atmosphere of post-combat was finally beginning to subside. There still remained an air of subtle anxiety, mainly from the crew members over the issue of who was going to become the new captain since the original one was apparently locked in the brig. But Frost couldn't complain about the voyage so far.

"It's a nice place to call home. Talk is we're being reassigned to this ship for some kind of special mission," Frost said, "I reckon it'll be a better ship to serve on than some of the tubs we've ridden."

"Especially with chow like this," Bishop added.

Frost smiled, then cleared his throat, "Steele's still pretty burned about what Hayes asked us to do. I wanted to check on you guys and see what you thought."

The pointman and the engineer exchanged a glance, then the former shrugged. "It was a shit deal. Truthfully, I really didn't want to do it."

"None of us did," Maddox muttered, stirring a finger around in his mug of coffee.

"But, now that we've had some time to think it over," Bishop continued, "I don't think we could have lived with ourselves if we had told him no and some other poor bastards had to stay and do it."

He was right, Frost considered. He was ready for any order that came down the chain of command. It was his duty to follow orders. Yet the situation had presented them with a choice. Soldiers didn't do well with choices, he had concluded after five years of endless warfare plus an extra three of rigorous training and general soldering. Times before when the circumstances had changed from a relative dictatorship to a democracy had always turned sour. They had been lucky this time. Frost had his own reasons, he recollected, for rallying them for the assignment, but Bishop's own rationale prevailed over all others. If not they, who? Walk away with their lives, and let some other squad bear the burden and fear from the possibility of not making it back? No. There were duties to orders, but there were other duties, ancient ones, creeds created from the fires of war and men's hearts. It would have been dishonorable to refuse and put fellow soldiers at risk. Maybe he had broken those historic, unwritten laws that carried in warriors' veins, putting his own men in the line of fire like he did. But Hayes had asked him, and Frost had asked the squad, and they had all agreed. Their honor and those of their fellow soldiers was satisfied.

"Well said," Frost grunted.

"Still," Maddox said, stroking his goatee, "I'd rather avoid some do and die scenarios in the near future."  
"Don't you mean do _or_ die?" Bishop inquired. Maddox shot him a friendly glare-a gesture only Maddox could perform, "Do or die implies that if we don't act, we'll die. Do _and_ die means that if we act, we'll still probably end up dead."

"I'm going to make damn sure we don't get caught in either situation," Frost said, determination soaking his voice.

"We know," Bishop said with a hearty grin.

"We'll follow you anywhere, and all that macho shit," Maddox said with an eye roll.

Frost nodded his thanks. He finished his coffee and peered around the mess hall. He spotted Colonel Hayes, but he decided to hold off on Steele's promotion, as the latter was speaking with Commander Waters. The larger Hayes made many grand gestures as he spoke, while the smaller naval officer stood with her hands folded behind her back, an intent expression on her freckled face. She would often offer a conservative nod, in comparison to Hayes' fits of boisterous laughter. Waters caught Frost watching the two; she offered a small smile and nodded. Frost returned both gestures. As he turned his gaze in the other direction, he saw Knight sitting in solitude in one of the armchairs.

"I'll catch you lot later. Stay out of trouble," Frost said as he stood. Maddox and Bishop made a number of jokes as he departed, putting the pair of trays with the rest of the dirty ones and tossing the styrofoam cup in the larger wastebasket.

When he approached, he could see that Knight had put on his small UNSC-issued reading glasses that he rarely wore. In his hands was a book larger than the Bible- _Les Miserables_.

"Light reading?" Frost joked.

"You're the one that carries _The_ _Art of War_ in his backpack," Knight countered, cracking a smile. "How goes it, Sergeant Frost?"

"Let's just keep it Frost and drop the 'sergeant', eh?"

"Suit yourself."

"Just wanted to see how you were holding up?"

"Oh, fine. Just reliving some memories."

"How you met Jane?'

"Oh yes," Knight murmured wistfully.

Knight was the oldest man in the squad. Young by an outsider's standards, but by their own, he was an old man. He was one of the few who was married. It was his favorite story. When he was still in school, Knight would skip lunch to help out in the library. They had an edition of _Les Miserables_ , but it was in French. Jane Patterson was one of the shyest girls in school, Knight always said, but one day she came up to Knight in the library as he was flipping through the pages of the book and asked him if he wanted her to translate it for him. She was one of the top language learners in the school, so Knight accepted. Every day, they would go to the library during lunch hour and read the story. They began dating, though their relationship was cemented a few months after they graduated high school, when Jane became pregnant. Knight and Jane became engaged, but their plans were interrupted by the call for him to enlist in the program that saw Frost and the others join the UNSC; when their three years of training were finished, Knight went back home and married Jane. Jane Knight was now at home, raising their eight year old son alone.

Frost could see that Knight was lost in the memory, a mixture of lonely sadness and dreamy happiness. His heart went out to the man. Being away from home and family was hard enough, but Frost had no wife and child of his own. That was an entirely different realm of suffering.

However, it presented problems. Knight was an important force within the squad. He possessed a certain wisdom and level-headedness shared only by Moser. That, and he was one hell of a heavy weapons expert. His scores with rocket launchers and LMGs were higher than anybody else in the squad, including Frost. He needed him.

"My wife sends me a picture of Nicholas with every letter, to let me know that he's growing up."

Knight said this with a heaviness in his voice. Frost had sat on the small table across from the chair, and wanted very much to put an arm around him.

"She's a good woman, my Jane. Too good for a sod like me."

"Don't say that."

"A man oughtn't leave his wife and child to run off in some war."

"Your backpay is what they live on," Frost reminded him.

"I know. I should be there, to help in the house, so my wife doesn't have to break her back doing two jobs. Letters aren't enough."

Frost understood. When he had been young, his father had often been in Halifax and other cities going on lectures. Every so often, his mother would set up a video call on the family computer and his father would speak to him. He hardly knew him then; he was just a stranger on the screen, claiming to be his dad. Over time, he was able to love him. But that was when he was very young; Knight's boy was eight, almost nine. Before long he would be in his pre-teen years, and then his teens.

 _Christ, I hope the war doesn't last for that long..._

Knight, two years ago, had made a formal request to Colonel Hayes to make an appeal for discharge. Hayes had denied him. Frost was worried that Knight was going to make another request soon. While he was positive that Hayes would again refuse him, he didn't want to take any chances.

"At least she knows you're fighting for Nick's future," he offered. Knight nodded slowly.

"Yes, I know."

"She's proud of you. You know that. What you do out here-for us-it's important."

Knight smiled, gaining a bit of his former self back. He sat forward and patted Frost's knee.

"Somebody's got to make sure you pack of wolves don't burn down a base or crash a ship."

Frost chuckled, "I'm going to check on Grant and Moser. Do you need anything?"

"Nah, I'm all set. Got me a good book to pass the time, and quite lucky for me, it's an English translation. If you're looking for Grant, he's in the armory. Moser went to the hangar, for some reason."

"Thanks. I'll catch you later."

Frost felt guilty and hated himself for steering the conversation that way. Steele might have rationed that it was just to remind him of the present, and put the future and the past aside so he could focus. For Frost, it was changing a man's loyalties. It had been a cruel thing, worse that he had done it to a friend.

The armory, like many of the other major facilities on the _I'm Alone_ , was a mammoth chamber. The main area was a long rectangle, with smaller rooms inside. Walking into it from the stern towards the bow, on the left was a series of doors that led into a long array of lockers, benches, and a shower area. Accompanying the buzz of reassignment, it had been said that marines could apply for an armory locker to store a change of clothes, their workout fatigues, and a few personal belongings that had might happen to be on them while they came to exercise or train. A staircase within the locker area led up to an observation room, where the armory personnel could keep an eye on things, study specific soldiers' stats, and track and post weapon scores, kill counts, and other winnings.

In the center and by the bow entrance was an array of workout equipment. Already, marines were lifting dumbbells and doing bench presses. Some were on the treadmills, others stretching, some doing push-ups, pull-ups, jumping jacks. Directly in the center were sparring rings. They were a typical square shape and a few feet off the deck. On the tables around them were gloves and pads. The right side, near the stern however, was the firing range. It was like a huge box nestled in the corner, complete with a ceiling. Other than the large window on the left side for observation, there were only the twenty separate spaces to stand and fire. Each space had a small counter to place ammunition on, and a wall on either side. Some marines were already practicing, firing paint rounds down range against targets shaped like Brutes and Elites. A few were even using the advanced hologram targets, firing the experimental ammunition that the holograms, moving and barking just like an actual alien, reacted to. Frost had never seen anything like it before. He was, at first, apprehensive of the idea of an Elite in hologram form charging at him, but men pummeling the holograms with the experimental ammo were laughing their heads off. It was good stress relief to shoot at something that couldn't shoot back, he guessed.

Across from the observation and locker area, in the left corner, was the actual armory. It was a large cabin with many small rooms inside. Inside, the walls were lined with weapons lockers, equipment cases, and hordes of ammunition cases. Storage rooms within held countless more. There was even a small production facility that could produce weapon parts, and another that repaired and modified body armor. These rooms were referred to the Weaponsmith and the Armorsmith respectively. In the main room of the armory, there was no distribution counter. The designers, Frost had been told, found the need for an entire counter a flaw in terms of an emergency and rapid deployment. Therefore, it had been removed, so marines and crew could rush in, arm and stock up, and leave. Frost was happy to hear that; deployment times had been decreased, as now there wasn't a pack of marines calling for weapons and ammo and waiting for a few scrambling quartermasters to retrieve them. There was, of course, still a quartermaster, who occupied a station near the door. If one wished to take a weapon for training, they had to check in with the quartermaster, as usual.

In between the armory and the range were the other training rooms. There were a few classroom types, although they were entirely vacant. He had heard some of the sailors onboard about the ship's head doctor wanting to start some special classes, but nothing was getting approved or denied until they docked at Reach. There was the close quarters combat training room; Frost was eager to see what it was like inside. He considered rounding the squad together for a practice run. It would be good to brush up on their urban fighting tactics, seeing as it had been some time since they had fought in a city.

Frost found Grant in the Weaponsmith. The facility was equipped with a multitude of workbenches, where marines and the actual 'smiths' could apply upgrades, attachments, and other modifications. Grant was bent over one of the benches, changing some of his assault rifle's internal components. Emery was with him, leaning on the wall. Heavy metal music was blasting from a nearby radio.

"Jack the Ripper!" the grizzled tanker shouted, causing the sailors within to look over with confused glances. "How goes it?"

Trying to hide his annoyance, Frost smiled and held up the black bandanna that Emery had patched his wound with on Ambition. "I was wondering if you wanted this back."

Emery gazed timidly at the bandanna. Frost frowned, "What? I washed the damn thing."

"You can keep it. I don't need something that's had the Ripper's blood on it."

"Well, alright then. Thanks for patching me up."

"Don't mention it. How's that ankle?"

"Better, but I'm still going easy on it."

Emery cackled as he pushed himself off the wall and made his way out of the Weaponsmith, "Imagine if the real Ripper had busted his ankle; maybe the coppers would have actually caught him!"

His laughter faded into the overpowering sound of metal music. Frost seethed.

"I don't know what he finds so funny about that," Grant said kindly as he slid a new gas chamber into place, "but I guess it doesn't take much to make him laugh."

"I suppose not," Frost said as he wrapped the bandanna around his neck. Grant chuckled as he watched him, "What are you, some kind of old movie cowboy? Gonna pull that over your face and rob a train?"

"Only if you help me do it."

"We'll need some dynamite for the safe."

The two chuckled.

Grant deftly placed a new barrel into his assault rifle. Frost watched him. After eight years, they had all become experts in a variety of weapons. Weapons had a way of defining a marine's appearance. Steele's image was cemented by his sniper rifle, which he liked to balance across his shoulders. If not, he had his DMR. Knight, the strongest man in the squad next to Bishop, could carry a rocket launcher into battle along with a rifle, or an M247 LMG-he chose to carry it without a tripod. Bishop had his shotgun, Maddox his M7 caseless SMG, Moser his battle rifle, and Frost was known for his versatility between the assault and battle rifles. And Grant was known for his assault rifle, a weapon he loved over any other.

"Working on the MA5C," Grant said.

"Gotta go with the MA5B on this one," Frost said, sitting down on a nearby crate, "double the clip size and a faster fire rate. Chews right through an Elite's shield."

"Only if you can sustain your fire long enough. Elites have enough sense to take cover," Grant said, waving a tool in the air. "Sure, the 5C may only have thirty-two rounds and a lower fire rate, but it's much more accurate and has better stability. That means less rounds down range, but more hitting their target. I'll take that any day."

Frost smiled. Talking shop was pleasant from time to time.

"Gonna stick with the battle rifle for a while?" Grant asked.

"I'm sticking with assault rifle. The battle rifle wasn't exactly much help in a run-and-gun battle like on Ambition. An assault rifle would have been better. Don't know what the hell happened to mine. Guess I'll have to grab one and give it a little tune up myself."

"There are some open benches."

"Later, I wanted to talk to you about something."

Grant paused, wiped his hands, turned, and smiled. He had a big smile, friendly and trusting, matched by his big amber eyes. "Sure."

"What happened back there on Ambition?" Frost asked, "During that bombardment you exposed yourself to plasma artillery. You could have been blown away. We had to manhandle you to the floor. You weren't listening."

Grant's smile faded and he appeared almost embarrassed, as if he had been caught doing something he didn't want anyone else to see. He shuffled his feet and jammed his hands into his pockets.

"Just got a little lost in, you know?" he said finally. "Most guys shit their pants at a display of firepower like that. But there was something about it that just, I dunno, put me in a trance I guess."

Frost considered. On some level, it had appealed to a boyhood love for war. He didn't know that many boys growing up who didn't love pretending to be soldiers, shooting playground pals with invisible guns and jumping and rolling from ghostly explosions. Who hadn't loved watching war movies, the big fireball explosions, buildings erupting into flames, men being thrown about like ragdolls. That had evolved into playing with fireworks, setting them off in the backyard or somewhere hidden and out of sight from wary adults. Hearing the sound, feeling the small concussion, the vibration in the ground, the heat, the flash: all were intoxicating. There was an innate love to destroy. What times those had been, Frost thought. Now he had seen what it was truly like, and had been tossed about by falling artillery more times than one, watching men disappear in plasma. The novelty had worn off, but somewhere deep inside Grant, there was still a little kid who loved watching things blow up.

It came with being a marine too. Who didn't enjoy the adrenaline rush of firing a machine gun or watching a tank cannon blast gargantuan holes in the side of city buildings? Perhaps that was one of the upsides. Frost almost laughed, thinking of the next great UNSC Marine Corps enlistment commercial: You'll get shot at it, blown up, probably get dysentery once in a while, but you get to blow shit up. For some, that just might be enough.

"Just don't let it happen again," Frost said finally, regaining his stern expression, "I need you to be in control and aware at all times. If I give you an order, you have to listen."

Grant frowned, "didn't I hear you laughing while we were bolting for that Pelican?"

Frost initially felt offended in some strange way, then embarrassed, but simply sighed and said, "I suppose I was a little lost too. Adrenaline is one hell of a drug. But I wasn't the one exposing myself to plasma artillery."

Grant groaned and Frost held up a hand, "I don't think you're crazy or anything, I'm not asking you to go get a psyche eval. I just don't want it to happen again, alright? I need you at one hundred percent in the field. Putting yourself at risk like that, puts us all at risk, because you know we'll scramble to help you."

"Alright," Grant relented, holding up his hands.

"Promise?"

"Promise." A familiar grin crossed Grant's face, "want me to pinkie swear?"

"Grant..."

"I'm kidding, man. Don't worry about it, I've got it, it won't happen again."

"Good, I'll catch you later. I'm gonna check on Moser."

Frost didn't trust Grant. He trusted Grant to uphold his duties. He trusted him with his life. But he didn't trust him at his word. Grant was the youngest of them-nineteen years old. He had been eleven when he was asked to join. Throughout the eight years he had known him, Frost had loved him like a brother. But even brothers had to admit each other's flaws. He wasn't sure what Grant had to say about him, but Grant was reckless. It wasn't a recklessness like Steele's, who questioned the chain of command and did not fear punishment for his actions. Grant was a good soldier-aggressive. All soldiers had to be aggressive, but Grant possessed a natural mindset of eagerness, an eagerness to act. Eagerness, combined with aggressiveness, led to recklessness. More than once, his impatience had led him into situations in which he was exposed to enemy fire, which then exposed the squad as well as they tried to rescue him. Grant had often made other rash decisions, pursuing enemies rather than regrouping, charging forward when it was better to fall back. He meant well, had no fear of fighting, and was fierce in his defense of his compatriots. He didn't want to get his friends hurt or killed, but in battle, he seemed to forget. Frost was determined to drill it into his head, but in the meantime, he knew that he needed someone to look after Grant in the field and stop him before he did something too extreme. He had just the man in mind as he left the armory.

Dietrich Moser was a reserved man from Hamburg. He was serious, devoted, loyal, and above all cautious. If Frost was going to have anyone babysit Grant in the field, it was him.

Frost descended the steps that led from the hallway that led to the hangar from the armory. The hangar was surprisingly larger than one would expect for a cruiser, even for the typical _Valiant_ class. There were half dozen rows of Pelicans, Longsword fighters, and Shortsword bombers. Tools sparked and flashed as mechanics crawled all over each craft, repairing plasma damage, adding new armor plating, changing ammunition out. Large refueling tanks were situated around the hangar, as well as dozens of crates filled with spare parts, tools, and materials. There were so many crates and the hangar was so large that small cranes had even been installed to move it all around. Forklifts rumbled about, carrying ammunition or other cases. The sound of clunking machinery, exchanging voices, and the _whir_ of power tools filled the hangar. Sailors in a variety of colored uniforms went about, including pilots in their dark green uniforms.

Moser was sitting on a crate behind a Pelican next to one of the pilots. It was the man who had piloted the dropship that had pulled them off Ambition. Warrant Officer Jake Jasper, nicknamed Triple Seven due to his call sign, was a trim man with swept back black hair and a long face. He had darting eyes and his mouth was shaped in such a way that it looked as if he were about to smirk constantly. The Afrikaner nodded when Frost approached.

"Jack Frost," he greeted dryly, "glad to see you haven't melted."

"Wow, good one," Frost said stoically, "how's your bird doing?"

"Her feathers were ruffled from the shockwave of that nuke you fellas decided to set off, but otherwise she's good. Me and my guys are all _fine_ by the way."

There was a loud _bang_ from under the Pelican, followed by a string of curse words in Finnish. Jasper snickered, "Drop something there, Pajari?"

The response came in Finnish again. Frost watched a pair of legs from under the Pelican kick a hunk of singed metal away. Warrant Officer Pajari appeared, a young woman who had hair as red as her temper.

She kicked the side of the dropship, "Piece of shit! Try to fix it and it decides to fall apart in your face!"

She turned, dark eyes flaring, "Try not set her down so roughly, the landing gear is rickety and I don't want have to keep repairing it because of your drunken flying!"

"Don't half to be so rude about it, _baba_."

"Don't be such an asshole!" she seethed, throwing a wrench at him that he swiftly ducked.

"Hey, be careful with the tools!" shouted Isha, the crew chief. He was of Indian heritage, though he had lived in the Inner Colonies his entire life. He had neat dark hair complemented by an equally trim mustache, and he had smoky eyes. The crew chief was placing a new box of ammunition into the heavy machine gun that could be suspended from the ceiling of the dropship.

"Careful with the tools!?" exclaimed Pajari. She pointed an accusing finger towards Jasper, "tell him to be careful with the goddamn Pelican!"

With that, she grabbed her toolbox and stormed off towards the front of the Pelican, cursing in Finnish the entire time. Frost stood there, blinking, then turned to Moser, "I can't find a reason why you'd want to hang out with this dysfunctional family here..."

Moser chuckled, "just wanted to extend a thank you on behalf of the squad for pulling us out of the fire.

"Oh, anytime," Jasper said with the roll of his eyes, "I'm a five-star taxi service, and you don't even have to tip me."

Isha was more accepting, "not many marines come and thank us for extracting them. It's appreciated, even if my pilot doesn't show it."

He said this in a scolding tone to the Afrikaner, who only shrugged.

"Moser, think I can chat with you for a bit?"

"Absolutely. Until next time."

"Yeah, can't wait to get shot into Swiss cheese next time we save your asses," Jasper grunted with a wave of his hand.

Frost and Moser walked side by side through the hanger. The former explained his conversation with Grant and proceeded to ask if Moser could keep him reeled in. He was concerned that asking this of Moser was in some way violating his duty as squad leader, not to mention that he was asking him to babysit their friend. He said so, but Moser didn't see it that way.

"You're the squad leader. Hayes is in charge of the entire MEU but you're the commander in chief of our squad. You give orders and we follow them."

"I don't want to ask you to do something I wouldn't do myself, and-"

"Nathaniel," Moser said with a kind smile, "you don't _ask_. You _command_. You're the squad leader and it'd be unrealistic for you to take care of every single matter by yourself. Your mind would break from the stress. Besides, Grant and I are close."

Frost knew that. Moser was a deeply religious man. It wasn't rare to see him rubbing the cross that hung around his neck between two fingers before a battle, or hear him murmuring a prayer. His grandmother, who had helped raise him, had passed away during their second year of training. He wasn't allowed to go home for the funeral, so the local chapel was his only way to pay respects. Moser would sneak out of base two times a day to sit and pray; Grant went with him every single time. He wouldn't pray, he would just sit with him in the pews, silently. Frost knew Moser loved him for that.

"Just keep an eye on him and try not to let him catch on."

"Don't worry, I'll keep him on a short leash. He won't ever know. You worry too much. You'll drive yourself mad."

The pair stopped near the other entrance to the hanger, on the opposite side. Frost sighed, looking out over the aircraft, "I'm in charge now. It's my job to worry."

Moser looked concerned. His pale complexion and tight face always looked concerned. He offered a smile, "I'm going to head to the armory to see Grant. Want to pop a few rounds off? That range sure is something."

"No, thanks. I'll catch up with you later."

Moser nodded and began walking away. He stopped and turned around, "If there's one thing I could say about Teo, was that he never worried enough."

He said no more and left.

Teo. Teodoro Grimaldi. A young man born in Genoa. His father was a sailor on cargo vessels and his mother ran a small shop. He had two brothers, both still in high school.

And he was dead.

His shadow hung over Frost. He wasn't sure if he was a demon or an angel. All the same, he haunted him. His dark hair, black eyes, the bristly stubble on his cheeks, his scarred chin, his constant frown. Moser was right, he never worried. He had trusted them, known their abilities, their flaws. Frost knew them too, yet he worried incessantly, even now that they were far from danger. Would that make a difference? If he reduced it to math, two men had died under Teo's command. Frost hadn't lost anybody. Yet.

He nearly keeled over in the hallway as his mind mulled that word over. Yet. _Yet_. How long would it be until one of them died? Would it be his fault, or could the blame just be placed on the phenomenon of 'wrong place, wrong time.' Now that he thought about, heading towards the medical bay, Frost never remembered seeing him mourn Wright and Ocampo when they died. Everybody had their own way of mourning, whether it be tears, shrines, or solitude. Teo? He didn't have a method that Frost could recall. Had he been heartless? No. He had loved them. He wouldn't have kept their dog tags after they died and written those letters to their families. Maybe that was his way.

Frost was standing in the ship's morgue. Many civilians back home watched the movies the marines despised so much and thought that the dead were buried in space, placed in a special pod and launched into the stars. If that was the case, Frost had never seen or heard of such a burial. It was rare enough to come back from a battle with bodies. Many UNSC personnel were listed as MIA because their tags or bodies couldn't be recovered because they had been incinerated in a plasma blast. Furthermore, there was often no time to collect the dead. Not to mention that the Covenant didn't take prisoners. But if a body was recovered, they would be stored in ship's morgue until the deceased could be transferred back to their home planet, so that their family could bury them. It was a shame that so many Outer Colonies were gone. Many personnel were from planets that had been reduced to bones and ash-they didn't get to go home for a proper burial. For their sake, Frost hoped the mass military graves appearing all over Earth would suffice.

"Can I help you, Sergeant?" asked one of the medical personnel.

"Am I allowed to see a friend that died during the battle?"

"Yes," the orderly said, professionally yet with a manner of soft kindness, "Dr. Ebrahimi said that any personnel are allowed to visit one of the deceased. Can I have the name and rank please?"

"Sergeant Teodoro Grimaldi."

The orderly, sitting behind a desk in the small office, tapped at his terminal. "Alright, this way please."

Frost followed him through the door into a large, chilly room. It was one of many. There were lids on the three walls, three up and four across. There was a handle on each and a number. They went to the wall directly across from the door. Frost looked uncomfortably around him. There was nothing but the silver walls and their metal lids. He knew what was inside and it unsettled him. The only other objects present were the bright lights built in the ceiling and the examination table in the center.

The orderly slowly pulled on one of the lids, marked '2B,' and pulled out a metal bed. There he was. Frost wanted to sob and bolt at the same time. Teo was lying on the table. His body was naked. His skin was a ghastly shade of white, and his face was sunken in yet still calm. His legs looked odd; they had been crushed but it looked as though they had been repaired in some way. Still, one could see that the bones within were powder and that the flesh had been crumpled. The deep gash where the shrapnel had buried itself was sealed, leaving a line of stitches in his center. The calmness of his face was frightening. He seemed to be sleeping.

"Can't you get him a goddamn sheet?" Frost growled through gritted teeth.

"Excuse me?"

"A sheet, goddammit? Something to cover him with?"

He was trying to keep calm. His fists were shaking.

The orderly blinked and looked uncomfortable, "Sergeant, you do understand it's normal procedure to store the bodies without sheets..."

"Well, I'm asking you to give him one."

The orderly tensed, then quickly left. Frost looked back at Teo. It was disgraceful, leaving him there in a box, without any clothes. He was a man and died a soldier's death. There wasn't much they could do to respect him at this point, but the least they could do was cover him.

* * *

Jasmine knocked on the door. There was no answer. She pressed the button on the panel beside the door frame and it opened. She saw Sergeant Frost standing over the dead marine. His head was low and his shoulders were shaking.

"Did you bring the sheet?" the sergeant snarled. He turned to her and he appeared surprised then. "Oh. Dr. Jasmine. I didn't realize...sorry, ma'am."

He saluted.

"There's no need for that. I think of myself as a doctor before a lieutenant commander of the UNSC Navy," she answered with an understanding smile. "I'm sorry that we never covered your friend. I've brought you a sheet. I'll place it on him now, if you'd like."

"I'll do it."

Frost came over and gently took the blue sheet from her hands. He went back over and placed it over the body, folding the end so that he could still see his face. Only his neck, head, and arms were exposed now.

After a period of silence, she wasn't sure how long it lasted, Jasmine asked, "Do you mind if I join you?"

Frost seemed broken from a trance. He looked over at her with his sad silver eyes and nodded. Jasmine felt sorry for him. She stood beside him and gazed down at the body. Frost had slid his fingers around the body's right hand.

"Theo was his name?"

"Teo," Frost corrected, "we called him Teo. Sometimes T. His full name was Theodoro. It's an Italian version of the name Theodore. Funny how the same names come up in different cultures and languages, with only a few letters that make them different."

"Yes, it is."

"Your name, isn't it Iranian? Ebrahimi?"

"Yes, it is. My father was Iranian. My mother is Spanish, but she grew up in France. She said she named me Jasmine after a friend she made there."

Frost chuckled, "We're all mutts, aren't we? Did you grow up in France?"

"No, my parents are from Earth but I grew up in the Inner Colonies. They were both doctors, so we traveled around a lot."

She looked up at Frost, who stood a half a foot above her. She smiled, "What about you?"

"Earthborn. I was born in Halifax, Nova Scotia."

"You're Canadian?"

"Yeah. My family line is a mix of British and Acadian blood. I get my name from my British ancestors: Frost."

"That's an old bloodline."

"Sure is," Frost said, "Teo's family is old too. Their line goes back to when Genoa was an actual country, and not just a city."

Jasmine studied the marine sergeant, watching his saddened eyes drop back down to his friend. Ever since the first droves of wounded came aboard, she had been trying to figure out what it was like to lose a friend. She didn't have many. Only Vivian was someone she counted as a friend. Other than that, she had colleagues, acquaintances, and the staff under her command. She wouldn't count any of them as friend. Looking at this grieving marine, she realized that she was extremely lucky. In this new age, millions were dying day by day. Millions in return were glued to their televisions, browsing UNSC or government websites, studying casualty and evacuation lists, trying to figure out if their friends and family had survived or had perished. Her parents had joined the military effort, and were working safely on Reach. Vivian was on the _I'm Alone_ with her. There was nobody else.

And here was this soldier who had lost a companion that he had fought with for a number of years. She couldn't begin to grasp what he was going through.

Jasmine sniffed and quickly dabbed at her eyes. Frost noticed.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing. I'm sorry for your loss."

Frost nodded respectfully, "Eight years I knew him. He was my brother. He was a good man."

"I wish I could have known him."

Frost blinked at her, and then he laughed. Jasmine was confused. Frost shook his head, "To be honest, he rubbed everyone the wrong way. I don't think you would have liked him. I don't think he would have liked you."

"Why's that?"

"He didn't like anybody that wasn't in our squad," Frost's chuckles died down, but his smile remained. "He didn't have any faith in anybody else. He trusted us."

The marine seemed to think for a moment, looking up at the light for a brief moment, then said, "He _loved_ us."

He sighed, "I'm going to have to go see his parents someday. I don't know when, but I'll have to. A letter from me and the UNSC won't ever be enough to explain what happened."

Jasmine nodded grimly. There was a part of her that wished that the governing body could do more for the family that lost someone to war other than sending a letter and two stone-faced servicemen to recite a short, cold speech of their heroism and the government's thanks. Then again, what could they do? Would composition make up for the loss of a loved one? Jasmine knew the answer. A person's life couldn't be made up for with money. You couldn't give them another life in return. What they wanted was the truth, and that was something the people waiting back home never got. Would Mr. and Mrs. Grimaldi want to know that their son was crushed by a vehicle and was pierced by shrapnel, and died in the arms of his friends, or that he died a hero's death for all of humanity? She reckoned it was the first they wanted to know. Sergeant Frost would be the one to deliver the truth. She didn't know this man all that well, but she respected him. Admired him, for the way he had acted in the medical bay. For the way he stood over his friend, as if he were still alive, and promised to carry the truth back. For the way he thought it was not only a duty to his friend but a duty to his family. The burden on his shoulders was unimaginable, and Jasmine wondered how he was able to keep from bawling.

"He'll live on through you. His memories. In a way, I suppose that makes him immortal," she said.

Frost nodded slowly and smiled thankfully. He leaned down and whispered something in Teo's ear, then reluctantly withdrew his hand, carefully covered his face, smoothing out the wrinkles in the sheet, then carefully pushed the metallic bed back in. His breath was long and shaky, and Jasmine could see tears in the corners of his eyes. She felt tears of her own welling up again. She swiped at them quickly and cleared her throat.

"I'm heading to my office. Would you care to walk with me, Sergeant?"

"I would."

The pair walked out of the office; the orderly who had attended to the sergeant earlier kept his head low. Jasmine quickly checked her datapad for messages, and was glad there wasn't any.

"Teo was squad leader before me," Frost said after a few moments of walking, "before he died he asked me to take over. It's how I was promoted."

"He obviously knew that you were the best choice."

"Maybe. I sure as hell don't feel like it."

Jasmine pushed up her glasses, "isn't there an old saying about how good leaders are those who don't want to be one?"

Frost snorted. Jasmine continued, "You have a strong sense of duty and unwavering loyalty to the men in your squad. Combine that with selflessness, and I think you'll be able see them through a hundred battles."

The marine looked shocked, "Selflessness?"

Jasmine shrugged and smiled, "I've only just begun to operate on combat casualties, but I don't think there's many who would have wanted other men to be treated before himself."

The marine seemed to be angered and embarrassed at the same time. "I just have a good tolerance for pain," was the only excuse he managed. He sighed and said, "it's not much use to complain about being squad leader, I guess. It's on my brain constantly and it's exhausting."

"Why not talk to your friends about it?"

Frost shook his head, "I'm the sergeant now. I can't bitch and moan to them as much as I used to. They're my responsibility and they'll get discouraged if they think I'm not up to snuff."

"Putting on a face can be an exhausting burden," Jasmine warned.

"Do you go and complain to your surgeons?"

Jasmine sighed, knowing he had a point, "I'm just trying to tell you that's harmful to keep one's emotions inside."

Frost looked at her thoughtfully, then said carefully, "I appreciate you joining me in there, Dr. Jasmine. It was good to have someone there. But Teo was my friend; not to be rude, you didn't know him, but you seemed pretty affected in there."

What would she tell him? That she had a unique form of synesthesia? He had probably never heard of it. Still, she felt obligated to explain her condition seeing as how he had put so much of himself and his friend's history forward. It was only fair. Nobody else was around to talk to and there were no matters of import taking place in the medical bay. The company had been pleasant and she hadn't seen Vivian since the day before. She had been busy. There were plenty of rules regarding the fraternization between officers and enlisted men. But what harm was there in amiable conversation?

 _Why not?_

"If you have the time, we can speak further in my office," she said kindly, stopping at the door. Frost smiled, and was about to speak when an accented voice called out to him.

"Blimey, I've been looking everywhere for you," the English marine she had seen with Frost days earlier said. He came down the hallway, his posture relaxed.

"I was busy," Frost said, then turned, "Dr. Jasmine, this is my friend and squadmate, the soon to be Corporal Steele: the galaxy's most British man."

Jasmine chuckled politely at the small joke. Steele pretended to laugh, mockingly slapping his knee.

"That dumb joke just doesn't get old does it," he said in sarcastic tone, "eight years and it just makes me laugh and laugh like the first time you said it. Boss man said he's got some news for us about reassignment, so he's gathering everybody up in the mess hall."

Jasmine watched as the casual manner of Frost faded, replaced by the rigid posture and features of a marine, "Rest of the squad already there?"  
"Yep."

"Alright. Let's go."

Steele didn't linger and began walking back the way he had come. Frost turned and politely nodded, "Thanks for chatting with me, Dr. Jasmine."

"Of course, Mr. Frost."

He began walking away and Jasmine was about to enter her office when she paused, turned, and said, "Sergeant?"

He stopped and looked over his shoulder. Jasmine offered a smile, "Feel free to come by my office anytime."

There was an awkward silence and she shrugged, "I'm a qualified therapist, after all."

Frost laughed and kept walking. It wasn't a harsh or mocking laugh, but a friendly one. Jasmine couldn't help but laugh a little herself. She took that as a yes. Lingering outside her office, she opened an empty document on her datapad and titled it, "The Mourning Marine."

As she turned inside, she found Vivian standing at her bookcase.

* * *

"Hey Viv."

Vivian looked up from the textbook she had pulled off the shelf. Jasmine walked in, the door sliding shut behind her. The doctor placed her datapad on her desk and sat in her chair, "Not much to report. Some of the wounded with light wounds were allowed out of the medical bay today. We're keeping a close eye on the more severe cases, and there are several patients in surgery right now to replace damaged organs with flash cloned ones. Other than, all's quiet."

"Quiet is good. Your staff were excellent with the wounded. I think a lot of lives would have been lost if you didn't keep things together," Vivian said.

Jasmine sighed, pulling out the hair tie and letting her long black and blonde hair cascade down her shoulders and back. She leaned back in her chair and took off her glasses, "I plan to perform more surgeries in the future."

"Delegation too stressful?"

"No. I enlisted because I wanted to operate on wounded personnel. I want to be able to do what I joined up to do. I put it off to handle the more administration duties that piled up during the wounded of the intake. I'm going to assign secondary duties to some of the non-medical support staff we have in the medical bay, probably the clerks from the morgue. I'll form a documentation team, I think."

Vivian offered a concerned look. "You holding up? I know what can happen if you get over-stimmed in scenarios like that. Maybe staying in an administrator position will be safer for you."

"No. I'm the medical chief. I have to be with the staff and the patients."

Vivian conceded, knowing the firmness in Jasmine's voice meant that the matter was settled. She changed topics.

"I finished talking with Colonel Hayes."

"And?"

"He's quite the character. Pretty flamboyant. You'd think a man like him after all he's seen would be pretty burnt out." Vivian sat down in the chair in front of Jasmine's desk, still holding the book. "He's briefing his men on their new assignment to this ship."

"I think it's good you advised him to wait a few days to break the news. The men were stressed and exhausted from the battle. They would have taken it poorly I think."

The pair settled into silence. Vivian enjoyed the quiet just as much as their conversation. It was special to be in the company of somebody you could be quiet with.

"What're you reading?" Jasmine asked, amused, as if she knew the answer. Smiling, Vivian looked at the cover, cleared her voice with a great deal of playfulness, and read loudly in a theatrical voice, "A Hypothesis on the Removal of the UNSC Neural Interface, by Dr. Jasmine Ebrahimi."

Jasmine had the grace to blush, "I wrote that a year ago."

"I think you're the first OCS trainee in UNSC history who published a surgical textbook."

The good doctor laughed, "Extraction could kill an individual if there's one mistake. I just threw some ideas about making it safer on paper.."

Vivian flipped through the pages, looking at diagrams and models, "I sometimes forget that there's a small metal plate in my skull that's connected to my brain. Do you?"

"All the time. I wonder if they'll have them removed when the war is over."

Vivian shuddered, "if they did, do you think they'd implant them in new officers? Gross."

Although she was an officer and was required to get one, Vivian felt embarrassed by the metal device in the back of her head. Everyone had been self-conscious about them when they were first installed. But now her hair had returned at least, concealing it. Still, the command neural interface was an interesting yet terrifying device. It had taken Vivian sometime after being promoted to commander to get used to its actual operational use. Without even looking at a datapad or terminal, she could get direct information feeds from AI's. Code and data would come across her lace, as if the text were floating right in front of her. Thankfully, it didn't happen too often. One couldn't think of the CNI without remembering that it was the trigger for the ship's self-destruct. Before they had begun their voyage, tech personnel sent by Travers had transferred the authorization code to her transponder. Terrifying and ominous, to have the ability to authorize the destruction of a ship and thousands of lives, yet Vivian knew if the ship were to be captured, it would be necessary. Failing to do so was just as grievous, if not more grievous, than what Oswald had done.

She stood up and slid the book back onto the shelf. She undid her bun and shook her head, letting her own hair spill down onto her shoulders.

"I went through the medical bay yesterday, checking on the wounded," Vivian said solemnly, "they aren't suffering, are they?"

"We've made them comfortable. Given them medicine. The worst is over. Everyone is going to make it to Reach."

"I'll sleep easier when we get there. They need to be in a military hospital."

Vivian leaned against the desk, her back facing Jasmine. She shook her head, "We were really lucky we only went up against corvettes. Poor shielding-if they have any at all, small, not well-armed. We had the jump on them too, I'm surprised they didn't react to finding us on their radar. Maybe our quick descent threw them for a loop?"

"Even so, a face-to-face matchup would have caused considerable damage. We could have lost people," Jasmine said. "But you made sure that didn't happen."

"That may be a one-time thing, Jas," Vivian said, turning to face her, "we are going to be in positions in the future where we are face to face. We will take hits, and we will lose people."

She shook her head and began pacing. Jasmine considered and leaned forward, propping her chin up on one hand, thoughtfully. Vivian stopped and looked at her from the middle of the room, "What?"

"You know, for a while I felt very guilty that some of the men died in surgery. Some of them died before we could even get them onto a bed. It felt like it was my fault, like I had killed them."

Jasmine leaned back and folded her arms across her chest, "I wanted to cry when I was actually able to sleep. But now I know it wasn't my fault. Those men were casualties of war, Viv. The Covenant killed them, not me. And not you, either. Remember that."

"Easier said than done, Jas."

Vivian walked over and sat down in one of the armchairs, slumping into it. Jasmine came over and settled into the other one, allowing herself to sag into it. They were silent for some time, nearing on falling asleep. Vivian was pleasantly reminded of long nights in their dormitory at OCS. Some officer candidate schools had the trainees in large barracks-type buildings. On Luna, they had the benefit of having almost college-style dorm rooms. Of course, so the many staples of the college dorm room-posters, carpeting, comfortable bedding, photographs, and more-were all absent. She and Jasmine would stay up late, Vivian studying tactics, Jasmine reading medical texts.

"I was having a conversation with one of the marines, not too long ago," Jasmine said, cutting into her memories, "he had lost a friend and was visiting the body in the morgue. His friend was the squad leader, and with his passing, he had become the new leader. He was doubtful of himself but I think underneath he understood what he has to do to make sure he keeps his men alive. You will too."

"I'm not the captain."

"Who's in command of the _I'm Alone_ right now?"

"Shut up."

Jasmine tittered, then recovered, "I know you're under a lot of stress. Just a few more days until we get to Reach."

Vivian shook her head and sat up a little bit, "I'm not sleeping well," she admitted, "I pace the halls when most of the crew is asleep. I've just got this terrible feeling there's going to be some kind of judicial punishment against the crew because of Oswald. There's always so many cases of where the many suffer because of the few-that the project might be terminated. I don't want to see that happen. That'd break the crew's hearts. They were brave."

Jasmine shook her head, and she spoke soothingly, "Viv, I've been saying this since we first left Ambition. Oswald is going to be court martialed and that'll be the end of that. No one agreed with him, nobody had his back, nobody followed him. He was the only one who wanted to run, the only one willing to break the Cole Protocol. The crew will be just fine."

Vivian sat up further in the chair and pulled her knees to her chest, resting her chin on them. She saw Jasmine out of the corner of her eye do the same.

"It's not just that," Vivian murmured, feeling anger rising in her chest, "it's Oswald. He...he...I can't find a word to describe how I feel about him. The moment I think about him, what he could have done, I just want to tear him apart. I went and spoke to him and I just can't believe he how he still thought that he was right in some way. I hate to call him a human being. He's a pathetic excuse for one. You'd think people would develop some compassion, some humility, some selflessness in a time like this. And all he did was care about his own skin."

She seethed for a while, then looked over at Jasmine. The doctor looked concerned and uneasy. Vivian raised her head, "What?"

"Viv, I'm your friend, so don't take this the wrong way."

Jasmine always started that way, when she had to speak a hard truth. A thousand times she had done it. Vivian dreaded it. She was the one person she could vent to, throw everything out onto the table. She knew she did it because they were friends, because she cared, but it hurt too often. Jasmine's truths could cut deep. Many had led to a hot debate, but nothing that boiled into a full blown argument. Hoping that whatever she had to say wouldn't pass their breaking point, Vivian inhaled and prepared herself. Words could be more painful that a gunshot wound.

"You lock onto a single person's actions or personality or ideals or what have you and you attribute them to people as a whole. An outlook like that is unhealthy and destructive. Seeing how you've been looking out for the crew, that gave me hope that you had moved on from thinking like that."

"I care about them."

"I know. Before that, it was just you and me. Nobody else mattered to you. You alienated everyone at OCS, even the instructors who fawned over you. You never laughed or smiled at mess with the others, you never went out with them when we had weekend passes. You stared at everyone with this hateful glare in your eyes, like they had done you wrong in some way. You still do, even now."

Vivian said nothing, her feelings bruised. She could see Jasmine sigh, knowing that she had hurt her, so she raised her hands in resignation and said, "Look, I'll just say this. You build bridges with the crew of this ship, and they love you for it. And I know you think highly of some of the marines, but I've seen the way you look at them. Just don't burn bridges before you've even tried to build them. Give them time."

That was when her anger flared again. She knew what Jasmine was getting at. Five years ago, a resentment had been brewing.

"Do you have to bring that up?"

"Bring what up?"

"Don't be daft."

"What?" Jasmine said exasperatedly, "I didn't say anything!"  
"Be nice to marines? Those men who stayed behind are brave, but the others? How do I know one of them wasn't the one who pulled the trigger?"

"You committed mutiny to save their lives and now you're labeling practically ninety-nine percent of them as potential murderers?" Jasmine asked, throwing her hands up into the air as she walked back to her desk, "Tell me you're not serious."

"I watched a man wearing the same uniform as the thousand marines aboard this ship gun down the only other friends I have ever had in my entire life. He killed them in cold blood."

Jasmine turned around, her gaze hard. Vivian stood her ground. Jasmine was about the only person who could beat her in a match such as this, but the anger had taken her now. There was nothing could deter her when it came to the graves of five innocent girls, five friends that had been mercilessly killed. Nobody could be beaten back when they had been steeled by that kind of horror.

The doctor pushed her glasses back up her nose, then folded her arms across her chest. "I'm not saying it was right, I'm not condoning what happened, and I think what happened to your friends was horrible," Jasmine said slowly, "but you can't keep carrying them around like this."

Jasmine lingered for a moment, thinking. She almost seemed amused when she said, "You can't carry your troubles around for all the crew to see. They have to have faith in you, they need to think you're at one hundred percent. If they see you faltering because of the past, they may falter too."

Carry them? Vivian said nothing but disagreed all the same. She didn't carry the corpses of her dead friends with her. No, it wasn't like that. They followed her, everywhere she went. Down the long, winding corridors of the ship, onto the bridge, and they stared at her while she slept. Their eyes, cold and judging, expecting to be avenged, waiting for her to do something with her life to make their deaths have meaning.

Jasmine seemed to sense her thoughts, "They're gone, Vivian. And so is he."

When the crew hit their beds that night, Vivian began roaming the halls. She was slightly bent forward, hands folded behind her back, her hair out of the regulation bun. Dark bags were under eyes; they were red from the tears she had shed after she had gone to her cabin. It wasn't because of their dispute, not technically. Their disagreements never stopped them from being friends. Part of being friends meant telling one another truths that had a bite to them. Vivian loved Jasmine for that, but hated it for her too. It was selfish, almost immature, to want just her support. Having support, somebody to agree with, it was good. But Vivian knew a more valuable friend was one that had something to say about you, told you to clean up your act, told you to move on.

Vivian hadn't wanted their fight to escalate. The last thing she wanted was to sever her one true friendship. She wanted to talk to Jasmine about her treating crew members. Her synthesia was something Vivian worried about. Although Jasmine was able to focus and control it, Vivian was concerned for the day where she wasn't able to pull through. Synthesia, Jasmine had explained two years ago, meant that she could feel others' pain, literally. If she saw a man with a gunshot wound, there was a chance that she could experience the same pain in the same exact spot. Jasmine could control it, focus, reason that it wasn't real. But the last thing that needed to happen was for the ship's medical chief to collapse in one of the medical pains, agonized by a wound that wasn't even there.

The halls were empty which Vivian was thankful for. Occasionally, a crewman or two would pass, exchanging hushed, respectful greetings. She was headed towards the armory. There had been time to explore it now, and Vivian had some plans in store for the facility. The crew were highly trained, skillful of their shipborne duties. Yet Vivian wanted them to remain sharp. Enemy boarding the ship was always a possibility, despite it being a rare occurrence. Protocol dictated that if a UNSC ship were going to be captured, the captain must initiate the self-destruct sequence through the CNI. Vivian didn't want that to happen. She planned to advise the new captain on have regular weapon training exercises to keep the crewmen sharp and prepared. Jasmine's idea for advanced first aid classes came to her mind, and she decided to push that as well. When she had the time, Vivian decided, she would work with Holst and De Vos to develop a ship defense strategy in the case of a boarding party. That would lead to sailors training in the CQC chamber. Bringing these ideas up helped distract her.

As she walked through the empty armory, its workout equipment stored neatly, the range vacant, she heard a sound from the Weaponsmith. It was a metal, tinkering noise. Vivian paused, listening. For a few moments it was gone, then it returned. The sound was faint, so faint it could hardly be heard. She didn't feel frightened. It was probably one of the smiths stowing away their tools for the night-if such as thing as 'night' existed or even mattered when in slipspace.

All the same, she decided to investigate. She entered the armory proper, filled with weaponry of all kind on the shelves and walls like a display store, and into the Weaponsmith.

Sitting on a crate near one of the benches was a marine. She recognized him. He was the squad leader from detonation team from Ambition, the man with the injured ankle.

Her predisposition against marines softened at the sight of him. She knew him, or felt that she did at least.

The marine looked up at her, and started to stand, "Commander."

"At ease, trooper," she said, holding up a hand. The marine sat back down on the crate. An assault rifle, stripped of its shell and parts, was laid across his lap.

The marine noticed her glance, "just a little maintenance."

"Why aren't you using the bench?"

"In the field we don't have benches, but we've still got to take of our weapons, clean them, and all that. Might as well keep practicing without a bench."

Vivian smiled, seeing the wisdom in that. "Why stay up this late to do it?" she asked.

The marine laid down his tools and leaned back on the crate, so his back rested on the wall. "After a battle, I take some time to myself for a few days, and work on my rifle when no one else is around on the ship or base we're at. Takes my mind off things."

Vivian nodded and sat down on a crate across from him. She smiled, "What's your name trooper?"

"Sergeant-"

"No, no. Your name. Your first name."

"Ma'am?"

"Your first name," Vivian said with a groan, easing herself onto the crate. She was twenty but sometimes she felt like an old woman. She smiled at him, "I don't feel like being Commander Waters right now. No formalities."

 _Not after that discussion with Jasmine..._

The marine looked confused but then his expression changed, "I'm Nathaniel."

"Nathaniel," she repeated, "do you go by Nate?"

"Nate, Nathan, Nathaniel, doesn't matter to me," he said kindly.

"Mine's Vivian."

"It's a pleasure," the marine said, leaning forward and extending a hand. He smiled at her; she saw that he was missing a tooth. It made him appear boyish. Vivian reached out and they shook hands. When they withdrew, he resumed his work. Vivian watched his hands deftly moving between the different parts and small cleaning tools in his hands. He worked them slowly and carefully, as if the weapon parts were made of glass. He appeared focus, yet there was something about him, a wandering mind.

"Was the fighting bad?"

He paused again, resting his elbow on his knee. He didn't look irritated at being interrupted again. "Yeah, it was. Not the worst I've seen, but bad. Those Army troopers got cut to pieces out there on the flatlands."

"I heard about the Scarab."

Nathaniel grunted. "Lost a friend to it."

"I'm sorry."

"I appreciate it."

"How did you take out the Scarab?"

Nathaniel laughed, almost embarrassedly, "we drove our Warthog off a cliff into its side, then jammed explosives into its core, and managed to jump off."

Vivian blinked, "you _crashed_ into a Scarab?"

"Yep."

Vivian laughed, and Nathaniel joined in. He shook his head, "it was the dumbest thing I could have done as squad leader."

"It got the job done," Vivian offered, "you live an interesting life, Nathaniel."

"Insane, more like it."

Vivian chuckled, watching him. He cleaned a few more parts, slid them back into place with a series of satisfying metallic _clicks_.

"So, my CO told us today we'll be going on the hunt after we settled things on Reach."

"Yes, we'll be diving deep into Outer Colony territory that was lost to the Covenant."

Nathaniel nodded, "We finally get to go on the offensive. Sounds good to me. I know I've gotten tired of waiting. The waiting is a killer. I'd rather just go find them and fight"

"Agreed."

Nathaniel stood up, picking up his rifle as he did. Vivian followed suit, smoothing out her tunic. "Sergeant, would you be interested in becoming a firearms instructor on board the _I'm Alone_? I'd like the crew to become better acquainted with their sidearms and other weapons, in case of emergencies. The armory staff are well-trained, but I think the crew could benefit from learning from marines who are in the field all the time."

The marine looked surprised, nodded his head to the side in contemplation, "Sure. When we're not on any combat ops, I'll help out at the range. I owe you."

"You owe me?"

"Of course," Nathaniel said, "you saved our lives. We all owe you. Helping out on the range, it's the least I can do."

Vivian remembered what Jasmine had said. Maybe she was wrong, to blame all marines. This man was honorable. She could see that in his boyish smile that contrasted with his serious face, hear the sincere tone in his voice. If the marines on board this vessel were like him, then her anger, her hatred, appeared unjustified. Right there and then, she decided to give them all a chance.

Vivian smiled, "Thank you, Nathaniel."

"It'll be a pleasure, Commander Waters"

"Vivian."

"Vivian. Sorry, I'm not on a first name basis with most navy officers I meet," he joked.

"You are with this one."

They shook hands again, and parted ways.

* * *

 _"_ _When I jumped out on that road_

 _Got no love, no love you'd call real_

 _Got nobody waiting at home_

 _Runnin' with the devil"_

"Runnin' With the Devil,"

Van Halen

* * *

Lots of talking in this chapter, hope you don't mind. I think I've mentioned it before but this isn't going to be a constant action-packed story. The Human-Covenant War serves a backdrop for these character exchanges, and rears its ugly head to confound matters further. It's actually a concern of mine that people who visit this story enjoy the action but find out that this is indeed a drama with action. One might say an action-drama. It won't all be character drama, there'll be plenty of action though, don't worry. Anyways, I hope the ending was torturous for everybody, because it was goddamn torturous to write for me. Vivian's POV at the end felt rushed and didn't possess enough internal thought or description, but I think it'll give more flexibility in developing her later on.

Now for comment responses:

AlphaHighBreed: I hope you didn't lose that much hair when you pulled on it from last chapter. XD And yeah, a webcomic would be great. It's still a prospect, just gotta find the right person for the job. School life actually hasn't been a big impact on my writing. This chapter was actually 3/4 done since about Friday last week. Sorry about that. ^^; I was stuck for a while. You see, when I get stuck in my writing, it's at one specific scene-in this instance it was a single sentence. I get stuck on the smallest of things, and it just utterly derails my writing as a whole. But thank you for your patience and thank you for reading Alpha, it's always good to see you around.

bigpapifan238: I'm extremely flattered. I'm really glad that you can enjoy the story even if it takes me awhile to get the chapters up. It's good to hear something like you said because in all honesty when I submit a chapter I get super anxious and I'm just like, "Oh god I just submitted an unfinished piece of garbage and I'm just gonna make a fool of myself." And then I see a comment like yours or Alpha's or anybody else who's posted and I get to breathe a sigh of relief. So thank you, I appreciate you taking the time to read and I'm happy that you can enjoy my writing.

As I've been saying, I really appreciate when anyone comments. I have to say I'm open to positive, negative, and critical reviews, but just the amount of positivity I get from you guys, it really breathes some life back into me and keeps me writing. I can't tell you how much it means to me when you guys write a review or take a look at the story. I'll always try to be transparent with my situation when it comes to writing and I'll always respond to you guys. So take care, come back again for chapter eight, thank you very much for reading.


	8. Chapter 8: Condemnation

Chapter Eight:

* * *

"The court finds Captain Gerald Patrick Oswald guilty on all charges, of character unbecoming of an officer of the Navy and for attempting to breach the United Nations Space Command Emergency Priority Order 098831A-1, otherwise known as the Cole Protocol. It is in the opinion of this jury that, as the Cole Protocol is the paramount law in the entire Navy, a failure to display a strict adherence to it is a one of the most grievous of crimes, akin to treason."

The speaker of the jury, made up completely of high ranking Navy officers, rested. The judge sat up in his seat, and folded his hands together. "Violation of the Cole Protocol, even an attempt of it, puts all of humanity as risk. With the loss of so many colonies and millions of lives, our worlds' security doubles as all of humanity's security. Such a crime warrants a great punishment. It is only for the respect I have towards your father, who died fighting the Covenant valiantly at Harvest, that I do not sentence you to death. I sentence you instead to life imprisonment with no chance for parole. You have disgraced yourself, your family, your crew, and the entirety of the UNSC Navy. This court is adjourned."

Vivian looked over her shoulder. The courtroom was filled with officers and personnel from the ship. Even some of the marines were present. She looked for and found Nathaniel, who was sitting with his squad. Nathaniel, dressed his olive drab fatigues, nodded at her grimly, as if to say _this is what has to be done._ Vivian nodded in return, showing that she understood. He was right: Oswald was guilty. Yet, she pitied him

The military court room was darkly lit by the evening sun on Reach. UNSC banners hung on the walls in between the tall, slim windows. Paintings on the wall depicted heroes of the UNSC, well-known ships, and cataclysmic battles. Vivian, more than once, found herself drifting to a painting of the UNSC _Spirit of Fire_ , a ship that had gone missing ten years ago. It showed the _Phoenix_ -class vessel, a colonization ship turned into a man of war, cutting through the stars, the names of so many captains painted on the hull. A noble ship with noble crewmen, lost to the reaches of space. She wondered what they would make of a case such as this-would they have condemned Oswald as they had.

For two weeks, the trial had been going on. She had thought it would take longer, but she misjudged the men and woman of UNSC justice. The jury had been on him like hawks, the evidence was stacked against him and damning. The prosecuting lawyer had torn him to shreds. Still, she pitied Oswald. He continued to look pathetic, aged, and gray. As the verdict was delivered, he began to cry. It was not the same sobs from when he was in the brigs, they were silent tears. He didn't struggle, didn't speak. He stood up and walked with the guards out of the courtroom, head bowed, wrists cuffed, tears on his cheeks. Perhaps he had finally accepted that he had done wrong and was ready to carry out his sentence. Vivian hoped he did.

"Should have stood the son of a bitch up against a wall and shot him," grunted Travers, who was sitting with his back against the bench with his arm tucked across his chest. His mane of hair and thick beard seemed to have grown more since she had last seen him, reminding her of a lion.

"He never actually breached the Cole Protocol. If he had, the situation would have warranted an execution," Vivian responded as the occupants of the courtroom began to file out, "it was only an attempt."

Travers growled, "The man was a coward and would have put all of our remaining colonies at risk of discovery. He would have let millions die just to escape a fight. He doesn't deserve to live."

"He's getting what he deserves," Jasmine added, seated on Vivian's opposite side, "life imprisonment is worse."

"Whatever you say," Travers grumbled, standing up. He stretched, "trials are goddamn boring. They should have just tossed him in the slammer and been done with it. Come on, let's head back to the ship. We've got business to take care of."

The courtroom was situated within Olympic Tower, the tallest structure in the city of New Alexandria. While it was home to a number of high profile projects and offices for operatives from ONI-the Office of Naval Intelligence-the building also housed a number of other facilities to handle matters of military business. One of those included military justice and Olympic Tower courtroom saw to the prosecution and defense of many high ranking Naval personnel for any offense. It was a rare sight, Vivian, knew, to see a marine, Army trooper, or an airman arrive for a trial. The Navy liked to handle their own. Many still possessed the aged near-xenophobic quality against their fellow servicemen from other branches. They had their reasons, but most of them revolved around the idea of, "they're not one of us, so I hate them." It seemed unjustified to Vivian, but then again, she held our own prejudices and for good reasons too. She was trying, though.

Travers and Jasmine went off ahead in the crowd, down the busy hallways of the tower. Nathaniel and his group passed, but Vivian saw that he paused, and she went over to him.

"Didn't expect you and your squad to be here," she said.

The sergeant shrugged, "We've been on training exercises on the plains outside of New Alexandria. If we weren't, we would have been here every day."

"Why? You don't have to come."

Nathaniel shrugged again, "it felt like the place to be. Oswald was ready to leave us for the wolves; that Captain Hugh was no better. You got us out of there."

Vivian understood. It was a matter of showing respect.

"I appreciate your coming," she said. Nathaniel nodded with a grunt. She looked past him at his squad, who were loitering outside one of the offices, smoking cigarettes and grumbling to one another. A passing secretary stepped out.

"Excuse me, there's no smoking allowed in Olympic Tower."

"Piss off," growled one of the marines, a stocky Scotsman. The secretary huffily retreat back into the office.

Nathaniel had been watching too, and he sighed. Vivian chuckled, "Guess you better get them out of here before they end up in the courtroom."

"Too right," the marine said, "they don't take well too keeners around here."

"Keeners?" Vivian asked.

The sergeant blinked, then laughed, "Oh. We sometimes call brown-nosers keeners where I'm from."

"Where's that?"

"Canada."

"You're Canadian?" Vivian was surprised, "I thought you were American."

"American?" Nathaniel said in mocked shock, "How dare you, commander."

Vivian laughed, and Nathaniel said with a smile, "Not all Canadians have that accent Americans like so much."

"What part of Canada?"

"Nova Scotia."

"I'm afraid I don't know Earthen geography that well."

"Where are you from?"

"Skopje, in the Inner Colonies."

"Skopje? Really? I-"

"Waters!"

Vivian turned around and saw Jasmine and Travers standing in the hall, "Come on, we've got shit to do."

Vivian groaned quietly. Everyone passing in the hallway was now looking at her and Travers. Nathaniel stepped forward.

"He's like that dad that takes every opportunity to embarrass you when he's picking you up from school..." he said quietly.

Vivian laughed, "You've got that right. I'll see you on the ship, sergeant."

Olympic Tower had landing platforms that extended out from the building at the push of a button. Vivian and Travers were now standing at the entrance to one of these platforms. Jasmine had left, going to another pad to take a shuttle to the hospital where her parents were working. She had originally decided to accompany them back to the ship, but Vivian had pushed her to go. Her friend had been working hard throughout the journey, keeping a vigilant eye on the wounded, and dealing with Vivian's problems. Vivian wanted her to recharge; seeing her parents would give her a nice boost. Jasmine had finally relented.

"Things are little busy in the air right now," said the controller nearby, "we're diverting a Pelican to come and take you back to the docks. It'll be a few minutes. You can stand out on the pad if you want some fresh air." The man was obviously a native of Reach; many citizens on the planet were Hungarian descendants, and possessed a heavy accent when they spoke.

Travers and Vivian took up the offer and stood on the extended pad, looking out over the gleaming city. The setting sun cast an orange hue on the white buildings and their complementing blue glasswork. Interspaced between thickets of buildings were parks with dark green grass, trees, and walkways. Pedestrians looked like streams of ants on the sidewalks below, and the cars on the streets were caught in gridlock in the evening rush to get home. Shuttles, military vessels, and civilian cargo ships, came and went at the spacedocks. MagLev Trains weaved around and within the city. A few formations of Falcons would pass every so often; she could see the men inside, their legs dangling over the side. A trio of orbital elevators spaced around the city, stretched skywards and disappeared in the clouds. Reach's clouds were extremely thick and gray. The sea New Alexandria resided by possessed a dark glimmer, and the sun turned the snow capped mountains in the far distance to a warm pink.

Voices, honking horns, industrial equipment-the sounds drifted up from below. They reminded Vivian of home. She wondered if Lionel City looked like this, like there was no war on the edge of their civilization.

"Well, I've been talking with the top brass here on Reach. You'll be happy to know that the project hasn't been canceled. By the end of the week, you'll be back in space."

Vivian was relieved. She turned, the wind tugging at her regulation bun and throwing the few stray strands around. "I take it we've found a new captain?"

"We have."

"Is it you?" Vivian asked with a smirk.

Travers snorted, "God, I wish. I'd do anything to get back out there. But no, not me."

"Who?"

Travers stepped closer, a small smile on his face, a tender, serious look in his eyes. "In the time we've been here, I've been interviewing and talking up the personnel on the _I'm Alone_. The staff on the bridge, the intelligence wing, the engineers, the general crew, the ODSTs...even that AI and a couple of marines even tossed in their two cents."

Vivian felt like she knew who one of those marines was.

"Everybody told me about an individual on the ship who kept them together, who checked on everybody, raised their spirits and made them feel proud when they were afraid and ashamed. They told me about an individual who chose to do the right thing despite breaking the chain of command, to save thousands of lives. They told me about an individual...who showed confidence, compassion, determination, who made sure that everybody made it through in one piece. An individual who was brave, selfless, and showed a clear talent for the specific kind of leadership a ship of this nature requires. Do you know who I'm talking about?"

Vivian knew exactly who he was talking about. Underneath her placid expression, she felt a pit in her gut, her mind screamed, her heart pounded. The decision had been made, a democratic vote, a vote that didn't include her say. She knew she wouldn't have a choice. A moment of honor made her feel trapped. All of the lives of the _I'm Alone_ were about to fall into her hands. Her decisions would have resounding effects throughout the titanium ship. Not all those on board would ever be happy. One group who backed her one day, would hate her the next. Maybe they wouldn't. Perhaps she had earned everlasting respect and admiration from them all. She was not Oswald. But she was human. And so were there. Human were fickle, emotional, and and a good many allowed their convictions to be as fluid as water. No, she couldn't think like that. They trusted her, and she trusted them. They wouldn't betray it, but she knew she would be in a position where a single word could betray theirs. Every fiber of her being wanted to decline, wanted to say no, make Travers find somebody else. Her mind raced through a hundred excuses, a thousand, maybe even a million. None of them would matter. The decision had been made.

"No, sir, I don't know who that is."

Travers grinned his sharkish grin, "It's _you_."

Vivian shivered, and hoped he didn't see. Travers reached in his pocket and pulled out a small box. Within were small silver-colored pins in the shape of an eagle with a shield as its center, clutching a bundle of arrows. These pins were for her collar and the tops of her shoulders at the base of the neck. There were also a pair of gold-colored vertical bars for the collar, and gold-colored stripes to be sewed onto each shoulder and both shirt cuffs.

"You can sew those one later," Travers grunted as he tucked the box away. He saluted, "Captain Waters."

Vivian returned the gesture, her chest tightening. She felt honored, as well as an intense dread that gripped her like icy fingers.

"Thank you, sir," she said stiffly.

Their lowered their hands. Travers took out a cigarillo and put to his lips, followed by a lighter. He lit the cigarillo and puffed on it. The wind caught the light gray smoke and tumbled it away.

"As the captain of the _I'm Alone_ , you'll be in charge of the task force. The masters of the _Burnside_ , _Lion's Den,_ and _Determined Guardian_ will be under your command."

Vivian was not afraid to object now, "Admiral, they all have more experience than I do. Shouldn't the commanding officer with the greatest experience hold the position of fleet commander?"  
Travers frowned, "we'll be settling that at the _I'm Alone_. They're waiting for us."

He nodded, and Vivian turned to watch a Pelican come in for landing. It turned as it did, dropping its rear door. Travers clambered in, and Vivian followed suit.

It was a long ride back to the shipyards where the _I'm Alone_ , _Burnside, Lion's Den,_ and _Determined Guardian._ Vivian didn't utter a word the entire trip. Travers didn't seem to take notice of her anxiety. Either that, or he didn't care. He was a man who made decisions that couldn't be combated, made propositions that couldn't be turned down. She hated him for that, though admired him too.

The Pelican came to the drydocks, situated outside the shipbreaking yards at Aszod. Vivian, sitting at the end of the dropship, saw scores of UNSC vessels, ranging from frigates to cruisers, of classes that were no longer in use, broken into pieces. Proud ships, cut up and waiting to be recycled, reforged into something stronger, better, than before. As they approached the military and industrial quarters near the drydock housing _I'm Alone_ , she could see the other three vessels in their own docks, with workmen swarming over them and flowing in and out.

"We've been upgrading their housing accommodations, giving their weapons sytems a little extra boost. Not exactly like the _I'm Alone_ , but it'll give them an edge," Travers explained as the dropship made its way slowly into the _I'm Alone's_ hangar, and landed.

Both officers disembarked and headed to the bridge.

When they arrived, they found the bridge officers as well as another set of six officers, who were chatting. One of them was Captain Hugh, a portly man with two small eyes, a tiny nose, a thick black mustache, and a bald head. With him was his executive officer, a young Austrailian by the name of Kelly; he had a short blonde hair, somewhat tan skin, and two deep blue eyes. They were from the _Burnside_. Then there was Commander Alastair and Lieutenant Andrada from _Determined Guardian_. Vivian remembered Alastair; she was the daughter of her navigation instructor. She was an Outer Colonist, descended from Ethiopian colonists, with dark hair done up in a bun, with bright brown eyes, and long, firm features. Andrada was a Filipino from Earth, with a soft face and hardened brown eyes, and hair as black as night. Finally, there was Commander Kolchak and his own XO, Lieutenant Kato, of _Lion's Den_. Kolchak was from northern Siberia, with a mother descended from the Nivkh people, and a father who was a Don Cossack. He was muscular but not of a large build, with thick hair the color of mud, hazel eyes, and pronounced features. Kato was half-Japanese, and inherited his mother's blue eyes, which sparkled in the light, and warm black hair.

"Alright, all of you bridge officers, clear off!" Travers barked. The officers, shocked, quickly stood up and took their leave. The other officers gathered round.

"Admiral Travers," Hugh started, "it's good to-"

"Shut up," Travers snapped, "so just to be clear, you understand the nature of this project?"

No one spoke, so the Admiral continued, "Good. Your ships have exemplary history and records...for the most part..." he growled this, his gaze falling on Hugh. "so your skills will be put to good use. Now, I've made my decision as to who the new captain of the _I'm Alone_ is, as well as the commander of the entire task force."

He motioned to Vivian, "Waters here has been promoted and is now the supreme commander of this mission. You'll answer to her, and she only answers to me."

Hugh stepped forward, "Sir, I don't mean to be disrespectful to your decision, but Commander Waters-"

"Captain," Travers corrected.

Hugh frowned, "She has only been out of Office Candidate School for almost three months. She has only one minor combat action under her belt. Commanders Kolchak and Alastair have been serving for the better part of seven years, and I myself ten years. While I don't object her promotion to captain of the _I'm Alone_ , shouldn't I as the ranking captain be in command of the task force."

Travers took a threatening step towards him, jabbing a finger into his large stomach, "Listen here, _coward_. As far as I'm concerned, you ought to have been thrown into a cell along with Oswald. You were letting men die on Ambition, and were ready to let the entire garrison get glassed because of a supposed trap. You're not fit to be in command of this task force. So you'll have to suck it up, understand?"

Hugh blustered for a few moments, claiming his treatment, calling it an 'outrage,' but Travers wasn't phased. When Hugh finally settled down, Travers looked at the six officers in front of him.

"Does anybody have any other objections or comments or questions?"

Nobody uttered a word.

"Good."

A brief moment of silence was followed, and then Vivian quietly asked, "Admiral Travers? May I take my first action as task force commander?"

Travers nodded, "Sure."

Vivian stepped forward, folded her hands behind her back, and said, "Hugh, you're fired."

Everyone looked between the two officers. "What?" Hugh asked, his eyes widening.

"I won't tolerate a lack of aggressiveness among the officers under my command. Furthermore, I can't allow a man who was willing to let pure assumption dictate his actions, or rather lack of action., to remain in my task force."

"This is an outrage!" Hugh spluttered again, "A disgrace!"

"I hope it is," Vivian said darkly, "now gather your belongings, say whatever goodbyes you wish to make, and leave."

Hugh, sputtering and red in the face, stormed off. Vivian watched him exit the bridge, then turned her eyes back around.

"You, Kelly."

"Ma'am?"

"Did you advise him to stay of combat at Ambition?"

"No, ma'am. I advised him to attack but he wouldn't listen. Threatened to court martial me for insubordination when I persisted."

"I see. Travers, I recommend Commander Kelly be promoted to captain, and given command of the _Burnside_. Kelly, pick a new name for the ship and choose an XO. Submit the name to me by tomorrow morning, please."

"Understood."

"Commander Kolchak, Commander Alastair?'

"Yes, ma'am?" both officer said in unison.

"I understand that your ships are _Paris_ -class frigates, designed for ship-to-ship fighting rather than support roles. However, your ships are still smaller and less armor than the carrier and the _I'm Alone_. I don't doubt your abilities as combat leaders or your crew's skill and bravery, but I won't needlessly spend your lives in ship combat. If the need arises, I will ask you to engage, but our two larger ships will be handle most Covenant ships, especially with our upgrades. I will devote your duties to in-atmosphere ground-support roles. Marines and Army troops often rely on air support or artillery, but there are times when they aren't available or aren't enough. A pair of frigates will tip the scales in their favor. Wouldn't you agree?"

Kolchak grinned, "Aye, I think they would."

Vivian smiled back, "Good. I understand the situation Captain Hugh placed you in. I promise you that _I_ will never do such a thing. Do you have any questions?

Both shook their heads. Vivian nodded, "Good. You're dismissed. Send me regular updates on the status of your crew and your ships' upgrades."

The officers departed. Travers whistled.

"Damn. That was ruthless."

Vivian exhaled. She had been terrified in that moment. Taking command over Oswald had been frightening, but it seemed easy when it felt temporary. This was permanent. This was her world now. All she could do was accept it and make the most of it, intimidating as it was.

"Hugh would have been a liability. He would have taken every opportunity to question orders. The inability to act will get people needlessly killed."

That shark grin returned to Travers' faced, "Smart. Harsh-that's the way you gotta be for the job sometimes. I _politely_ advised that bootlicker of an assignment officer who got Oswald the position to apply for reassignment. You've got to make sure you keep thorns of of your sides."

He clapped her on the back, "come on, let's see your new quarters. I've already had your belongings sent up there."

The captain's cabin was three quarters bedroom and living space, and one quarter office. When she walked through the door, she was greeted with the office. It was a somewhat long but narrow space, with a dividing wall on the left with a door on the end. A desk, with her terminal, sat in the center. Other than the desk and a chair on either side, there were some filing cabinets. There was nothing else besides an AI pedestal on the right side of the desk and a large monitor on the right side to be used for video feeds with Travers and the top brass.

The Admiral led Vivian through the door and they were confronted with the bedroom. In the center was a queen sized bed with Vivian's duffel sitting on it. "Non-regulation," Travers joked, "but who gives a damn? If you'll be out for months on end, you'll want a comfortable bed. There was a nightstand beside it with a lamp and a dresser on the other. Beside the dress was a bookcase with two shelves, stocked with readings that Oswald had left behind. There was also a comfortable chair tucked on the right side of the room with a footstool and a reading lamp, and across from there was a writing table with its own chair. There was a small counter space with a coffeemaker with mugs beside it and a small fridge on the right side, "I got one that can make tea too; not sure which one you liked," Travers had said. The center had a medium sized carpet, which Travers called a personal touch he had just added. On the left was a door adjacent to the bed which led into the bathroom. It was a little larger than normal which a semi-larger shower.

Vivian looked around, "This looks more like a four star apartment than a captain's quarters."

"I could refit this room to be a shoebox," Travers said, "would you like that?"

Vivian snorted, "Seems like a lot of this is new."

"Yep, just got it set up a day ago," Travers said, leaning in the doorway, "consider it my way of saying thank you for kicking ass at Ambition and getting Oswald out of the picture."

"I appreciate it."

"Come out here, I've got a gift for you."

Vivian stepped out of the bedroom and into the office. Travers pulled one of the big bottom drawers out from it and retrieved an ashtray, which he placed on the desk.

"What's that for?" Vivian asked.

Travers reached back in and display a wooden box, "Sweet Williams Cigars."

"Thank you..." Vivian said slowly, hiding her distaste, "but I don't smoke."

"I know, I know," he said, placing them on the desk, "just smoke one when you score a victory over the Covenant, alright? And then there's this."

Travers held up a bottle of scotch, placed on the desk, then held up a bottle. The amber liquid sloshed around inside. "From my personal collection. All starship captains should have a little supply. For victories, of course."

Vivian eyed the liquor, then she offered a small smile, "Thank you, Admiral."

Travers took off the cap, set it down, and pick up two glasses, "care to celebrate your promotion with a drink?"

"I've never had a drink," Vivian admitted, "I'm only twenty."

Travers laughed, "Who cares? The law's the law, but when you're a soldier you get privileges! Lucky for you, you get to pop your cherry with me. I hear that I'm wonderful company when I'm drunk!"

Travers poured a little into each glass then sat down in the chair in front of the desk. Vivian took her own seat. Travers raised his glass.

"To your promotion!" Travers exclaimed and threw his glass back, draining it in the blink of an eye. Vivian gingerly picked up her own and drank. The liquor burned as it went down, and Vivian coughed and hacked. Travers laughed.

When Vivian recovered, Travers had taken the liberty of pouring himself another glass. He reached over to refill hers but she waved a hand, still coughing to the point where her eyes were watering.

"Now that I think about it," the admiral said, "I'm not surprised this is your first drink. You're a bit of a straightedge, aren't you? When I was a teenager in high school, I took every opportunity to get out there with my pals, get our older friends to buy us beer, and get wasted in one of our basements, depending on whose parents were away. Those were some good times."

Vivian nodded. It was all she could do. The last thing she wanted to tell him was how she shut down after her friends died. She never went out with friends because she didn't have any left. Making new ones was next to impossible and she hadn't wanted to anyways. Her teenage years were spent crying and suffering alone in her room, focusing on studying and working to distract her mind from the faces and the memories and the pains and the sorrows and the ghosts. Maybe alcohol would have blurred them, kept her in a state of unconsciousness that would have nullified her anguish, made her forget everything, made life bearable. Did she want to tell him that? No. Not in a million years.

Travers chuckled quietly and drained his glass again. His eyes found hers, and his expression was warm. "I envy you a great deal, Waters," he said, "you're young, you're fresh from OCS, you've got your own ship, your best friend on board, a crew that loves you..."

He sighed, leaning back in his chair, letting his head drop back. When he raised it back up, Vivian saw a stranger sadness in his muddy-colored eyes despite his amiable face. "I went to war, young, with my friends. What a feeling that was! Going to war with your best friends...that's the greatest feeling in the world; it made you feel invincible, unstoppable, like nothing could touch you."

His were somewhere distant, and his smile was melancholy. "They're all dead now," he said, emotionlessly, "all of them. It's just me now. What's left of me, anyways."

He snickered, throwing a glance at his missing left arm. Vivian watched him, amazed, petrified, mystified. Travers looked at her, "I'm not trying to scare you. I just wish I could go back thirty years, be in your shoes, give it another shot. But you have your shot, and I know you'll make it count."

Travers pointed at her and grinned, "You're going to do great things. I know it."

Vivian was flattered, but scared. She managed a smile, "I won't let you down."

"I know," Travers said, stand up and running a hand through his reddish-brown hair, "that's why I picked you. I'm on Reach until you set off, so if you need me, I'm just a message away. I'll be in New Alexandria."

Vivian stood up as well, "If you'd like to stay on board the ship, I can offer you my original quarters."

"That's nice of you, but I'll pass. I'm liable to take your ship if I stay here any longer," he joked. Then, he said, "Have anybody in mind for an XO?"

"I understand that a separate officer usually serves an executive officer, but with your permission I'd like to ask Jasmine, I mean Dr. Ebrahimi, if she'd like the position."

Travers nodded, "If she accepts, I'll allow it. If she doesn't, I'll find somebody for you."

Admiral Travers walked off, his shoulders sagging, his head low. Vivian lingered on his words. He had been brave, excited, when he went off to fight. She was terrified and filled with dread. Vivian hoped that would be enough to get everyone through alive. She took a look at the bottle of scotch. It had hurt coming down, but she admitted it had tasted good. Still, she screwed the cap back on and stashed the bottles, then slid the box of Sweet Williams Cigars into the top drawer, then headed into her new room to rest.

* * *

Jasmine knocked on the door to the captain's cabin again. It was early, but not too early. She was an early riser; Vivian was too, most of the time.

"Coming," she heard Vivian say, groggily.

A moment later, the door slid open. Vivian was in a pair of military shorts and a tank top. Her hair was messy.

"Congratulations on your promotion..." Jasmine said slowly, "...did you sleep well?"

"Not the best," Vivian mumbled.

"Well, a promotion like that can be stressful."

"No, not that."

"What then?"

"You try sleeping in the bed of the man who just got sentenced to life in prison."

"...did it smell or something?"

Vivian laughed, "come on in, I'm brewing some coffee."

The pair went into the bedroom. Vivian was shuffling her feet and hunched over the coffee pot, glaring at it, as if doing so would make it finish brewing faster. Jasmine took in the room. It was better than hers, but more often than not she just slept in her office. Some nights she'd slump over on her desk, other times she'd retrieve a blanket and sleep on the leather therapy sofa. Her own quarters were beginning to merge with her office; soon, they would be one in the same.

"Did you know I was going to get promoted?"

Jasmine turned, "Travers told me yesterday morning before we went to the trial. I wanted to be there when he said the words, but you insisted on me going to see my parents at NAH."

"Was it nice to see them?"

Jasmine loved Vivian for that. She seemed to be caught up in every single event of change, but she still cared.

"It was nice. They were busy, but we were able to get dinner together. They were happy to see me, and were glad that you were taking command. They told me to tell you that they can sleep better at night knowing you're in charge."

Vivian chuckled as she filled a mug with hot coffee. She took hers black. "Want some?'

"Sure?"

The newly promoted captain poured another mug, and put two spoonfuls of sugar into it with just a little cream-just how Jasmine liked hers. Vivian handed her the warm mug and they went out to the office, sitting down on either side of the desk. Coffee smell filled the room as they settled in their seats and sipped quietly.

Vivian smiled at her, "Travers wants me to select a new executive officer. That's you, if you want it."

Jasmine had seen that coming. It was a position she definitely didn't want. Medical chief was hard enough; she had to supervise all of their inventories, file hordes of reports, not to mention evaluate patients and care for the wounded. The first week they had been on Reach had been administrative hell, trying to document which wounded men had left the ship, which were staying, who needed what kind of transport, where they were going. It was almost the start of the second week when the last wounded Army trooper was taken off. Then she had to take care of restocking their medicine and equipment supply, file more reports, and reassign personnel to positions they were better suited.

Being the executive officer would essentially quadruple her duties. She would have to organize not just the infirmary but the _entire_ ship. More reports, more reassigning, more restocking, just more, more, more on an unbelievable scale. The burden would be shared between them, she knew that, but it would be too much. And if Vivian ever fell in battle, command would fall to her. She was an office of the Navy, she knew what commands to give, but she was a doctor first. A better doctor than a captain, she figured.

"I'll always have your back, Viv. But I've just got too much to do already. Adding on the XO duties would just crush me with work."

Vivian didn't hide her disappointment, but nodded understandingly.

"Yeah. I was lucky; most of the crew were asleep before I even had a chance to act like an XO."

"You can ask my opinion on anything whenever you want though. I'll always be there to discuss a plan, devise a strategy, for anything. I promise."

"I know. Don't worry, Jas. Travers said he'd get somebody. I was considering Bassot, but I think he might come off a little too aggressive to the rest of the crew."

"The marines would like him."

"I don't doubt it."

Vivian didn't look like a captain to Jasmine at that moment. She looked like the teenage girl she had met and roomed with at OCS on Luna. Disheveled but still very beautiful, stressed out but capable. Even if she hadn't only gotten an hour's sleep, Vivian was the type of person who could run a marathon. Jasmine was jealous of that just as much as she was astounded.

"I think you're going to do great," Jasmine said after a period of quiet.

"Do great?" Vivian shook her head, "You sound like a mom reassuring her daughter on her first of day school."

Jasmine frowned playfully, "Good one. Did you come up with that on your own?"

"Sort of," Vivian said, then sipped her coffee again, "just a few changes from the original. All the same, this isn't a game. When we leave port, we won't be going back to a friendly world for some time. We'll be in Covenant territory, raiding, reconnoitering, and acting as a QRF to the few Outer Colonies that are left. We'll be in danger all the time."

"We've already been in danger once. Oswald failed us. You didn't. You won't fail us. I _believe_ in you. And so does the crew."

Vivian laughed a little, then sighed, leaning back in her chair.

"Why would they follow me? Hugh said I was barely three months out of OCS, and he's right. The majority of the personnel on the ship have been in combat for five years, ten years, some of them for fifteen and twenty. Veterans, men and women of experience. But they'll follow me, a twenty year old who won a single victory."

Veterans tended to only take after their own. Those with experience, with knowledge of war. Jasmine thought for a while, and said, "I think after what happened with Oswald, they lost hope in the chain of command. Soldiers and sailors alike take pride in their commanders, and when their officers shame themselves, the people following bear that same shame. You were able to keep that shame at bay, and made them feel proud instead. I think they rust you for that."

Vivian stared at her for a while. A small tugged at the corner of her mouth, "Trust me? What a bunch of fools."

Jasmine smiled, "Well, I think they love you for it too."

Vivian blinked. That had taken her off guard, Jasmine could see. Her friend's eyes fell to the floor, humbled.

"Well," Vivian said, sniffing, "we should go eat."

After the captain had showered and dressed in proper attire-Jasmine had taken the time to sew on the new stripes to Vivian's uniform-they headed to the mess hall. When they entered, all of the sailors and marines present stood up and began cheering. They whooped and hollered, threw their hats into the air. Jasmine even saw Sergeant Frost among his friends, whistling loudly and clapping.

Jasmine looked over at Vivian, who looked around in stupification. She seemed frozen for a moment, but a glow came to her face and she smiled. She stepped forward, allowing the clusters of people rush up to her and shake her hand, clap her on the shoulder and back, and say their congratulations. After a while, they all backed off and grew silent, looking at her eagerly. Vivian looked at Jasmine uncertainly.

"Speech," Jasmine hissed under her breath.

Vivian looked horrified for a split second, then puffed up her chest, and gazed around. She was standing near one of the long tables where Sergeant Frost and his squad were.

"Excuse me, sergeant," Vivian said, climbing up onto the table. The marines laughed. Frost stood up and remained by Jasmine. They exchanged a courteous glance.

"All I can say is thank you for a welcome like that," Vivian started, her voice loud and commanding and grateful and powerful, carrying through the cavernous mess hall, "I am honored and privileged to take command of this ship and of our mission. Many officers of the UNSC ask their crew to perform bravely, to perform efficiently. But I won't. I know what you can do, I know that you do it better than any other ship in this entire fleet. So I'll make a promise to you. I'll never ask you to do anything that I wouldn't do myself. I won't ever force you into a position where you have to make a choice between loyalty and doing the right thing. I promise that I will be right beside you all in your times of suffering, your times of battle, and your times of victory. Together, we will bring the fight to the Covenant and bleed them dry!"

The crowd roared with approval. Vivian hopped down and looked around. Jasmine watched her. For the first time, in a long time, Vivian Waters look not only like a starship captain, but also happy.

Life at drydock was a boring, tedious one. Once the reports were filed, the inventory checked and double checked, and the personnel settled, there was little to do. Jasmine was thankful for it. Working through the night during the first week had taken its toll. After the ovation at the mess hall, Jasmine had gotten back to work. Vivian had toured the ship afterwards, making sure all was well. With no repairs for the ship and being almost completely restocked with supplies, there wasn't much for the new captain either. So, the two sat in Jasmine's office.

"Your office is better than mine," Vivian said, laying on the couch with one of the books from Jasmine's shelf.

"We're still on Reach for some time while the other ships get upgraded. You could spruce it up with some paintings."

"We're not allowed to hang up paintings."

"Do you think the brass are going to call and check to see you're following every little regulation in the book?"

"Point taken. But it's not like I have a wad of cash in my pockets. All of my backpay gets sent to my parents. They barely make anything from working in yards back home, even on overtime."

"My parents have some things from their apartment they'd be willing to part with. I'll send them a message and see what they can send us."

"You sure?'

"Absolutely."

Vivian laughed, "I feel like we're a couple of teenagers getting ready to go to our first year of college."

"We basically were when we met at the start of OCS."

Jasmine braced herself. Vivian had a tendency to ruin positive conversation with a downward turn. Thankfully, she didn't.

"Maybe our kids will go to OCS together someday."

"I'm not sure that's the life I'd want for them."

"True. But kids never listen to their parents, do they? I didn't and here I am."

Jasmine chuckled, "neither did I. And here we are."

She returned to typing at her terminal:

 _The mourning marine acts and speaks in a manner as if his comrade is still alive. He talks of his past, his family, his quirks, his likes and dislikes. His eyes look at his comrade and notice the things he would notice if were still alive; if he had saved that morning, if he looked tired. The mourning marine treats his deceased comrade with a greater respect than to those that are still alive. The marine in questioned intimidated the staff into providing the corpse of his companion a sheet. He felt that the bareness of the body was shameful to his memory and the way he had died, and that a cover provided dignity in some way, despite the cover being a simple plastic sheet._

"What're you writing?" Vivian asked, leaning down suddenly.

Jasmine jumped, having not heard her friend come over.

"I'm not exactly sure yet. It's titled "The Mourning Marine." I think I might turn into a paper about footsoldier identity and psychology. It might help from a basis of care for post-war post traumatic stress disorder."

"You're already thinking that far ahead?"

"It's important, don't you think?"

"I suppose. What made you want to write about that?"

"I had an interaction with one of the marines while we were still in slipspace. His friend, a Sergeant Teo Grimaldi, had been killed in action on Ambition. What you're reading is basically what happened. It was...moving."

Vivian nodded and grimaced, "must be a hard thing, to lose a friend like that."

Jasmine recalled the sadness on Frost's face. How his silver eyes had become cloudier with each passing moment, how his skin, his hair, even his clothing seemed to turn gray in that sterile titanium room. Perhaps it wasn't so much as preparing for the future as it was as a sign of respect to Frost. Maybe she wouldn't publish it. She'd just write and save it on her terminal, to remain there, unread. Was it even right to write an essay about a man in mourning without having been thrust into that position herself.

There was a knock on the door and it slid open. Colonel Hayes entered.

"Excuse my intrusion," he said, "but I was hoping to speak to you, Captain Waters."

Vivian stood up tall and folded her hands behind her back. She looked impressive to Jasmine. She always had, but in the short time since her promotion, she had looked more remarkable before. Her features were stronger, her posture more straight, her face more serious, and her heels were always together as if she were at attention.

"If you don't mind the good doctor's presence, I'll hear you out here."

"Not at all," Hayes boomed, "I took up your recommendation during our travel to hold off on the awards ceremony. I feel that now's the time to hold it."

"I agree," Vivian said with a curt smile and accompanying nod, "are we going to hold it here the ship?"

"Actually, I spoke with an old friend who's in command of a UNSC Army base within New Alexandria. He worked some things out and the ceremony will be held there. It's not going to be a very big special occasion, nobody's going to be in their dress whites or anything like that. All the same, seeing as how you've taken command and my marines are quite taken with you, I was wondering if you do them the honor of pinning the medals to their chests."

Jasmine looked up at Vivian, who raised her head a little.

"That would be a honor, but are you sure they wouldn't want one of their own to do it?"

"The marines in question don't particularly like awards, so it doesn't matter to them."

Vivian looked at Jasmine. Jasmine nodded, not seeing any harm in doing so.

"Alright then."

Hayes departed after exchanging a few more words. Jasmine sighed, "Stage fright?"

"Nah, I don't get stage fright, not after how things went down in the mess hall today."

"That's the spirit.'

Jasmine was glad to see Vivian smile. Things were looking up. All of the men and women on board were in high spirits. There was an air of positivity and excitement. Jasmine was enjoying it. There weren't enough occasions when that was such a collective joy and eagerness during such a time of war. A beautiful ship with a beloved captain-an awards ceremony would be the icing on the cake.

* * *

Vivian was standing on the right side of the stage, looking out over the courtyard of the Army base. The base itself formed a squad in the city, with a grassy, flat square in the center. The headquarters, barracks, armory, and other buildings loomed overhead, with the surrounding defensive wall being just as high. Troopers patrolled the walls and huddled at the towers, watching the marines and crew of the _I'm Alone_ entered the base and seat themselves in the sea of folding chairs. The sailors and ODSTs kept to the left side, while the marines took the right. It took some time. Nearly an hour passed before nearly ten thousand personnel had assembled into the base. While certainly not the largest UNSC base in the galaxy-it was actually smaller considering that it was within city limits-it was big enough to hold the entire crew and MEU.

Vivian smoothed out her tunic one more time. Her own awards were on the left side of her chest. It seemed silly to her to be so concerned with looking prim and proper for the occasion. She supposed she didn't want the marines to feel as though she didn't care. Jasmine had informed her earlier that the buzzing among the marines about her pinning the medals was well-received and being looked forward too. That was some consolation to Vivian. Still, she was somewhat nervous, excitedly nervous. It had been two days since her promotion, and morale had skyrocketed among the crew and marines. She was happy to see them looking happy themselves. The marines, for the most part, had trimmed up, though many still possessed their facial hair and non-regulation length hair. The crew of the _I'm Alone_ looked sharp, shaved, trimmed, neat, tidy, and professional. Vivian wasn't one to discriminate between the branches, but her handsome crew of Navy men and woman made the marines look like underdressed animals in fatigues.

She looked over her shoulder at Jasmine, who was in her own gray uniform with the white lab coat for a change. Vivian had stopped her before they had left to take it off. Jasmine's hair was bound more neatly into its ponytail than usual and her glasses glinted in the sunlight.

Hayes was at a podium at the center of the stage.

"I'm not one for flowery speeches, so I'll just keep it clear. Firstly, I'd like to thank the crew of the _I'm Alone_ for coming. Not like you had much choice but thanks anyways!"

Polite laughter rippled through the crowds.

"I want to make it clear that I have many awards to hand out for the gallantry you displayed on Ambition. At the same time, I want you all to remember our comrades and our cousins in the Army who died in the fighting."

Many bowed their heads or nodded in respect.

Hayes now addressed his marines, "I say it a lot but I'm damned proud of all of you. There's not much else I can say but that, that I'm proud. To see you defy the odds time and time again, it leaves me breathless. I watched you grow from boys into men, recruits into marines."

Vivian drifted into her own mind as Hayes continued. He addressed his men so easily, so informally. She felt that her speech on the _I'm Alone_ , however loved by all those present, was still rigid and rather typical for a captain to make. It had felt right in that moment. Hayes simply talked to his men, as if they were just one individual right in front of him. His usual booming nature and boisterous laughter had been set aside for calm, sincere words. Despite what he had said, his speech was heartfelt and Vivian felt somewhat moved by his words.

When he finished his eloquent speech, he grinned and said, "Alright, let's get the first round of victims up here!"

Seven men stood up from the front row. As Vivian watched them approach, she saw that it was the squad led by Nathaniel. They were dressed in matching fatigues but wore their medals on their chests. She considered it strange, as marines' medals were more often than not seen on their white dress uniforms than their fatigues.

She was impressed. Nathaniel wore a gold star, three silver stars, and five bronze stars, three Purple Hearts, and the Red Legion of Honor. His squad members wore a varying amount of silver and bronze stars as well as Purple Hearts.

"Now, I bet you all already know why these yokels are being honored," Hayes joked, leaning on the podium and waving a thumb at the squad on the other end of the stage. "These fellas thought it would be funny to drive their Warthog into the side of a Scarab. They destroyed it and stopped it from wiping out the task force. These men also elected to remain behind to arm a the nuke that destroyed Ambition's Alpha base. Both acts could have cost them their lives, but here they stand, and for that, Private First Classes Knight, Grant, and Moser, and Lance Corporals Bishop, Maddox, and Steele, have been awarded the silver star."

While the crowd clapped, each man walked across the stage, shook Hayes' hand, then approached Vivian. Sporting a smile and quick, deft hands, Vivian pinned the medal to each of their chests. They would salute, shake hands, and move off the stage.

"And that Steele is getting a promotion to full corporal!" Hayes said as the Englishman walked by. "May I should put a zipper on that stripe in case I need to demote you quick!"

Laughter shook the marines. Steele simply rolled his eyes.

After giving him his medal, Vivian looked across to Nathaniel on the other end of the stage. He looked uncomfortable, but offered a tentative nod that Vivian returned.

"And for taking up the command of his squad in an intense situation, for leading them through hours of combat, and for destroying the Scarab and arming the MFDD, Sergeant Frost will be awarded the Gold Star!"

The cheering and clapping faded. The world became mute. No one made a sound. Vivian couldn't see them. Even Hayes had disappeared from the stage. All of the buildings that had been watching vanished. There was just white in her vision, and the stage.

He came down the stage almost in slow-motion. He was smiling. Frost. His name was Frost. She had heard that name. Frost. Five years ago. Frost. Five years ago, in the night, among the dead. Frost.

" _Not even a kidney, Frost?"_ an English voice echoed in the air. " _Not even a kidney, Frost? Not even a kidney, Frost?"_

Jack the Ripper. Killer of innocent girls. Frost. Firing his assault rifle in the darkness. Gunpowder, blood, singed flesh, the smells filled her nostrils. She could hear the stutter of the rifle as he swept it across the room. There were Roseanne, Joanna, Carla, Willow, and Andrea on the stage. They stood on either side of him, watching him pass by, smiling, undisturbed. Their skin was pale, their bodies riddled with bullets. Blood spilled from the wounds and pooled at their feet. Roseanne had a deep cut wound in her neck, a knife wound. Each apparition began to follow him as he passed by. Frost. Jack the Ripper. _Ain't ya heard of Jack the Ripper? Killed five girls in London all the way back in the Nineteenth Century. Never got caught either. Ain't that somethin'?_

" _Not even a kidney, Frost?"_

Vivian trembled, her jaw dropped, her eyes were wide. She looked around and wanted to scream, wanted to cry. She could see red. She looked down. Her sidearm was in its holster. She could reach down, pick it up, pull the trigger, and it would be done. Frost. Jack the Ripper. Here he was.

Vivian pinned the gold star onto his shirt, beside the other one. He saluted her. She saluted back. They then shook hands. And then he walked down the steps behind her.

Frost. He was here.

 _Never forget_.

* * *

' _Twas then when the Hurdy Gurdy Man_

 _Came singing songs of love...'_

"Hurdy Gurdy Man"

By Donovan

* * *

This is either the best chapter I've written so far or the worst one. On one hand, i felt I was able to get in some subtle symbolism that I wasn't able to achieve with other chapters, and I captured the tumultuous yet adaptive nature of human emotion to new situations. On the other than, it felt rush, nondescript, and Jasmine's POV felt extremely lacking, acting nothing more than a bridge to several scenes rather than anything important. Whatever the case, sorry if this chapter doesn't do it for you and if the reveal wasn't good enough. I hope you guys enjoyed it all the same. If there's a lot of spelling and grammar issues on this one, I apologize, it's really late and I can't be kicked into revision. I don't like to do a lot of editing and revising, it ends up mucking too much with the original writing and it just ruins it. I'm a firm believe that your first draft is the best draft!

Comments responses:

AlphaHighBreed: Always good to see you, Alpha, thanks for stoppin' by. Yeah, it was just sitting there 3/4 finished for a week and I just wasn't getting around to it. Anyways, I'm glad it turned out well and that the story is really sucking you in. Shipping, huh? Between which characters, huh? I won't confirm or deny there'll be some romance in this story...but between which ones do you think, HMMM?

MightBeGone: Hello MBG, thank you for favoriting, following, reviewing. What you said really meant alot to me, it was very touching. The switching of point-of-views between characters was something I had to put some thought into. I knew for the first chapters I could only have one, and it wasn't until we got all of our major characters in one place we could start switching them up. I tossed around the idea of changing them up chapter by chapter style such as in the 'A Song of Ice' series, but I found switching it up between at least two characters per chapter helps keep things fresh. There are gonna be times when one character or another won't have a POV in a chapter and there may be some chapters that might only have one POV, but yeah, you'll being seeing roughly two to three per chapter. There's more POV characters on the way, but that's in the future. I hope you'll stick around to find out, thanks again.

As always, I'm doing my best to get some writing done during my schooling. I really want to remain transparent with you all because it's the least I can do for when you guys use your valuable time to take a glance at my story out of the thousands on this site. Seeing your reviews and feedback means the world to me, it helps keep me going, so always feel free to leave a comment or if you want to just chit-chat or have some recommendations, ideas, likes, dislikes, or some things you'd like to see in my story, feel free to send me a PM, I'll always get around to responding and I shouldn't leave you hanging for too long unless I'm asleep, working, or otherwise preoccupied with some, which isn't too often. Again, thank you for stopping by, thank you for reading, and I'll see you next time. Take care of yourselves.


	9. Chapter 9: Blood, Old & New

Chapter Nine: Blood, Old & New

* * *

"It's him!" Vivian cried, "It has to be him! Frost. It's the same name I heard five years ago. That's the man who killed my friends!"

"Vivian, be quiet!" Jasmine cautioned, holding up both hands, "what if somebody comes by and hears you?"

"I don't care!" Vivian trembled, " _I don't care!_ He's here on this ship, still alive after all these years, and I aim to take Holst and his ODSTs to his cabin and throw him in the smallest cell we have!"

It was the day after the awards ceremony. Vivian's blood was boiling and she had felt an anger that she had never experienced before. Her entire frame shook, her hands with curling and uncurling into fists. With eyes wide, she paced back and forth across Jasmine's office.

Yesterday, however, she had been different. She had kept her cool on the stage, trying not to look trapped, terrified, and appalled all at the same time. Disgust was what she felt, disgust that she had to shake his hand, to pin that medal on his chest. Vivian had wanted to vomit. Rather, she wanted to kill him right then and there. Tackle him to the ground and strangle the life out of him. But she hadn't. Throughout the ceremony, she had been able to restrain herself, but by the end she was ready to jump out of her skin. Jasmine had noticed and as the crowds dispersed she pulled her into a spot on the base where no one could see them. Vivian had sobbed then, burying her face in her hands. The memories had come flooding back. Resulting in tears of sorrow but also joy. By some miracle, here was the man she had hoped to find for five years. The man who killed her friends. He was here now, and she was in a position to levy justice against him, punish him in some way for the heinous crime he committed.

Even in her dreams, she saw him. Last night had been a relatively sleepless night, but what little she had, she saw him. When the memory replayed in her mind, he was no longer a shadowy figure lit up only by the muzzle flash of his rifle. Instead, she saw Frost as she saw him now, plain as day. And in her dreams, she killed him every time. _"Not even a kidney, Frost?"_

The restless night showed on Vivian's character. Her hair was frizzy and wisps of hair flew from her bun. Dark bags had settled under her eyes. But she wasn't deterred, wasn't weakened-never weakened.

Jasmine didn't look much better, her own hair trying to escape its ponytail and her eyes puffy from lack of sleep. She took off her glasses and roughly placed them on the desk before rubbing her hands against her face in aggravation. When she withdrew them, she said, "There is no way that it's the same guy. Frost isn't an uncommon last name. Do you know how many people there are in the galaxy, Viv? Billions! How can you possibly tell if this Frost is the Frost from five years ago?"

"Who else could it be?" Vivian asked exasperatedly.

"It could be a thousand, a hundred thousand different marines!"

"It's him. I know it's him."

Vivian braced her hands against the desk, letting her hang low, "for five years I've waited, hoped, dreamed of finding this...this man. This _murderer_ , who butchered my friends. Five years of pure hell. But somehow, someway, he's ended up on my ship, and I can finally make him pay."

She looked at Jasmine, who glared back at her. The doctor said, "Don't go confusing justice with revenge."

"They're one in the same, Jas."

"No, they're not. You have no evidence, no _proof_ that this man was on Skopje five years ago."

Vivian shot up and pointed a finger at her, "I spoke with him yesterday! I brought up Skopje and he seemed to recognize the name! Not to mention there's that friend of his, that Brit. He was the one who called him Jack the Ripper that night."

"That's not enough!" Jasmine yelled, finally losing her temper, "Are you serious, Vivian? You've got to be joking. All you've got is his name and that he almost mentioned something about Skopje and that he has an English friend? Are you so blind that you want to toss this man into the brig on just those three pieces of evidence? Does that seem convincing enough to you that it's the same man? What are you, a captain of a UNSC warship or a kid on the playground trying to tattle on somebody?"

Vivian was able to put aside her shock at Jasmine's anger and say, "That's enough evidence to start an investigation."

There was a long uneasy silence between the two friends. Both were braced, feet planted firmly on the floor, staring one another down as if they were two animals, waiting for the other to flinch before attacking.

"You don't even know him," Jasmine said quietly.

Vivian stood up straighter, "I do. His first name is Nathaniel. I've spoken to him a few. I asked him to hold special weapon instruction courses at the firing range. He was insane enough to land a Warthog on a Scarab and risked the lives of his men to stay behind to set off a nuke. And...and..." she struggled to find something else, "He's from Earth, Canada, and-."

"Nova Scotia, to be exact."

Vivian's eyes widened, "You've spoken with him?"

Jasmine looked guilty for a moment, her eyes falling to the floor-but only for that moment. A split second later they had risen again, beautiful and angry, "Yes. I stood with him over the corpse of his dead friend, listened to his concerns about becoming squad leader. I saw him burdened by this new command just like you are with yours. I saw a man concerned with the lives of not just the men under his command, but his _friends_ , people he considers family. He's a good, honorable man."

Vivian took a fiery step forward, "Honor!? _Honor!?_ Don't you speak to me about honor! What do you know about honor! You promised me a year ago, when we were still in OCS, that if you ever heard anything about the people who carried out that assault on Skopje, about the man who slaughtered my friends, you would tell me! And you've known Frost for how long? Where's the honor of our promise?"

"I met him when we first rescued the 89th on Ambition," Jasmine admitted, "but I just didn't think this is the man you're looking for. So I didn't tell you, I'm sorry."

Her voice was filled with indignant venom. Jasmine's brow furrowed, "You know him too. You told me how you congratulated the man and his squad when we first picked them up. If I recall when we spoke about it afterwards, you thought he was courageous, brave in fact. And you're even on a first name basis with him. So don't try to pin this all on me!"

Vivian shook her head and waved her hand dismissively, "I didn't know, I never heard anybody call him by his last name."

"That doesn't matter. What happened to the admiration you had for him?"

"I was wrong!"

"All of it just gets wiped away because he might be the man who killed your friends?"

"So you do think there's a chance he is?"

"No! Don't twist my words around, Vivian! You're becoming unreasonable."

"What am I supposed to do?" Vivian snarled, "what if it is him? What if I just let him slip through my fingers?"

"Did you ever consider what you'll achieve by arresting him? Killing him? What good will that do?"

"My friends will be avenged, and their killer will be given what he's due. One life for five."

"That won't bring them back," Jasmine said coldly.

The words struck her like an icy dagger. Vivian hated to hear it, because she knew it was true. Yes, nothing she could ever do would bring them back from the dead. They were gone, buried in Skopje's soil in a city cemetery. But her vengeance, their vengeance, would be satisfied. Their killer didn't deserve to roam free, without guilt, without paying for his crime. But Jasmine was right.

Vivian leaned against the desk, a hand planted firmly on its edge. She felt like she might collapse.

"What am I supposed to do, then?" She asked Jasmine quietly, "Do nothing? Do nothing at all when there's a chance?"

Jasmine reflected on this for a time. Eventually, she came closer and said, "I'll make you a deal."

Vivian stared at her with hard emerald eyes, "a deal?"

"So, you have a name, his friend is from England, and he might have some kind of knowledge on your homeworld. That won't be enough for an official investigation, but then again, we don't have the time, manpower, or resources to carry one out anyways, especially since we're waiting to be deployed."

Jasmine went to the other side of her desk and sat down in her chair, folding her hands on the desk, "However, that can't and won't stop you. I know it won't. So, you carry out your own unofficial one, discretely. Find me two or three more pieces of evidence, some kind of proof, _condemning_ proof, and we'll bring it up with Travers. Travers is the overseer of this project and thus is responsible for every individual that's a part of this mission. Hayes won't ever issue an investigation against his own men, that much is very clear. Travers will."

She sighed, then said, "But you have to promise me that this won't be your priority. This is a ship of war and the entire crew and now the task force are depending on you for leadership. The marines adore you, and the crew worship you. They are your priority, and always should be, not ghosts and killers."

Vivian mulled it over. Jasmine was convincing enough, so she relented, "Okay."

"Say I promise."

"I promise."

Jasmine nodded silently.

Vivian exhaled and ran a hand across her forward, "I'm...I'm sorry."

"Forget it," Jasmine said, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

Decatur then flashed up on the AI pedestal.

"Madam!" he saluted Vivian, then bowed towards Jasmine, "my good doctor, forgive the interruption, but Admiral Travers has come aboard. He says he has your first orders, and requests your presence on the bridge."

Vivian nodded, "I'll be there momentarily. Thank you, Decatur."

"Very good, captain!" the AI exclaimed with a smile, then blinked away.

Vivian sighed. She quickly smoothed out her hair and her tunic. Although Frost consumed her mind, other duties seeped their way back in, blurring his image.

"I'll catch you later, Jas," Vivian said, heading towards the door, "I expect we'll be departing today or tomorrow. Make sure you and the staff are prepared for either."

"We already are. Fully stocked and ready to go."

"Good," Vivian paused in the doorway and looked back with a smile, "by the way, you mentioned those advanced first aid classes you wanted to proctor for the crew and marines some time ago?"

"Yes?"

"You have my consent. Begin organizing classes and times as soon as you're able."

Jasmine blinked in surprise, then she smiled, "I will. Thank you."

Vivian exchanged a nodded and left.

She stormed through the hallways and corridors. Sailors who walked by were blurs. Any marine she came across looked like him. Every time she their olive drab armor she wanted to draw her sidearm and start firing. _"Not even a kidney, Frost?"_ The words echoed, the scene replayed, a green ghost in front of her, out of reach, five ghosts behind her, propelling her towards them. He was walking on this ship, laughing, smiling and joking and chatting and sleeping and eating and training and getting away with it. Her thoughts felt like fire ants, crawling in her head and on her skin, burning her. It was unbearable. Just thinking about it made her heart beat hard and sight grow red and her body shake with rage. Why did murderers get to walk free? She needed a plan, needed to get information.

Her thoughts consumed her so greatly that even her vision began to darken. People disappeared, the walls began to disappear, there was only darkness and a phantom marine leading her own. She could see faces of teenage girls, see their blood-soaked bodies. They looked at her with hopeful and eager eyes, eyes that demanded blood for blood. It wasn't until she reached the bridge that she seemed to be back on the _I'm Alone_.

All of the bridge staff were at their stations, filing reports and checking systems. Vivian hadn't ordered them too. She appreciated their initiative and their agency. Good officers were ones that didn't rely solely on their superiors for directions, she thought.

Everyone stood and saluted but Vivian waved them back down, "As you were, as you were."

Admiral Travers stood in the center of the cavernous bridge, his one hand behind his back. He turned around, his face serious.

"Skip the formalities, Waters," he grumbled as she began to straighten for a sharp salute, "we've got a problem."

"What kind of problem?"

"I should have mentioned this earlier, but I chose to withhold the information because of Oswald's trial and your promotion. If you recall, there was a second task force coming with another garrison of marines to replace the 89th. One of the ships, destroyer UNSC _Best of the Best,_ has gone missing."

Vivian was surprised, "How did that come about, sir?"

Travers grumbled, "Human slipspace technology isn't foolproof. Mistakes can occur, and ships can end up far away from their destination. She somehow went off course into another system, not far from Reach, less than three days in slipspace away. She sent one distress call and since then we've had no contact. You're to begin this project's designed operations _after_ you investigate the _Best of the Best_."

"What are we to do if we find them?"

"Assist them in anyway; if their ship is too heavily damaged, help repair them to the point where they can make a slipspace jump or hold position until we can get someone who can make repairs to you. If they're in an alright shape, they're to be attached to your task force. I won't have another setback for the project."

"A destroyer?" Vivian asked, "Under my command you'll place a carrier, two frigates, and a destroyer-on top of my own super heavy cruiser?"

Travers grinned, "You have a nice little armada, haven't you? With the addition of a destroyer, your fleet will be like a titanium fist in the Covenant's side."

Vivian quite liked the sound of that, but remained focused, "Decatur, what's the status of the _I'm Alone_ and the other ships?"

Decatur appeared, tipping his commodore's hat, "The _I'm Alone_ is fully stocked and manned, save for an extra complement of radio specialists we're bringing on board at this moment."

Vivian remembered; working with Kolchak and Alistair, they had devised a doctrine for supplying frigate support to Hayes' marines during surface engagements. Alistair had insisted that they supply communications operatives who had knowledge of complex codes and were well-versed in reading maps and coordinates. These operative were supposed to come from the Navy. However, comms specialists were in high demand, so they had gotten a group from the Navy and another from the Air Force. She made a mental note to meet them in the hanger.

With a clear of his holographic throat, Decatur continued, "The upgrades of _Lion's Den_ and _Determined Guardian_ are near enough to be considered to complete."

"What's left?"

"Their reactors have been fully upgraded as well as their weapons systems, and a list of other miscellaneous upgrades," the AI stroked his chin, "however, the retrofits to their crew and marine accommodations haven't been finished yet. If we were to depart now, I would gauge that ten percent of the marines on both ships wouldn't have the new accommodations."

"What about the carrier? Did Kelly pick a new name?"

"Indeed he did; the _Burnside_ has been re-christened, _Batavia_ "

" _Batavia_?" Vivian echoed. She made a second mental note to ask Kelly why he chose that name.

Decatur continued, "Captain Kelly has proved himself to be quite the ship builder; his knowledge of ship structure expedited the upgrade process and all of their major retrofits have been completed. Some other nonessential upgrades are still being installed."

Vivian contemplated the situation. Most of the important upgrades were finished, with only a few to go. Diverting ten percent of marines from either frigate to _Batavia_ or _I'm Alone_ remained a possibility, but subtracting personnel from both of the small ship's internal security worried her. With her own knowledge of shipbuilding, the remainder of the upgrades could be finished by tomorrow morning. But the longer they waited, the chance that the Covenant would find the ship would be higher, presuming it was still where its last distress signal was. Then again, if the _Best of the Best_ was still there, it was a safe bet to guess that she wasn't going anywhere.

She made the decision.

"Decatur, keep tracking the status of the upgrades. I'll make a request to the head of operations here to add more personnel to the teams already working on the ships. With the extra hands and if they work overtime, we'll be ready to go by tomorrow morning at first light."

"Splendid, madam!" Decatur saluted.

Vivian turned to Travers, who began to speak, "You honestly think the best choice is to finish making accommodations for marines more cozy instead of getting out there and investigating? Don't you think-"

Vivian boldly cut him off, "It is. I won't steam out of port until we're completely ready. The extra time will give us a chance to formulate plans based on all possible situations. And Admiral, I understand why you withheld the information on the _Best of the Best_ , but in the future, information such as that cannot be retained. If I'm to be the commander of this task force, I will require full transparency on your end."

Bold as it was to speak to an Admiral in such a manner, Travers simply grinned despite Vivian's apparent anger. If he was angry, he hid it well.

"You'll have it," he agreed, "but first, seeing as how Ebrahimi declined promotion to XO, I've brought along the replacement. _Solak!_ "

A short, thin man in a gray tunic, holding the rank of commander, entered the bridge. His face was sharp, angular, and narrow, and his black hair was turning gray. He had dark eyes and an emotionless face.

Travers wrapped his good arm around him, "this man has been my assistant for fifteen years. He's articulate, efficient, hard-working, and he doesn't back-talk. Isn't that right?'

Commander Solak slowly looked over at Travers with a blank face, then looked over at Vivian, "I served under Rear Admiral Travers as his XO when he was still in command of warships. Afterwards, I served as his assistant, handling appointments with senior members of the UNSC as well with potential officers for projects, organizing his projects, handling minor duties that would otherwise consume his attention..."

Travers laughed and pinched Solak's cheek, which the XO didn't show any reaction to. Travers then said, "He's the Spock to my Kirk."

"Come again?" Vivian asked.

"Nothing. He'll keep things organized and fluid for you."

"I'll submit a request for more workers immediately," the XO said, found his station which was to the side of the captain's chair, and began tapping away immediately.

Vivian and Travers departed from the bridge afterwards. They headed to the hanger, with little said between them. When they reached it, they found a large crowd of Air Force and Navy personnel sitting in the center, where their Pelicans had left them. They sat or leaned against their duffel bags, while others fiddled with their radio sets.

"Solak seems a little..."

"Dead? Yeah, I know. Don't worry about it. If he does his job well you'll barely see him. Also don't look into his eyes, you'll see the end of the universe in them."

Travers bellowed with laughed until a Pelican landed nearby. He stopped, and sighed.

"That's my ride out of here," he said, turning to Vivian, "this will be the last we see each other face to face in a long time, Captain. By the way, your task force has been given a proper callsign. Rapier."

Vivian nodded, finding the name agreeable. The two shook hands, their grips amicable and tight. He offered a smile, "Some people aren't meant to command. Others train themselves until they are. But there's a few that are born for it."

That was the last thing he said to her before climbing into his Pelican. With his trademark shark-smile, he waved goodbye as the rear door closed. Vivian watched in silence as the Pelican rose and left the hanger. Her expression betrayed nothing. If someone had been looking, they would not have known the great sadness she felt at that moment.

Vivian recovered and went to inspect the comms specialists. There were a few shouts now and she saw a female specialist, young, with golden hair and hazel eyes. Her face was filled with fire as she shoved another of the specialists down, a man practically twice her size.

The young specialist shouted in German, standing over the other man who was laughing at her.

"What's going on here?" Vivian asked, loud and sharp.

Everyone turned, saw her rank, and jumped to their feet in attention. The girl was the last one to do so.

"This man called me a kraut!" she answered gruffly.

Vivian turned her gaze on the airman in question, who had just gotten to his feet.

"I won't tolerate any discriminatory remarks among the personnel under my command. The UNSC is a multinational and racial organization, and any slander such as that will resulted in punishment. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," the big airman said meekly.

"What's your name, airman?"

"Senior Airman Vaughn, ma'am."

"Airman Vaughn, one more comment like that and I'll see you demoted and put on the janitorial duty for a month. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am..." he murmured.

Vivian turned, folding her hands behind her back. She gazed among the Navy and Air Force personnel. They had been issued fatigues identical to the marines, but they had no weaponry, armor, or field gear with them besides their radios. All of them would have to be outfitted; she would leave that to the marines they were attached to. They would know better than her. The thought of the marines brought Frost into her mind. The short beard on his face, his sharp features, those gray eyes: all hiding something sinister.

She shook him from her mind, "I'm Captain Vivian Waters, master of the _I'm Alone_ and commander of Task Force Rapier. While you have already been briefed on your duties, I will reiterate that you are essential ground personnel, and will provide the link between the marines and the ships. Your ability to communicate clearly and quickly can be the decisive factor on the battlefield. But, you are also serving as replacements; every single one of you will be added to a squad, to bring the MEU's number back up as well as increase flexibility in ground-to-orbit communication. "

There were no murmurings or whispers. Vivian looked at the girl in front of her. She looked eager and excited, yet there was a toughness in her bright eyes.

As if on cue, a complement of officers from the marines arrived. Vivian turned her attention back to the crowd, "You'll be split into groups and be assigned to a squad now."

As the marines began to hustle and guide the radio operators away, Vivian turned to the German girl.

"What's your name?"

"Senior Airman Nora Langley, ma'am!"

Vivian was confused, "Pardon me, Senior Airman, but didn't you say you were German?"

Langley grinned, "I am, ma'am! But I get my name from my father, he's an Englishman who moved to Germany. My mum took his last name, so we don't have a German last name. It confuses everyone, ma'am."

Vivian smiled, "Come with me, I know just where to assign you."

* * *

Nora Langley carried her duffel down the corridor of the ship, striding next to Captain Waters. She had taken a liking to the captain already. Her presence was demanding but she was also kind. Although, Langley was intrigued as to why she had asked her to follow her.

Langley swept her short golden hair from her face, which was smooth and small. She was small, but strong. When Captain Waters stated that she'd be joining a squad of five year veterans, she had felt at first intimidated, but she had thought about it, and was determined to make her place if they gave her any guff.

"The squad leader is a man by the name Frost," Captain Waters said, slow and sly, "he's an...interesting individual."

"In what way, ma'am?"

"He's a brave man, but..." Waters seemed to think for a moment, "but I'm contemplating putting in a request for an officer's commission. . I think his talents are better suited beyond the squad level. Can I trust you keep me informed of his actions as squad leader?"

Langley shot a quick glance over at Waters, who was staring straight ahead, her face betraying no emotion.

"Ma'am, permission to speak freely?"

"Granted."

"Are you asking me to spy on him, ma'am?"

Waters chuckled, "No, no. He's actually..." for a split second her eyes grew dark, her mouth seemed to curl in disgust, and then with a sigh she said, "he's actually a friend of mine. It's...a surprise, I guess. But I need to know if he's capable first."

Langley found it odd that a marine NCO and a commissioned officer in the navy had become friends. Perhaps she fancied him, or they were having some kind of steamy hidden romance. Maybe they were just a pair of regular chums-chums always got gifts for each other, and she supposed Captain Waters' idea of a gift was a commission. Langley didn't want to ask too much, she was new and was keen to make an impression, not out of vanity, but to prove she was capable as well.

"I'm more than happy to help, ma'am."

"Thank you, Langley."

The pair came to one of cabins in the barracks, and after a long pause, Waters rapped her fist on the door. Music was blaring on the inside.

"Who is it?" an English voice called.

"Captain Waters."

The music was turned down and the door slid open. Langley was greeted by a nauseating smell of foul cigarette smoke and body odor. Seven marines, spaced around the room, looked up. Some were lying on their beds, others in the chair, one was in his trousers with a towel around his neck. Four were smoking, and Langley couldn't help but cringe at the sight of a misty gray cloud hanging in the air.

Waters seemed undeterred, and she put on a smile that seemed almost forced to Langley, "Sergeant Frost."

"Captain Waters," greeted the NCO, warmly. He stood up with a smile as if he were meeting an old friend. "How can I help?"

"I'm sure you're aware that everyone is getting a new radio operator, from the Navy and Air Force."

Frost nodded, "Yep. We'll make nice." The squad leader turned, looked Langley up and down, "How much experience do you have?"

"I've been in the Air Force since I was sixteen."

"Combat experience, I mean."

Langley bristled and reluctantly said, "None."

The friendly looked disappeared from Frost's face. "None?"

"Yes, but-"

Frost cut her off, "Captain, I don't mean to question orders."

"Go ahead."

"Ma'am, Colonel Hayes has a special subsection within our MEU called the Vanguard. He puts the most elite units within it. My squad is a part of the Vanguard and having new blood might hamper us in the field."

"New blood?" Langley growled, "I've been in the UNSCAF for three years and-"

"I understand your reservations," Captain Waters cut in, raising a hand in front of Langley, "but I'm afraid this is nonnegotiable."

Frost sighed but nodded, "Yes, ma'am. We'll make sure she's outfitted."

"Good."

Langley looked at Waters, who smiled at her before she left.

* * *

Frost watched Vivian leave. She had regarded him with a coolness he had not seen before, but she was under a great deal of stress he imagined. New personnel on top of a new command of four ships? He wouldn't wish that on anybody. But he felt safer with her as the commanding officer, rather than somebody they didn't know yet.

But that left his thoughts quickly. His attention was focused on the short airman in front of him. One more life to take care of; that made it six. That didn't bother him as much as her inexperience. She glared back at him, defiantly. Her eyes were shining and her blonde hair glowed.

"If you've got no combat experience, what do you have?"  
"Out of the batch of radio operators that were assigned this mission, I have the best scores in communications and coordination."

That was a silver lining, although Frost didn't plan to show his approval.

"Just because you're the specialist radio op doesn't mean all you'll be doing is sitting there chatting with the ships. I expect you to fight with the rest of us. I also expect you to follow orders."

The rookie rolled her eyes, "I think I can stick it out in the mud with a bunch of raggedy unshaven pigs like yourselves."

The squad laughed, including Frost, "You'll be able to pull your weight?"

"Give me some armor and a rifle."

Frost stepped closer, arms akimbo, towering over her. "Are you the soldier to toss a grenade into a Drone hive and jump after it?"

Any sane individual would have answered that it would be beyond foolish to dive after one's own grenade. But Frost was not looking for someone sane, and was satisfied when Langley belted, "I am!"

"Good. Set your bag down on one of the beds and let's go."

She was quick to set her bag down and was immediately by Frost's side as he went out the door.

"Steele, keep an eye on things."

"Bite me."

Frost laughed as they went down the hall. Langley looked confused, "do all of them talk back like that?"

"Huh? No, no. The 89th was part of the Earthen Youth Program. We all got recruited when we were younger and have known each other for eight years. The entire 89th is like that. That's why getting replacements is a little strange for us. We did have a radio operator but he died a long time ago. Best one in the MEU."

"I'm not here to fill anyone's shoes," Langley said respectfully.

"Good. Do your best not to dig. That's a lot of bad memories I don't want coming back. The squad will put you through a little bit of a hazing process, but you seem alright, I'll see that you don't get too much trouble from them. I just need you to do your job and don't go anything stupid; you're no good to me dead."

"I understand, sergeant."

"Frost is fine."

They continued down the hall, their booted footsteps heavy, listening to the complaining and angry shouting of squad leaders in the other cabins as the received their new replacements. There were different variations. Some squad leaders moaned to their superiors, others lost their tempers. Many friends had been lost over the years. Nobody wanted the new people. Frost understood why. Losing somebody you had known since you were a kid was like losing a limb. Getting to know somebody else, growing to love them and count on them, and then lose them? That was something soldiers feared most, the pain of lost friends. Loss was something that Frost had experienced many times, not just with men in his squad. Everybody knew everybody in the MEU, a well-known fact. Everyone knew everyone else's first, middle, and last names, their motherlands and hometowns, their likes and dislikes, their quirks and annoying habits and flaws, their positive qualities, their abilities in combat, what their religious and linguistic backgrounds were, what their families were like. There was Lieutenant Arjan Singh; most of the marines called him Arjan the Sikh. Like the rest of them, he had been away from Earth for five years. Although he had to keep his hair cut and wear a helmet, during _Vaisakhi_ , the Sikh new year, he would don his turban, as would his entire platoon out of a sign of support and affection for their friend. They posed for a photo every year, and every year they would send a petition to the UEG asking them recant their regulations against wearing religious clothing, such as a turban. The UEG refused every time, but that never deterred them. There was Medal of Honor recipient PFC Jannek, a Sami from Norway. Every year he and his squad would celebrate Riddu Riđđu, a Sami music festival, having learned the songs and words from him, which he had learned from his parents and their parents before them. Everyone knew everyone, knew what was important to each other. That kind of knowing was dangerous for soldiers, Frost concluded.

He contemplated this tough looking girl beside him. Was she already dead? Did some cosmic entity predetermine her fate? When was it going to happen? How? His fear was already mounting, as if she were a reanimated corpse ambling along beside him.

"Aren't you the one they call Jack the Ripper?"

Frost blinked, torn from his thoughts, then bristled, "Yeah. Some people call me that."

"Aren't you some kind of legend?"

"No, I'm not. Quit asking." Frost stopped then and turned on her, poking her shoulder with his index finger. "Didn't I just tell you not to go digging in the past?"

Langley smacked his hand away, "You did. And I chose not to listen. I'm not a little kid. I have training with Pararescue."

That surprised Frost. "You were a PJ?"

Langley shook her head, "No. I wasn't. I was set to be a Para-Doctor, but I dropped out just before I finished and switched to communications."

"Why'd you drop out?"

Langley's face grew dark for a moment. If he hadn't been looking at her closely, he would have missed her expression. But then she looked over at him, and said with a cheeky smile, "Don't go digging in the past."

Frost couldn't help but laugh.

When they reached the armory, they went to the Armorsmith, where she listed her measurements and the outfitters there gave her a set body armor. They then went through her weapon scores. Langley was good with shotguns, better with SMGs, and excellent with assault rifles. She chose the MA5B, much to Frost's amusement; he'd rub it in Grant's face later.

Langley didn't complain like some of the other specialists were. Some of them seemed less than eager to fight. Listening to a couple of them chatting, he learned that a chunk of them used to be communications specialist on warships or at airbases. They had no ground experience, hadn't worn body armor since basic training, hadn't had weapon drills or hadn't held rifles for months, some for over a year. Frost grimaced. He understood the xenophobia between branches, yet didn't believe in any of it. He trusted his brothers and sisters from the Navy, Air Force, and Army, but he was unsure if these communications liaisons would be able to handle in the field. A few appeared to have seen action, but they weren't the ones complaining. He felt lucky for having Langley then. Pararescuemen were no joke. Their training lasted for two years and only around twenty percent ever made it. Seeing as she had almost finished training and _hadn't_ been burned out, her physical and mental endurance was much higher than the average line marine. Despite her small frame, she was strong; one could see her toned muscles pushing against the over shirt over her fatigues. She had a determined, piercing glare to boot, and didn't seem to take guff from anyone, even Frost. Yes, she was a replacement, but not as green as they thought. Their squad was lucky enough to get a good one.

Watching her practice at the range, firing paint rounds from an assault rifle, Frost said, "Your medical training will be a real asset. I was going to ask Colonel Hayes if he could transfer a medic from another squad over, but I think you'll do just fine."

This seemed to make her uneasy. Her groupings on the target, shaped like an Elite, had been extremely tight. But after he said this, the next shot was far off.

"Radio op and medic? That's a lot of responsibility."

"You seem like you can handle it."

"Working the radio is fine, but I'd rather not be relied on as the medic."

Frost frowned, "Why not?"

"Just not comfortable with it."

"I thought it was a Pararescueman's duty was to save life and aid the injured," Frost said, quoting a part of their creed, "putting everything else before their personal desires and comforts."

That hit sharp, as she turned on him, heat and anger evident in her eyes, "Well, I'm not a Pararescueman. I'm a radio operator."

Frost wanted to remind her that she had to follow orders, but could see that he struck a nerve and relented, "have it your way."

"The wounded can be left to me," said Dr. Jasmine, who had just walked up behind them. Frost smiled. He felt better for seeing her. She smiled back. "Sergeant, could I have a word?"

"Yes, ma'am," he turned to Langley, "alright airman, we're done here. Head back to the cabin and get settled, then tell the squad to get something to eat, which means you too."

"What if they don't listen to me?"

"Clout them upside the head," Frost joked, "you seemed ready to clout me a second ago."

* * *

The airman left, leaving Jasmine with Frost. He smiled pleasantly, "How can I help?"

"Would you mind walking with me?"

"It'd be a pleasure."

Walking side by side, they exited the armory and began walking down the corridor. Jasmine didn't have any set destination in mind. In actuality, she had no idea what she was doing. After Vivian had left, she had sat her office, trying to type a report on a sailor who had appendicitis. But her hands had just floated above the keyboard, her fingers frozen. She had a terrible feeling her gut.

Vivian was on a warpath. Jasmine trusted her to run this ship, to see everyone through whatever hardships were to come. But the deal they made would be burning in her mind constantly. If by some chance the man beside her was the one who had killed Vivian's friends five years ago, she would seek some sort of revenge. Maybe in her mind she thought that she could get him thrown in the stockade. But Jasmine knew Vivian better; a great loathing had consumed her for five years, of a shadowy figure in battle armor. That wasn't going to dissipate in the face of a new promotion. She would kill him if she found the truth. With that thought cemented her mind, Jasmine had felt compelled to find Frost and speak with him. She hadn't been sure what they were going to speak of, and as she walked beside him now, she still didn't.

"I see you're taking to your command with more ease than you thought."

Frost chuckled, "I don't have much of a choice, do I? Most squads will have a tough time adjusting to their new blood, but we got one that will fit right in I think."

"I'm glad to hear it. The last thing I need is a case of emotional breakdown due to hazing."

This earned her a laugh from Frost.

"How does the squad feel?"

"We didn't really have time to talk about it. I think once they figure out she's not as green as they think she is, they'll warm up to her." The marine seemed to think for a moment, growing a bit sadder. "It's not easy having new people come in when you have people who have been together for so long they're like family. Before we lost Teo, it was Williams and Gaspar. Gaspar especially; he was our radio operator before this new one. They died years ago fighting in the Inner Colonies."

Jasmine pushed up her glasses, while Frost jammed his hands into his pockets. His shoulders seemed to sag then and his expression sadden.

She wanted to push, ask him how. The Inner Colonies could provide a lead, an answer.

"I'm sorry you've lost many friends to the Covenant."

"Yeah. I try to think of funny things about them. When Gaspar got too excited during combat, he'd start talking in Portuguese over the comms. Man, everyone would get pissed at him. Williams' mother was a Jamaican zoologist, and when he came to help somebody when they were wounded, he'd tell them about an animal. I remember I got a graze round on my side and while he treated it, he told me about the coney...or hutia...whatever the damned thing's called."

Jasmine smiled, but inwardly cursed herself. Whatever lead there had been passed. She was caught between respecting him and his past and finding out information. Or perhaps she was nervous about appearing awkward.

As many times as she scolded Vivian for never seeking was, Jasmine had to remember she wasn't one for socializing either. Her youth had been spent traveling and reading. Talking to others proved to be a challenge for her, from her youth to adulthood. Angrily, she cursed herself for letting social anxiety for preventing her from asking questions. How ironic, she contemplated, that person who had trouble speaking to others should become a therapist.

They had walked in silence for a while, but Frost stirred her from her thoughts, "are these walks going to become a regular thing?'

Jasmine raised an eyebrow, "Pardon?"

"Well, you're the one who told me not too long ago that you're therapist. Can't help but worry you think I'm some kind of basket case."

"Oh! No, no, sergeant." Jasmine answered, both embarrassed and shocked that he seemed to have read her mind.

"Good. Not that I don't like walking with someone. It's nice."

"It is?"

"Teo and I used to walk together a lot. He would hold my arm and have his shoulder pressed up against mine whenever we walked some place."

"Why's that?"

"He told me that lots of people where he came from walked together like that."

"Well, I hope you don't mind but I'll refrain. We'd up breaking some regulations about fraternization."

Frost laughed, "I don't think Captain Waters would like that. She seems unhappy today."

"She did?" Jasmine, already aware of the answer.

"When she dropped off that rookie I was with back there," Frost said, jerking his thumb in the direction of the armory, "she seemed tightened up. Cold."

Jasmine nodded, "She's preoccupied with many matters, and they might just be taking their toll."

"That's what I figured."

"Vivian is a complex person," Jasmine said suddenly. She was surprised to hear herself say them, as if they had escaped without her knowledge. She continued, "she's been through a lot recently, and growing up wasn't exactly easy for her. Being in uniform doesn't make the past go away."

Jasmine blinked, soaking in her words. Vivian had been living in the past for five years. She had been torn apart by survivor's guilt and a hatred so black that it was etched into her being. Since they had known each other and she had revealed this story, Jasmine had always thought her thirst for revenge against an unknowable man was not unjustified, but unrealistic. If she could help Vivian see that the present and the future were more important than the past, then she could finally find some peace. There had been a hope that a command such as she had now would bring the best out of her and leave her fractured past behind. But Jasmine realized now that she was wrong. Uniforms didn't make a person disappear, and it was wrong of her to expect Vivian to just separate from a part of who she was. What right did she have to deny her friend's vengeance? What was stopping Jasmine from asking Frost, simply and honestly, if he had killed five girls on Skopje five years ago? His answer could bring this to an end, or ignite a fury that had been growing in intensity for years. What kind of friend would she be if she asked, heard the truth, and withheld that information?

Whose friendship did she value more, Vivian's, or this man she had known for a few weeks and had only a few conversations with? It felt wrong to reduce their interactions to just that. Jasmine had stood beside him while he was in a state of complete invulnerability and heard him out-a stranger. He had told her things he would probably never tell anybody else. Knowledge created a certain bond between people, she realized, and felt responsible to him, for him. Vivian had made a deal, a promise. But Jasmine knew her. If the truth he would tell swayed in one direction, the direction she wanted it to, she would never seem him go to trial. One way or another, he would die. Jasmine couldn't live with herself if her words brought the death of a man she knew, whether or not he was guilty in this case.

In a moment of internal despair, Jasmine felt trapped, between doing right by a treasured friend and doing right by a stranger. She wanted to do what was right. But which one was right?

"Sergeant Frost," Jasmine said, stopping. Frost stopped, eyes widening a bit in confusion.

"Dr. Jasmine?"

She stared at him, long and hard. Looked into his eyes. They were gray, but when the light caught them, they shone like silver. She could see shards of pale blue around his pupils. In them, she saw many things. Beauty and ugliness, innocence and guilt, happiness and sadness. Jasmine saw the same in Vivian's eyes every time she looked at them.

"Please just be aware of the stress Captain Waters-Vivian-is under. I'd advise you to just let her be and stay out of her way for a while."

"Did I do something?"

"No. I'd tell anybody else on the ship to do the same," Jasmine said.

Frost still seemed perplexed, but he nodded slowly.

Jasmine settled into her decision. Being right meant being neutral. Neutrality meant silence. If she had been planning some sort of investigation of her own, she abandoned it, there and then. She would play no part in it, save for owning up to her promise to Vivian if she came forward with proof. But she promised herself she wouldn't let this man suffer an unjust punishment.

Frost smiled, "We going to keep walking?"

Jasmine smiled, "Yes. I'd like that."

In that moment, she thought he was a kind man. He had a gentle smile despite having a hard face marked by war. Yes, she had seen many things in his eyes. But a murderer, she could not.

* * *

Sorry for the short chapter everybody, but in all honesty it kind of had to be this way. I wanted everyone to get a good look into everyone's heads on the situation, as well as introduce a new character, RoseHarmony's Nora Langley. RoseHarmony is here on FF and also on DA, she's a good pal, give her a look-see and you might find something you like, she gets a lot of work out there.

Let's get to the comment responses. A quick side note, for some reason FF hasn't been showing any of the new comments I received after my last chapter submission. This may create some difficulty in my responding to your comments, but I keep track of them via my email so I'll be able to see them there, but if I missed yours I'm sorry, let me know, and I'll get back to you next time.

MightBeGone: If there's one thing I hate MBG, it's when authors, artists, musicians, etc. put their content out there and when people comment, and they blow them off. I've tried initiating conversations with numerous people on DA and FF and they just don't plain response. Knowing how much it absolutely blows to not have a response or have somebody be rude to you, I've made it a point to be transparent with my situation and response to any and all comments. I wasn't that good at first, the first couple of people who commented had to wait a long time (apologies to you all) but I've improved, I hope. And yeah, that guy was a prick. And I appreciate your feedback and tips; I have to admit, I'm in this weird paradox of being the writer of this story-my creation-but also being a reader as well. As a reader I just want the characters to spit it out and reconcile but the writer part of me can't do that because we'd lose a major point to the story. Part of the reading experience I've tried to instill here is seeing the same situation through different eyes, which is why I have a couple of POVs per chapter, usually, and us being the all-knowing reader having to watch the character stumble around in...not-knowingness...man that was dumb, but you get my point. But thanks for commenting, I'd love to hear more in the future.

AlphaHighBreed: You and I chatted via PM about that, but I'll reiterate here that I don't want readers to feel like they can't criticize me constructively. I know how much it stinks to read a story that is fraught with so many mechanical errors that it becomes a hassle to actually read. So I thank you, hopefully I did better this time.

Now to address the reading body; I thank you for devoting your valuable time to reading my story when there are thousands out there, it means a great deal to me. But it is important to me that you let me know what you like and dislike, so I can better improve my story for your reading pleasure. Alpha was kind enough to point out my many spelling and grammar and missing word problems; nobody should be afraid to do that. I want the review section to not just be a place to comment but also a place to start a conversation with me. I'm transparent and I'm not shy to talk to you fine folks. If you don't want to leave a comment send me a PM and we'll chat through there. I'm not a godly overlord who will smite you if you dare to question me; I'm just a dude who loves writing and has a special place in his heart for the Halo games, so please, talk to me folks. But as always, thank you for stopping by, thank you for reading, and I will see you next chapter, which will hopefully be longer!


	10. Chapter 10: Batavia

Hey everyone, just wanted to quickly say here that I'll be posting updates every so often—and I stress the often—on my profile. If you want to see how my work is going and things like that, you can mosey on over there from time to time. It won't be super often, but from time to time there might be something. When I have more time on my hands, I'll post more updates more often. Anyways, enjoy the chapter, sorry for the long wait. Oh, and there's a bit of a graphic scene, not too bad but just keep it in mind for lighter readers.

* * *

Chapter 10: Batavia

* * *

There was snow falling. Biting wind made the trees sway. Their trunks creaked and moaned. Booted feet crunched in the fallen snow that coated the hard ground. Vivian found herself looking up at a man in battle armor, looking down at her with soulless, icy eyes. He spoke, but the words were a distorted, almost inhuman garble. He then threw something to Vivian. She caught it. It was a pistol, a sleek black one she had never seen before. Her hand, shaking, raised the pistol, aiming at his head, and she pulled the trigger, resulting in a blinding white flash.

Vivian sat up abruptly, coated in sweat that made her tank top cling to her. She looked around. Instead of a strange forest she instead saw her cabin, made of steel and titanium. It was dark, and the only sound to be heard was her own panting.

She ran a hand down her face. The past few nights in slipspace had been torture. Dreams of Frost plagued her. When she was awake, she felt fearless, like a hunter, searching for her prey. But at night, she was the prey, and Frost's shadow stalked her.

After calming down, Vivian checked the time. It was twenty minutes until she had to get up and head to the bridge. She decided to get up now, going back to sleep for another twenty minutes would have been pointless.

Slowly, she got up from the bed. The room was hot, and her body ached as if she were on old woman. A quick shower brought some life back into her, and she began brewing some coffee to take to the bridge. Even after the shower she still had around fifteen minutes. Vivian found that comforting. It reminded her of watching the morning news during high school, watching the names of schools that were closed or putting delayed openings into effect due to heavy snowfall or icy conditions. Skopje had long winters and was a generally cool planet year round. Vivian had loved watching the first snows of the year from their apartment window. Even with 26th Century technology, weather still reigned supreme. Lionel City was at least shut down once a year due to snow. No traffic, no pedestrians on the street, no sirens, no horns, no shouting. Sometimes spacecraft wouldn't even land. The city would just stop, frozen by the snow. Sometimes she'd look out over the plains, at the distant mountains and forests, green and gray intermixed with white, the snow hiding rebels who drifted in the woods and lived in the mountains.

Vivian took a sip of coffee and scooped up her datapad. She had a message. When she opened it, she saw it was from the newly promoted Captain Kelly.

 _Re: Ship Name Change_

 _Ever heard of Jakarta? It's the capital city of Indonesia. But a long time ago it was called Batavia. But I didn't name her after that. There was an old trading ship by the same name operated by the Dutch in the 17th Century. There was a mutiny and she was wrecked and the crew and passengers were all split up. One group sailed in lifeboats, some soldiers were left on a nearby island, and the main group settled on another island. On that island, one of the mutineers formed a group that terrorized the survivors, butchering and murdering them, even women and kids. There was only a handful left by the time the head guys returned to search for survivors and the mutineers were at war with the soldiers. The soldiers were able to get the mutineers arrested and executed. I chose the name because Hugh kind of reminded me of those mutineers, ready to let other people die just to save his own skin. Oswald too. Maybe they're not exactly like those mutineers now that I spell it out, but it felt right._

Vivian decided that Kelly was an odd man. She didn't see much sense in the rechristening, but if he decided it was the best name, she was fine with it.

She walked into the office, "Decatur?"

The AI appeared, "Good to see you, Captain! How may I be of service?"

"How long until we exit slipspace and reach the last-known coordinates of the _Best of the Best_?"

"In about an hour's time, ma'am!"

"Good. Have all personnel exit the cryo-chambers and head to their stations. Inform Hayes that he should form a squad-sized strike team in case we need to board the ship and investigate; have them gear up immediately and assemble in the hanger. Get a Pelican ready as well. Also send a message for me to the Armorsmith to prepare a vest for me."

Decatur seemed shocked for a moment, gasping, "ma'am, you plan to join the strike team if they must board the ship?"

"I made a promise to the crew that I wouldn't order them to do anything I wasn't willing to do myself."

The AI still possessed a worried look, but agreed, "as you wish, madam."

"I appreciate your concern."

"Oh, I have no doubt you'll do excellently if you must board, even if it is just to reconnoiter the ship!" Decatur laughed then, saying, "I say, your advanced warships don't do well for boarding do they? In my time, it was about taking the prize! Seize the enemy ship's from him, take your rival captain's sword! Ha, those were the days. But now, our ships don't even come near enough for a broadside."

"We don't have cannons on our port and starboard sides, Decatur."

"If you had been a mariner in the Age of Sail, you would have found it very much preferable to these dingy ships of metal. I dare claim that your powerful ships enable you from committing to close action!"

"We're not here for a fight, Decatur," Vivian said, then she smirked, "although I do recall running over a Covenant corvette some time ago."

"And my word, what a sight that was!" Decatur chimed, "That's why you would have done well in my time! Would you like me to find designs for a ram?"

The idea of a starship ram appealed to Vivian for a moment, but she said, "Save it for another time, Decatur. Right now, let's focus on getting the crew out of the cryo-lab and getting to our mystery ship."

"In crystal fashion, captain!"

Vivian made her way to the bridge, sipping her coffee the entire way, her thoughts drawn to Frost once more. She would make a point in the next few days to speak to Langley, privately, to ascertain more of Frost's past. There was a possibility that the information the young radio operator provided wouldn't reveal anything, but Vivian was hopeful.

When she arrived on the bridge, everyone was working. Through the bridge's windows, she could see the shifting, fluid-like golden lights of slipspace. Solak was at the XO's station, tapping away his terminal.

"Solak, report."

"Nothing new, ma'am," he said, his voice devoid of emotion, "all systems nominal. I'm receiving reports from the cryo-bay. The crew's status is green across the board."

Vivian was happy to hear that. Cryonics were sophisticated but not foolproof. Plenty of issues could arise with a tube, and it wasn't a full guarantee that when the tube opened the occupant would wake up. Medical technicians and other staff were always present during the waking up of the crew from their cold slumber, and if somebody didn't open their eyes, they were placed into the medical tube that was present. If all went as planned, the crew would emerge, cold and naked, coughing on the bronchial surfactant stored in their throats to replace lost nutrients.

Vivian settled into her command chair and quickly made her own check of the ship's systems. Streams of data flowed across the screens in front of her. Everything was in order. She drank her coffee.

Opening up her data pad again, Vivian began to file a report. It was nothing important nor special, just an outline of their short slipspace jump. But as she tapped on the keypad her thoughts shifted and darkened. He was clambering out of his cryo-chamber at that very moment, she knew. She wanted to go down there, confront him, do _something_ besides sit in the damned captain's chair where she could do anything. Ghosts patrolled the bridge, pulled at her arms, infested her mind with their anger and pain. For a moment, she stood out of her own body, watching herself leave the bridge without a word, head to the cryo-bay, draw her pistol, and fire a slug into his chest. In another vision she saw herself jamming a knife into his throat in retribution. She watched him writhe on the floor, clawing at his throat as blood bubbled from his mouth and flowed from his neck.

Then she was back. Vivian blinked and looked around. She was still on the bridge, still holding the data pad. She hadn't typed anything except for one sentence: _Frost killed my friends._

Exhaling, Vivian set the data pad down and cleared her head. Fantasies would get her nowhere. She had to remain realistic. What would going down to the cryo-lab accomplish? What would she do, make fun of him as he emerged, shivering and naked, from his pod? That wasn't revenge, that was just...petty.

It was at times like this that she despised Jasmine. She hated how Jasmine always seemed to be so level-headed, how she rarely snapped, how she seemed to always see every side to a situation. Sometimes Vivian reduced her steadfastness to a lack of conviction, an inability to pick a side on something. Walking in the middle of the road only got you so far, she thought, or hit by a crazy driver. To get anywhere in life, one had to pick a direction and stick to it.

But Vivian knew when her own anger was speaking and fought it back down. Jasmine was right, as infuriating as it was to admit it. Vivian knew she couldn't just barrel into his cabin, take him by the collar, and shake the truth from him. She certainly couldn't just execute him on the spot. Evidence would be the key to finding out the truth.

 _And what if it isn't him?_

Vivian hoped it was. What a strange hope, she considered, that a man turned out to be a murderer. But she felt close to the truth. To find out it wasn't him would propel her back into the past, the misery of not knowing where or who their killer was. She feared going back to that state more than death. Humanity was steadily being annihilated and there was a good chance that the real killer was already dead. Vivian had never wished anyone was more alive than him. She wanted to look into his eyes and know that he had done it. Yet would his death be enough consolation for her and for the dead? Did it have to be by her hands? Maybe an energy sword had been run through his heart, or his flesh and bones reduced to ash by plasma, or a crystal shard had blown open his belly or sliced his throat open. No, it had to be by her hands. Only then would the ghosts leave her alone.

Brooding had made time pass quickly, and Vivian was startled by the voices of her bridge staff.

"Slipspace jump successful."

"Scanning the system now for _Best of the Best_."

"Checking comms."

Vivian turned, "Delaney, what can you tell me about this system?"

Delaney opened up a file on his terminal and transferred its contents to one of the larger screens draped in the bridge. "The system doesn't have a name, just a letter-number combination: DD2347. It's only got a handful of planets and a small sun. Terraforming and colonizing units skipped this system due to a lack of resources within the planets. There have been reports of Insurrectionist activity in the system, but those reports are almost a decade old. In general, this system possesses no abnormalities."

Vivian got a bad feeling then. Something was off, she could feel it in her bones.

The missing vessel appeared, small at first, then growing steadily larger and larger. She was of the _Halberd_ -class, a unique looking ship by UNSC standards. Most UNSC warships possessed a narrow, bulky build, but _Halberds_ had large, rectangular-shaped engines that stood vertically, complemented with horizontal cylinders at each corner at the end of a large, squar-shaped stern, with a midsection that became narrower in the center and came to an almost fine point at the tip of the bow, with a cumbrous undercarriage. They were relatively sleek and smooth ships, with a darker metal finish as compared to other ships of the line which were more silver.

Scans of the ship appeared on the data screens. There was no visible damage but it was dead in the water, so to speak. Curiously, almost all of its systems, save for a few essential ones, were offline. There were few lights on the hull, with only the lights illuminating its name on the starboard side burning brightly.

"Koroma, establish comms with her," Vivian order, standing up from her chair and stepped closer to the large window at the front of the bridge.

"Aye, aye, ma'am," Koroma worked her terminal, then said, "UNSC _Best of the Best_ , this is UNSC _I'm Alone,_ do you copy, over?"

There was no answer. Vivian turned as Koroma tried again, her face growing more concerned, " _Best of the Best_ , please respond, over..."

Koroma continued to engage the ship, but there was only silence. Vivian raised a hand to stop her, then turned to the AI pedestal.

"Decatur, is there anything you can do?"

The AI stroked his chin, "I'm not detecting another AI presence on board, and most of their systems are down, yet their cyber warfare suites are fully active and there are extra firewalls and encryptions in place. Cracking them is possible but it will take some time."

"We don't have time," Vivian murmured, "Koroma, keep trying to hail her. I'm taking a team over to investigate. Solak, you have the bridge. Tell the rest of the task force to keep scanning the system."

In the hanger, Vivian was greeted by some of the armor techs. They offered to help her into her minor set of armor, but she declined. Her armor consisted of a ballistic vest the same color of her tunic. Once equipped, it looked like a normal part of the uniform. She slid a bracer onto her right forearm, as well as two black shoulder pauldrons with her rank insignia on them. The techs also offered her a collar guard, but she refused it.

Hayes was present in the hanger. Vivian exchanged a salute with him.

"Have you gathered a team, Colonel?"

"I have," he said, motioning to a squad sitting on some crates.

It was Frost and his team. They were in full gear; olive drab M52B body armor, topped with helmets equipped with flashlights, helmet cameras, and blue HUD pieces.

Vivian was frozen for a moment. Frost was sitting on the deck, his back against a crate. His helmet was off and he was applying face paint; he had made three diagonal jagged stripes across his face; the color of the paint was a shade of gray that matched his cloudy eyes. His beard was a little thicker, his brown hair a bit more grown in.

The hanger grew dark. Every piece of equipment, every aircraft, every crew member disappeared. All Vivian saw were the black outlines of a crummy apartment that smelled of mold, and five shadows spaced around it. And then there was a marine, firing his assault rifle in a wide arc, gunning each of them down in a hail of gunfire.

"Will they do?" Hayes asked.

"Huh?" Vivian blinked. Her eyes had grown wide.

"Frost's squad is one of my best. Will they do?"

Vivian looked from Hayes to Frost. The latter was now chatting with his English compatriot, chuckling over some joke.

What joke was that, she wondered. _"Not even a kidney, Frost?"_

"Yes," she answered stiffly, "yes, they'll be fine."

"Good. Frost tells me you've met the squad but I'll re-introduce you."

He began walking over, but Vivian remained cemented to the deck. Everything in her body compelled her to walk away and to walk over at the same time. Somehow, her legs carried her forward until she stood at the edge of the little group.

"Frost you know."

 _Yes, he killed my friends._

"This is Steele, his right hand man."

 _"_ _Not even a kidney, Frost?"_

He continued listing off names, but Vivian remembered them all from the awards ceremony. She just didn't dare to speak. Bishop and Maddox were the pair of Scotsmen, the former muscular, the latter scrawny. Grant was the smiling American, Moser was the gauntly German lad, and Langley she knew well-enough.

Frost stood up and saluted. Vivian's arm robotically raised itself and returned the gesture.

Hayes towered over them all and declared, "We've got a mystery ship out there and we need to figure out what the hell happened to its. I'd like to remind you that Captain Waters' word is law. Do any of you dispute that?"

"No, Colonel," they all said unison.

"Good. Behave yourselves."

With that, the big officer walked off. Vivian was left gazing stoically at the squad of marines plus one airman in front of her.

Frost offered her a smile then looked at his men, "Alright guys, let's get this show on the roll."

With much noise, groaning, joking, and laughter, the squad rose to their feet.

"Couldn't even let me have a DMR..."

"The hell you gonna do with a DMR inside a starship?"

"I hate shotguns."

"Trying to say something, wise-ass?"

"Maybe."

"What, that you're compensating for an abnormally small prick?"

The squad guffawed as they walked towards the Pelican, weapons slung over their shoulders or held in the air, rucksacks and kit-bags dangling from their hands or thrown over a shoulder, walking close together. They kept jesting and slinging insults at one another and clapping one another on the back or bumping shoulders together. Even the young Langley seemed to be a part of the comradery. For a moment, Vivian had forgotten about Frost as she watched them walk away, envying their friendship and their camaraderie. It was an image that would forever remain in her memory.

She heard a _click_ beside her and jumped. Jasmine was standing there with a camera, watching the squad as well.

"Nervous?" she asked, amused.

"No," Vivian lied.

They began walking towards the Pelican side by side. "What're you doing here?" Vivian asked.

"I wanted to see you off."

"What's with the camera?"

Jasmine looked down at the small camera, "My parents gave it me before I left Reach. I don't know why, they only said I should have one. So, I figured I ought to start taking some pictures."

"Why?"

Jasmine shrugged, "Part of me hopes that I can look at them one day and remember something good out of a time that was just so awful."

The squad had just finished loading into the Pelican, save for Frost who was tossing in his backpack. He turned to face Vivian, holding his assault rifle, his index finger resting on the midsection of the rifle just above the trigger. Vivian eyed it warily, and slowly made eye contact.

"Do you think it's Covenant, ma'am?" he asked.

Vivian had a quick flash in her mind; she saw her hand reach for her sidearm and begin firing it into Frost's chest. Instead, she managed to say, "If it had been Covenant, the captain of the ship would have initiated the self-destruct protocol. Most likely the ship suffered some kind of internal technical damage when exiting from slipspace. Still, we should be prepared for anything."

Frost nodded, "Yes, ma'am."

 _Click_.

Both Vivian and Frost turned to see that Jasmine had snapped a photo of them. Vivian glared at her, but Jasmine only smiled.

Frost had smiled as well, "Good to see you, doctor."

"And you as well. Try not to get hurt, the last thing I want to do today is patch up another one of your wounds."

The marine clambered up into the Pelican but turned with a grin, "I'll do my best, but no promises." Frost put his helmet on and tipped it towards a chuckling Jasmine.

Vivian got closer to Jasmine, whispering "Are you two pals or something?"

Her friend frowned, "I know the man. Just because of your disposition towards him doesn't mean I have to have the same one as well."

"I know you won't take my side but for my sake can you _not_ be buddy-buddies with him?"

Jasmine sighed, "I know him, Viv. I can't just give him a cold shoulder."

"Then at least don't do it in front of me," Vivian hissed.

"Fine, fine."

Vivian turned to climb and found a hand in front of her. Frost smiled at her, extending his reach a little further. All Vivian did was stare at it. Most of his hand was covered by his fingerless gray glove. On the exposed parts of his fingers she could see fading cuts and blisters.

"Ma'am?"

The sergeant looked a little confused.

Doing her best to hide her reluctance, Vivian took his hand and he hoisted her up. His strength was surprising, as he practically puller her off her feet. Standing in the rear cabin of the Pelican, Frost gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder.

Vivian nodded rigidly and turned to look at Jasmine in disgust, who only gave her a lecturing look. But it softened and she said with a smile, "Make sure you come back in one piece too, Viv."

All it took was one sentence to make Vivian smile again, "Yes, mom."

She passed by the crew chief, Isha, who was standing by the rear door. Going up to the cockpit, she found the pilot, Jasper, and the copilot, Pajari, in their seats and going through the last phase of the takeoff procedure.

"Closing rear door," Pajari said.

"I don't care," Jasper responded, sounding bored. He had his elbow propped up on the control panel and was resting his chin on his hand.

"Pedals are good."

"Don't care."  
"We are airtight."

"I'm not even listening now."

"We're green across the board."

"Can I fly this thing yet?"

"If you stop being an asshole."

"You'll never get a date with an attitude like that, Miss Pajari."

"You're a pig."

Vivian poked her head in, "Everything alright here?"

The pilots donned their flight helmets, "Yes, ma'am," Pajari growled, "Jasper is just being a _jackass_ like always."

"Believe it or not, some people think I'm quite charming," Jasper said with a big shit-eating smile.

"Well, when it suits you," Vivian said with a slight firmness in her voice, "take us over to the _Best of the Best_."

The Pelican lifted off and exited the hanger, entering the blackness of space. Vivian stayed in the little doorway that connected the cockpit with the rest of the Pelican, watching the destroyer loom larger in their view.

After a few moments, Vivian returned into the back and sat down across from Frost. They were illuminated in red light, reminding her of blood and recent corpses torn open by bullets, laying in dark red pools. She could see those pools again, see her feet stepping through them, the blood leaking through her sneakers.

"Captain?"

Vivian looked up.

"You don't plan on coming with us every time we go out, do you?" Frost asked, jokingly.

She stared at him for a long moment. His smile didn't cease. He looked sinister in the light, a shadow cast over his eyes, like so many years ago.

"I'll...leave the groundwork to you. But this is different." She remembered what she had said to Decatur earlier, "And I made a promise to you all, that I wouldn't ask anything of you that I wasn't willing to do myself."

"Frost said something similar to me not too long ago," Moser said.

The NCO waved him off. Vivian did her best to hide her rage. She didn't want to be on the same level as a murderer.

She didn't trust herself to speak to them, so she put a finger to her earpiece, "Koroma, have you gotten anything yet?"

"No ma'am, there's nothing, not even static. Just silence."

"Alright, save your breath. Decatur?"

"Madam?"

"Keep us informed of any changes, and make sure you keep scanning the system. If any ship, human or Covenant, enters the system I want to know about it."

"Of course, Captain!"

Vivian lowered her finger and sighed. She pulled her pistol from the holster on her hip and checked it over; it was fully loaded with a round in the chamber. She had a feeling that the situation wouldn't be hospitable on the _Best of the Best_. Something was definitely there, and was most likely hostile. She flicked the safety off.

A hand flew over and she reared back. Frost had leaned forward, chuckling nervously, "Cap, best not have a hot weapon inside the Pelican unless you're dropping into a hot zone. One slip of the trigger and a bullet could go ricocheting all over the place."

Holding back a look of disgust at the fact the murderer would dare speak to her, she nodded and turned the safety back on.

Frost leaned back against his seat, "Three years ago we were helping evacuate civilians from a city in the Outer Colonies. We were working with local police during the operation. When we finally reached the Pelican and took off, one of those cops accidentally pulled the trigger on his sidearm, and the bullet bounced around until it buried itself in one of the civilian's legs."

Vivian braced herself for a sick joke from him or one of the other marines, but they remained silent. She looked at all of them, their faces hidden by shadows and their bodies bathed in that dull red light. Her eyes kept darting back to Frost, watching him casually check over his equipment, his face blank and his thoughts elsewhere. Did he ever think about what he had done? Did he even remember? Vivian hid a glare.

 _I don't want him to forget. I hope it keeps him up at night._

A feeling of dread and hate crept over her. Breathing deeply, she shut her eyes and maintained her temper. How she wished to have Jasmine's self-control.

The short trip was nearly silent. Other than a few hushed whispers between the squad, no one raised their voice. Vivian stealthily scanned the marines. She felt as though she were intruding, as if the rear of the Pelican was a sacred place for them. She knew she didn't quite belong there. Starship captains were supposed to be commanding the bridge, not riding in with the marines. But she had promised, and Vivian was not the sort to break a promise.

As the Pelican approached, they heard Jasper speak over the comms.

"UNSC _Best of the Best_ , this is Yankee Triple-Seven, requesting permission to land," he said, sounding more serious than he had earlier.

Silence was the only response. Vivian stood back up, went to the cockpit, and looked through the windscreen again. They were close enough now that she couldn't see the destroyer from end to end, and its titanium body appeared like a solid silver wall in their view.

Jasper, concentrated on his controls, asked, "Should I try them again, Cap?"

"If Koroma didn't get anything out of them, I doubt you will either. Take us in."

The hanger was open and Jasper slid the Pelican in and delicately placed it down.

"Was that gentle enough for you?" he asked Pajari, sarcastically.

"Eat me."

"Cut the chatter," Vivian ordered. She leaned forward in the cockpit and looked back and forth across the hanger. Pelicans, Longswords, and Shortswords sat solemnly, unattended. Not a soul crossed the deck. There was no clanking of machinery, revving of forklift engines, or humming of starfighter engines.

Vivian's brow furrowed, "This isn't good."

She turned around. The squad of marines looked at her expectantly.

"Ready for your orders, ma'am," Frost said finally.

Vivian nodded. As much as it pained her, she knew her investigation, her chance at revenge had to be put aside. An entire ship was in danger, what kind of danger, she did not know. Sadly, she shunted her friends the back of her mind.

"Something tells me that the crew isn't entirely in control of the vessel. Sergeant Frost, leave two of your shooters here to provide security for the Pelican. I don't want our one means of escape to be compromised."

The marine NCO nodded in agreement, "Moser, Grant, stay here and guard the Pelican. Keep an eye open."

"You got it," Grant said.

"The rest of you," said Vivian, "you're with me. We're heading to the bridge."

"Rules of engagement, ma'am?" asked Frost.

"Non-lethal force unless absolutely necessary.

The marines all stood up at the same time. The rear door opened, the ramp dropped, and they all filed out. As they made their way across the hanger to the exit, their booted footsteps echoed against the walls. Vivian drew her sidearm, holding it in her right hand. Her complement of six marines had formed a line on either side of her; Frost, Steele, and Knight were on her right, Bishop, Maddox, and Langley on her left.

When they entered the hallways, the marines began to move quietly, much to Vivian's surprise. Entering the corridor, their posture changed. In the hanger they had been walking upright. Now they were hunched over, weapons raised and aimed forward. Their heads were down, and their steps became nearly silent. Even with their abundance of bandoliers and pouches and their battle armor and helmets, they made no noise. Stealth wasn't exactly what you'd expect from line marines, with their bulky armor, their grizzled beards, their non-regulation length hair, their foul body odor, their strings of curses, their itchy trigger fingers, their nonchalant attitude towards killing...

Vivian took her eyes off Frost, doing her best not to let her mind take her down darker paths again. The NCO slid up to the corner of the corridor and peeked his head around.

"Clear," he whispered.

The others filed forward, weapons raised, their pace a bit quicker.

Vivian began to follow but Frost put his arm up in front of her, "Captain, whoever's on the ship may know we're here, so we might have someone ghosting us soon."

He raised his fingers in a V symbol and pointed at his eyes, "let's keep our heads on a swivel."

"Agreed, Sergeant," she grunted, and they continued.

The halls were crisp, clean, and sterile like all UNSC ships. Vivian studied as they walked. No bullet holes or plasma burns. No damage from explosives. Where the hell was everyone?

At the end of the hallway was an elevator.

"There, that'll take us to the bridge."

"Are you sure, ma'am?" asked Frost.

"At Luna Academy, we were taught to memorizes the layouts of all UNSC ship types, from prowlers to carriers. I'm positive."

Frost seemed to smile a little at Vivian's response.

Everyone approached the elevator. Knight and Bishop turned on their heels, keeping their weapons up, scanning their rear. Vivian pressed the button to call the elevator. Not a sound was heard save for the beeping of the elevator passing other decks on the ship and the quiet breathing of the marines around her. She looked around them, and spied one of the security cameras above them, tucked into the corner.

She stepped over and peered at it.

"The camera system is down," She said after inspecting it for a moment.

"Ma'am?"

"Cameras on UNSC ships have a small light to show that they're powered and running. This one isn't. I think it's safe to assume that they're offline."

"Why would they turn that off?" Corporal Steele asked.

Reserving energy was an option, but then again the camera array throughout a UNSC warship didn't require much power. Turning them off or on didn't make much a difference in energy consumption. Maybe there was someone on board who didn't want someone else to see them. But in doing so they wouldn't be able to see anyone else either, whether or not it was from the bridge or security.

Vivian shook her head, "We'll find out when we get to the bridge."

Just then the elevator reached their deck, and the doors slid open. Vivian reeled back with the others as the smell of rotting flesh filled her nostrils and her eyes saw a decomposing body tied by its ankles hanging from the ceiling of the elevator. There was a large gash wound in the center of the naked body, a large bullet hole in the side of his head, and his genitals had been removed. The walls of the elevator had dark, aged bloodstains on them, and there was old blood on the floor.

* * *

"Jesus _fuck_!"

"What the fuck is this?"

"Fuckin' hell!"

Steele reared back and began to gag. "Fuckin' hell!" he kept repeating as he tried to stop himself from throwing up.

Frost put a hand on his back, "Just puke and get it over with." He was reviled enough to vomit but he managed to keep himself together. Immediately his eyes went to Langley, who stood stupefied by the elevator door, her skin having become paler and her eyes wide with fright.

He reached over and shook her, "Hey, you good?"

She seemed to snap back to reality then, and nodded quickly. Frost turned to the Captain, who stared ahead with a grim expression. His heart went out to her then, quietly. He wasn't one to assume navy officers didn't see gruesome things in their time, and he did not mean to doubt her ability to withstand vile thing. Perhaps it was a random burst of attempted chivalry. But he placed himself in front of her, shaking his head, "Don't look, Captain."

Captain Waters blinked and locked her eyes with his.

"I've seen mangled bodies before, Sergeant," she said flatly.

Frost, saddened to hear so, nodded. "So have I," he murmured softly, looking over his shoulder. He felt somewhat silly for trying to block the sight from her. She was an officer of the UNSC Navy. They had stomachs for horrible things too, though he was curious where she had developed her own.

A stomach was something entirely different to a soldier such as Frost. If you were talking about the organ, you said the 'gut.' Stomach was one's ability to hold it together when looking at the vileness of war. Even after three years of hardcore training of all kinds, Frost hadn't grown his stomach until his first ground engagement. Hours after his first kills, he had thrown up all night. Afterwards, there were more horrors to see and commit, and he had vomited for two more nights. Afterwards, he never wretched again. Having a stomach was a sorrow. No one should ever get used to vicious slaughter such as the one that was before him.

Frost went forward with Captain Waters to inspect the bodies.

"Is your helmet cam recording?" she asked.

"Yes ma'am."

"Decatur, are you receiving?"

The AI cleared his holographic throat over the comms.

"Frightfully so, madam."

"Is he UNSC?" Waters asked Frost, her voice hollow.

His eyes caught sight of the dog tags around the hanged man's neck, dangling and clinking as the body swayed. He reached out and yanked them off.

"Yeah, UNSC."

"Cut him down from there, he deserves better than that," Waters ordered.

Drawing his knife, Frost reached up and cut the wire around his ankles. He and Waters caught the body, their armor and uniforms smeared with old blood by it. Withholding sounds of disgust, they gently set the body down in the hallway. Frost stared at it for a time, remembering similar corpses years before, laid out on cold green grass and snow, on hillsides and in forests, fresh, his gloved hands soaked in blood.

"Who would do something like this?" Waters asked, "there's no sign of Covenant or a boarding of some kind."

"It's definitely human work. The Covenant are ruthless, but I've never seen them do that to bodies before."

"You think humans did this?"

Captain Waters sounded indignant, her emerald eyes glistened with flames for a brief moment. Frost grimaced and said, "Humans are capable of terrible things too, Captain."

She stared at him, hard, for a few moments, then turned her attention back to the elevator. Her expression seemed to soften. "What do you think we'll find on the bridge, Nathaniel?"

He considered for a moment, then answered, "More bodies and hostile gun barrels. I think there's a high chance that as soon as the doors open we'll be riddled with bullets."

The captain seemed to consider that for a moment. She looked at his men, as did Frost. Bishop and Knight had taken off their armor and combat jackets, placing the jackets on the corpse to cover it

Frost leaned close to the captain and whispered, "Vivian, I don't want to risk my guys but we have to see what's up there.

Vivian stared at him for a while, then said, "Agreed. You and I will go first."

He was relieved to hear that. Standing to his feet, he clapped his hands together. Everyone looked his way.

"Alright, we need to go investigate the bridge. Finding a body like this means there might be human hostiles on the ship."

"Oh not this shit again," Maddox growled.

"I thought we were done fighting humans," Bishop added.

"We won't know who it is if we don't get up there. But it may be some kind of a trap, so Captain Waters and I will head up there first."

He glanced at Vivian, who took over, "We're going to keep the SQUADCOM channel open, so if we get into a fight you'll be aware. If the worst happens, head back to the Pelican, return to the _I'm Alone_ , and inform XO Solak to destroy the vessel."

Frost braced himself. He could see by the slack-jawed expressions on his friends' faces that they were not happy about the plan.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" asked Knight asked.

"You could get blown away," said Bishop.

"Exactly," Frost stated. He didn't have to explain to them that an elevator was a tactically disadvantageous environment. An extremely tight space combined with only one route of egress, two if one counted the ceiling hatch, plus the fact they had no idea what was outside the elevator, provided a losing situation for a full squad. "You'll be able to react better down here than getting cut to ribbons up there," Frost added, jerking his thumb upwards.

Steele took a step forward, his brow furrowed in frustration, "We're already split up, splitting up again is a bad idea. We always do things _together_."

Frost loved him for that. His tendency to raises objections to officers and orders often pissed him off, but he knew when Steele questioned him, it was because he was worried. Out of the entire squad, Steele was closest to him, so no one could cross him without getting an earful from the Englishman. And if he thought that Frost would do something foolish, he would tell him so. The others would too, but would back down eventually. Not Steele; despite his casual nature he never let some things go.

"I know, but right now it's safer this way," Frost finally said after a sigh, "just stay put, okay? That's an order."

"Let me come with you at least," Steele insisted coming a step closer.

Frost sighed again, then the corner of his lip curled into a smile.

"Okay, Lou. The rest of you hang tight and wait for my word."

Despite their grumblings and their hidden uneasiness, the rest of the squad took up defensive positions as best they could. Frost, along with Steele and Vivian, entered the elevator.

As the lift ascended, Frost exchanged a look with Steele. Steele was watching the small screen on the control panel showing the number of which deck they were passing. He looked back and nodded, smirking.

Frost smiled back. Friends like Steele were hard to come by in such a war. He knew plenty of soldiers from other outfits who were punted around from unit to unit for one reason or another. Many were sole survivors from platoons, companies-hell, sometimes even entire regiments. But there were others who requested transfers. It was a common practice for recruitment officers to promote the idea of belonging and comradeship. And it was true, a new recruit would eventually find those two entities. Frost could attest to that. After eight years of total transparency with the men of his squad, he had found a type of brotherhood he just _knew_ he would never have had as a civilian. But there were plenty of soldiers who didn't want that. They requested transfers regularly, not wanting to get attached to others. As Frost knew, it was ungodly painful to watch a friend die. He'd never transfer out of the 89th; no one from the unit would ever dare, but he could understand why so many did it.

"You're a loyal man, Corporal Steele," Vivian said suddenly, gazing at the Englishman curiously.

Steele shrugged nonchalantly, "I owe him."

"For what?"

Frost shuddered and hoped neither one of them noticed. He knew what, though he didn't feel like digging up that terrible memory.

"Ah, the bugger just saved my ass from time to time back when we were fighting the rebs."

"So, you've fought rebels?"

"Yeah, for a whole year."

"Where?"

Frost then felt suddenly uncomfortable. Vivian's tone had gone from simple questioning to very serious probing. She had taken a slight step towards Steele, her free hand had balled up into a tight fist, and her entire frame had tensed up.

Over the years, Frost had decided that he had become somewhat proficient in reading people. He could take the slight movements and the choice of words people used and sort of formulate what they were thinking or feeling in that moment. As a soldier, he also had developed a sixth sense. After so many combat ops, he could feel when he was being watched or followed and he could feel when an environment was suspicious. All veterans developed that combat sense. Put that together with reading people, his instincts told him at that moment to be wary of Vivian.

"In the Inner Colonies, on-"

"Shut up, Steele," Frost cut in suddenly.

"What?"

"Get your head in the game and be ready to move when that door opens."

Vivian's back was to him, so Frost raised his eyebrows and nodded at her. Steele, perplexed, must have gotten the message because he nodded and kept quiet. Vivian slowly looked back at Frost, her eyes suspicious and angry. Frost stared back, his gray eyes hardening. He managed a smile a moment later and said, "You don't want to hear those stories. They're pretty boring in reality."

Vivian's brow furrowed and her nose wrinkled in disgust, and she abruptly looked away. She had been acting strange for some time. Something was off. Something had to be. What it was, he had no clue, but he had to lock the thought away as the elevator reached the bridge.

 _Ding_.

The elevator door opened. Standing just outside were three men in piecemeal marine armor worn over red and yellow navy uniforms. They were standing there, chatting and smoking, but froze when they saw who was in the elevator.

"Oh shit!" one yelled, going for his sidearm.

Non-lethal force; the words echoed in Frost's head. He was comfortable with that.

Immediately, he bolted forward out of the elevator. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Steele do the same. Frost charged for the one on the left and slammed the buttstock of his assault rifle across his jaw. Turning as he fell, the man choked in pain. Before the one in the middle could react, Frost brought the side of the rifle against his head. His opponent spun around from the impact, but remained on his feet. As he turned to retaliate, Frost landed a succession of solid punches to his gut, then ended his assault with a haymaker, which sent his opponent to the deck. At the same time, Steele had flipped his shotgun around and held it by the barrel like it was a baseball pat. He spun around and smashed the stock against the final man's head. That was all it took to send him to the ground, moaning as he clutched his busted jaw.

One was completely unconscious, Steele's victim could only groan into his hands, and the third was trying to stand up, pushing himself onto his hands and knees. Frost went to the third and lowered his knee onto the back of his head, pushed him back down. The man hissed from the intense pain on his head.

"What the hell are you doing?" Vivian had come over and grabbed Frost by the collar of his armor. "These men didn't attack us!"

"He was going for his pistol," Frost growled, "what the hell did you want us to do, Captain?"

Vivian let go of him. Frost pulled out his own sidearm and pressed against the side of the sailor's skull.

"Start talking or I'll put a slug in your head."

"Fuck you," the sailor said, struggling to say the words.

Frost exchanged a glance with Steele, and then stood up. Steele kicked the man in the side, hard. The sailor, reacting from the blow, rolled onto his back. Steele then planted his foot on the man's chest and pointed the shotgun at him, holding it in one hand. Frost drew his knife then, leaned down, and held the shining blade against the sailor's crotch.

"Whoa hold on, wait, _wait_!"

"Why should I? You're the one who doesn't want to talk."

"Just hold on a second-"

"If I slice your balls off you'll have about five minutes until you bleed to death," Frost said menacingly, "maybe we'll hang you in the elevator like you did to that poor bastard we found, huh?"  
"No, that's wasn't me!"

"Who then!?" Frost pressed the blade closer, harder. The man whimpered. Frost kept going, pressing the tip of the blade harder, "Did I say five minutes? Is it more than that? Or less, I'm not sure!"

"Jesus Christ!" Vivian grabbed him again, this time by the shoulder. "Stop, that's an order!"

Frost withdrew the blade and Steele stepped back. The pair watched as Vivian knelt down, keeping a tight grip on her sidearm.

"What happened on this ship? What happened to that man in the elevator?"

The sailor, sweating profusely and panting, looked between her and Frost. With an almost reluctant sounding sigh, Vivian said, "Do you want to talk to him, or to me?"

"You're fucking psychos," the sailor said to Frost and Steele, then turned to look at Vivian, "There was a mutiny led by the XO, Chamberlain. After we started heading back, he came onto the bridge one day in slipspace with his pistol and started screaming at Captain Cain. Said he was sick and tired of being dragged over the galaxy and said he wanted us to go off somewhere. He talked about some planets where Innies live and wanted to go there, but Cain wouldn't do that, so Chamberlain shot him. Chamberlain then got a bunch of guys together and started killing everybody who was against him. He tried to change our destination but the bridge staff jumped us out of slipspace early and set off the distress beacon. Then they got some of the marines and ODSTs together, took the engine room, and shut off power to the engines and other systems, practically everything besides oxygen."

"Then what?"

"Chamberlain tried to get everybody to join him, but almost everyone who didn't join us or the guys in the engine room wanted no part of it so they just locked themselves in their rooms. Chamberlain has us go to the barracks to rough up some of the crew every so often, sometimes kill some, to make sure nobody joins the engine room people."

Frost scratched his beard. Needless to say, the situation was a bigger mess than anything he could have imagined. Mutiny. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. Covenant would have just blasted the vessel away. Rebels would have tried to steal it and probably would have tried to ransom the crew. Mutineers, though? They'd do anything to protect their position. No one was more desperate than a traitor. Frost squeezed the hilt of his knife tighter.

Vivian seemed to stare off for a moment, remembering something. She made a sound, like a disheartened laugh, and said one word, "Batavia..."

"Ma'am?" Frost asked.

"Nothing," she answered, turning her attention back on the mutineers, "you're under arrest for treason. Frost, Steele, secure these men."

Frost did as he was bid. Modern handcuffs were still made of metal, but marines still carried ones of plastic. They were standard issue pieces of marine kit, though quite useless when fighting the Covenant. Marines weren't in the prisoner taking business, and the Covenant never surrendered, so it was rare to see an alien prisoner. Plastic cuffs wouldn't have held an Elite or Brute anyways. Even so, the plastic cuffs in one of Frost's belt pouches came to use. He made sure to secure them as uncomfortably as possible, just short of cutting off blood flow to the hands. Steele used his own to bind their feet. They then laid them out near the elevator and called up the rest of the squad.

While they were waiting, Frost watched Captain Waters extract more information from the conscious prisoner. He didn't appreciate her interference in his own interrogation, although he had to admit her lack of threats but menacing tone seemed to be more useful. Still, he took credit for getting the prisoner ready to talk; watching from the wall, he balanced the bottom of the knife's hilt on his index finger. He wouldn't have done it, though the prisoner didn't need to know that. Frost wasn't particularly ashamed, but his blood was boiling from seeing that poor bastard hanging in the elevator. Vivian was definitely right; whoever it was, they deserved better than that. Too many times, not too long ago, Frost had seen similar bodies, pale and frozen, dismembered and disgraced. The trees had shaken and groaned in the cold winds from the crimes, beckoning, no, demanding, that justice be meted out. Frost had made sure that it had been. Now, it had to be done again.

When the rest arrived, Frost ordered Langley to remain to guard their means of exit from the bridge as well as keep an eye on the prisoners.

"Alright, let's get to the bridge. Form up around the Captain," Frost commanded. They proceeded down the long hall, checking other operations rooms on either side that were all empty. Room after room, empty. There were mugs of coffee and bags of snacks still sitting on desks and counter spaces, as if the crew members who had been occupying the ops centers had just gotten out of their seats a moment earlier.

At the end of the hall, they came to the door to the bridge. It was closed. Frost kept his eyes on the Captain's back as she stood in front of it. Then she turned, nodding at him. Frost nodded back, then turned to his squad.

"Safeties off."

"Bruv, they've been off."

Frost snorted and checked his assault rifle before raising the sights. His eye however was on Vivian's hand, hovering in front of the control panel. It was shaking, but only slightly.

"One...two...three."

Her finger tapped the panel and the doors slid open. Frost charged in, weapon raised.

"Freeze!" he barked at the men and women toting handguns and submachine guns. Some were standing, some were seated, others lying on makeshift beds. The others ran in behind him, shouting as well, weapons raised.

Only a few of the mutineers dropped their weapons. The rest raised their weapons and began shouting.

"Drop your weapons!"

"Hands up!"

"Stand down!"

"Get down on the ground or we'll fucking blow you away!"

"Down! Put them down!"

"Weapons down!"

"Drop them, motherfuckers!"

"Get the fuck off this bridge!"

Then one voice overpowered the rest, "Everybody shut up or else I'll put a bullet in this man!"

Frost's vision had been a whirlwind. He had been waving his weapon back and forth between different targets. Vivian and the others were lined up to his right, weapons raised. It was only then that he realized that there was a man in ODST fatigues, his face bruised, swollen, and bleeding, on his knees with his hands cuffed behind his back. A man in gray officer attire had a M6G magnum sidearm pressed against the back of his head.

"If you don't get the fuck off this ship, I will execute this man," the officer growled.

"Commander Chamberlain, I presume?" Vivian said, almost slyly, like she was a secret agent in a movie greeting the main villain.

"I am," Chamberlain grinned. It was an evil grin. Frost instinctively trained his sights on him.

"You shoot that man, you and your crew die," Frost threatened.

"We've got just as many guns in here as you do," Chamberlain said, nodding to the half dozen men and women around him with their own weapons raised. The other half had their hands in the air.

Chamberlain seemed to scoff, "Why don't you keep your mouth shut, jarhead? I'd say the grownups are talking but all of you look like you're twelve."

He turned his gaze on Vivian seemed to size her up, "How about you Captain Sorority Girl? Just graduate from OCS, am I right?"

Vivian said nothing. Her face was as hard as granite.

Chamberlain snorted, "Listen up, I don't want any trouble from the UNSC. All I want is to get this ship running and get to somewhere where there isn't Covenant."

"Open your eyes genius," Steele said, "this is the Inner Colonies. They aren't any Covvies here. I'd like to hear a better excuse than that."

Chamberlain's eyes lit up and pressed the barrel hard into the ODST's head.

"What makes you think the Covenant won't be here any day, limey?

There was a long silence. Eyes shifted around, fingers danced on the triggers, waiting. Frost kept his eyes on Chamberlain, a man with a receding hairline, scars on his cheek, and a sinister pair of black eyes. Some of his fellow mutineers looked just as bad, others seemed scared.

Vivian took a step forward. Frost watched her, and for a split second thought this would be the moment that all hell would break loose.

"You've committed mutiny and are now traitors of the UNSC. You are all under arrest. If you lay down your weapons and come quietly, I promise that you will be offered a fair trial and will be treated with respect. Which is more than you deserve."

"Fuck you!" Chamberlain snapped, point his pistol at her. "I'd rather take my chances out here than spend the rest of my life in a goddamn UNSC prison. I'm going to give you until the count of five to get the hell of my bridge and head back to your ship, before my crew fills you will lead."

No one moved. Frost braced his finger on the trigger.

"One."

He could feel everyone tensing up. Feet shuffled, shoulders were hunched. Everyone was preparing to find cover as soon as the firing began.

"Two."

Frost knew where he was going and what he was going to do. He would unleash a short burst of fire and roll backwards towards the door, then go through and take cover on the other side, where he'd return fire.

"Three."

He looked at Vivian. He hated her for a moment. She had led him and his squad here, and now she was going to get some of them killed. Maybe all of them.

"Four."

 _Goddamn you Vivian..._

"I wouldn't do that if I were you!"

Frost turned along with everyone else. Standing in the doorway was Langley, holding the handset from her radio up like a trophy. Her eyes stared ahead with a grim determination.

"And why's that?" Chamberlain asked slowly.

"I've radioed our task force. We have four ships locked onto this one, and their MAC guns are going to be finished charging in under a minute. You try and fire on my squad, your ship gets disintegrated, along with you and everyone else on board."

Silence settled again. Frost blinked, amazed.

"Hot damn," he heard someone murmur under their breath, most likely Steele.

Frost recovered and said, "What's more important to you? Your freedom, or your life?"

Chamberlain growled, his eyes growing wide with fury.

Vivian spoke next, "Well, Commander Chamberlain, seeing as how your hands are tied, why don't you and I sit down have a nice, long, civilized chat about your situation."

The grizzled commander let go of the ODST prisoner, and holstered his sidearm. Vivian did the same.

"Fine," he grunted.

"Good."

Everyone lowered their weapons. Frost breathed a sigh of relief, but only for a moment.

"Uh, Frost?"

It was Grant, speaking over the SQUADCOM.

"Go ahead G, what is it?"

"I'm inside the Pelican with Moser and the crew. We've locked it up."

Frost quirked an eyebrow, "And why's that?"

"There's about a dozen pissed off looking dudes standing right outside."

"Ah...fuck..."

* * *

 _"_ _Gotta tell ya, I've never seen someone as ballsy as_

 _Langley standing in that doorway holding that_

 _radio like a shield."_

 _-Corporal Louis-Henry Steele,_

 _Remembering the boarding and munity_

 _Of the UNSC_ Best of the Best

* * *

Well, no apology can make up for the long wait for this crummy-ass chapter. It was actually supposed to be much longer, but I've made the choice to split up for several reasons. Firstly, to get something up for you all to read since it's been a while. Secondly, if I didn't split this chapter up, it would have probably came out close to forty pages on Google Docs. So, I'm going to starting working on the second one right after I post this, keep an eye peeled for that.

Yeah, I'm really sorry it's taken me so long to get a chapter up. I may have said it before, but I have five classes this semester and so I've had way more work than ever before. Five classes worth of papers and projects and studying and blah blah blah. I'll try to post more frequently now that I don't have many assignments at this point in time, though that's likely to change.

Anyways, as for for responses:

Alpha HighBreed: I actually haven't gotten a beta. I do my writing in Google Docs, but then I download the doc into Microsoft Word because it has a better grammar and spellcheck than Docs. I prefer Docs to write in because I type in single space formatting and Microsoft Word doesn't keep the formatting as tight as I would like it. On another note, I'm glad you're able to feel the emotions I'm striving to get across to you and the other readers. It's one of my goals with this story. And yes, Jasmine is a bit of a sweetheart, huh? She's really cementing herself as the tether for characters to come back to reality.


	11. Chapter 11: Civilized People

ATTENTION: Shortly after I post this chapter, I'm going to be re-uploading and replacing one to two chapters with a large amount of errors. I don't know if those will come up as notifications for you, so I wanted to let you know via my new chapter so that you don't get disappointed when chapters are merely being replaced.

ALSO, before you read, there is some implications through dialogue and memories towards some extremely sensitive topics. I'd like to remind you that this is an M-rated story, but just be prepared. I don't think you're immature or over-sensitive or anything like that, I just want to give you a heads-up and that sensitive topics are going to come up in a story like this. It's been pretty light so far but it's going to get heavier every so often. I'll say a little bit more in the ending description.

* * *

Chapter 11: Civilized People

* * *

Of all the people that had to go down and stabilize the Pelican situation, Frost had to pick Steele. The Englishman made his way down the elevator and back down the winding corridors that they had initially traversed.

Right hand man? Steele was guessing he should have felt honored by the promotion, especially if it came from Frost. But with it came a host of new responsibilities that he hadn't possessed before…

Steele knew Frost well enough-eight years together usually was enough time to figure someone out-to know that the sergeant was carrying many burdens with his own promotion. He conceded that the NCO had it much worse than him. Guy had seven people to look after, and that was more than enough trouble for Steele. Still, he didn't like being Johnny-on-the-spot. Eight years had gone by and he had been able to relatively keep to the sidelines in events like this. Sure, he had fought, he wasn't unwilling to do so. When Teo, and now Frost he supposed, ordered him to clean his kit or check on a squad mate, he had done it, no fuss or bother. Teo had been a pal, and Frost was a brother. Out of respect, he had followed orders. Yet Steele had no love for the upper leadership. If the higher ups wanted something done, he believed they ought to do it themselves. Waters wasn't like most higher ups, seeing as she had accompanied them over. Captain Waters had turned to Frost and said, "Pick a man to head down there and explain what's going up here."

Despite having picked a seat to watch the negotiation go down, Steele hadn't been surprised when Frost pointed at him.

"Up and at'em, Steele. Get down there and make sure that the situation doesn't get out of hand. Try to reason with them, and let them know we're here to put things right."

If it had come straight from Waters, Steele had a lineup of ten or twelve different wisecracks to throw back in her face. But it was Frost. He was compelled to obey.

So, there he was, jogging down the hall. He decided to blame Waters too. The two buggers were peas in a pod despite those odd looks they had been throwing each other. Both Waters and Frost, when they started giving orders, commanded the entire room. Their presence just increased tenfold, their voices grew more official, though Waters sounded rather official all the time. What a change had Frost undergone. That extra stripe had really gone to his head, Steele considered. He could have said, "Hey, Steele, get the fuck down to the hangar and see what's the matter." But he hadn't. He had said what he said, with the voice of a commander in chief. Steele didn't find it annoying, just surprising. He could still remember Frost as a thirteen-year-old, when they first met. The thirteen-year-old Frost had been shy and quiet. He kept his head somewhat low, never exactly raised his voice, but he had a knack for following orders and getting shit done. Back then, some of the older kids in the program had tried to bully him. Steele couldn't abide that, back then and now. Three older teens broke into his footlocker one time and tore up one of his favorite books of poetry. Seeing the young Frost sitting on the edge of his bed, holding the ragged book in both hands with tears brimming in his eyes, had pissed Steele off to no end. He found all three hanging out one day in the yard-three teenagers who were much bigger than him-and beat the pulp out of them. Steele knew how to fight dirty. It came from living where he did, where other roving gangs of teens and pre-teens took every opportunity to mess with one another. All three ended up writhing on the ground, and Steele took the liberty of confiscating the money they had on them. When he had gotten the chance, he had bought Frost a new copy.

He knew Frost was eternally grateful. Steele had thought it was just a book. But he was smart enough to know that people placed value on little things. He wasn't the sort to, but Frost was. Too many times in his own life, he was mistreated and left out to dry by the people who were supposed to have his back, so the last thing he was going to do was let that happen to the first kid to show him any respect. But that kid, more or less was gone now. All of those kids were gone now. Frost was reserved now, though no longer shy. When he raised his voice even further, it lost all of its official sounding tones; it became a rattling roar that caught the attention of everyone around him. But he was still respectful and caring. Those three bullies were now good soldiers, who high-fived and bumped fists with Frost and Steele after a good fight. One of them had been awarded the Medal of Honor for rescuing a dozen people from a burning building. They were good men. And Steele? Steele smirked. He was content with cracking jokes on the sidelines. But the trust from eight years ago remained, and Frost remembered what he had done for him, and Steele remembered how much Frost had suffered on his behalf years ago. They relied on each other. Steele did feel a little honored by that. He had gotten medal after medal for his efforts, but the trust of a good friend? That was more rewarding by far. Frost was the only one he'd listen to, that was a decision he had made a long time ago. And as such, he was down in the hangar in just a few minutes.

There was just one curiosity that had caught him though. When he had passed the covered body from the elevator, it reminded him of when Waters and Frost had been whispering to one another. Steele swore he had heard them use each other's first names. That wasn't particularly normal. Frost was a by the book kind of man, going as far as to call most other men in the MEU by their rank.

Still, he was sure they had uttered their first names. Neither ones were great whisperers. Steele chalked that up to their strong sense of duty and honor, whatever those alien things were. Although, being discrete and secretive was probably just as alien to them. Just how had they learned them, though? Waters had introduced her first and last names when they had first met about a month ago, but when had Frost revealed his? Frost told Steele just about everything. He was sure he would have told a story like that.

Steele almost laughed. He could hear the tones of their voices back when they had been whispering. They had sounded almost...tender...at least to his ears. And they had been giving each other those weird glances almost the entire time. Did they have the hots for one another?

 _Bruv, if you're banging the captain, kudos to you._

He entertained the idea. Vivian was quite the looker. That tunic fit her athletic, hourglass figure just fine in his own opinion. He knew no one else would say that, especially Frost, but he was the right hand man, and Steele took the liberty of believing they gave him free license to say whatever the hell he wanted. Frost wasn't there to smack him upside the head for a comment like that anyways. Frost wasn't bad looking either. He had a natural charm to his smile that all the girls seemed to like. Sure, it was an all-male unit, but they had plenty of interactions with women from other units or branches or police forces. They just gravitated to him a bit, and the wanker was too polite to notice. Steele recalled one time how he had carried a girl about their age from a fire zone all the way to the Pelicans, and she had her arms around his neck and was staring at him like he was the knight coming to save his princess. It was enough to make Steele heave.

But he knew Frost better than that. Booty calls weren't exactly his forte. He wanted emotional connections and all that sappy crap in the Valentine's Day cards. Steele? He was still waiting for the actress Michelle Clarkson-and that rack of hers-and that was enough for him.

"Hey, freeze!"

Steele stopped mid-stride in the middle of the hanger. A group of marines, sailors, and a couple ODSTs were standing outside the Pelican.

He clipped his weapon to the back of his body armor and raised his hands.

"You can lower your guns there, mate. I'm part of the rescue team."

"You are?" one of them stepped forward, a grizzled looking navigation officer with a graying crew cut and a massive jaw. "You're with these guys on the Pelican?"

"Of course I am, now how's about you stop pointing guns at the people trying to help you. Wanker."

The splinter group exchanged looks and nods, and consented.

"Thank you, now one moment please."

Taking his time, Steele casually sauntered over to the Pelican and gently rapped his knuckles on the rear door.

"Oh honey, would you open the door please?" he cooed in a grandmother's voice.

"Is that you Steele?" Grant asked, his voice muffled from inside.

"Who the hell do you think it is? Open the damn door!"

The rear door opened and the ramp dropped. Steele reared back, raising his hands.

"Jesus guys, put those away!"

With raised weapons, Moser and Grant crouched on either side of Isha, who was standing with his hands on the ceiling-mounted machine gun. Pajari was also there, holding an SMG, while Jasper was leaning against the wall, hands jammed into his pockets.

The splinter faction raised their weapons as well.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Steele hollered, holding a hand up to both groups, "Why don't we all just put our guns down, and realize that we're on the same goddamn side, huh!?"

It took some more persuasion but everyone finally managed to lower their weapons. Grant pointed at the splinters.

"These lame brains came storming at us from one of the other entrances. We thought they were going to try and take the Pelican so we hopped inside and locked it up. They said they'd starve us out, man."

"Well, you wouldn't blame them if you saw the shit we all saw," Steele retorted. He turned to face the group. "Now, I know you're probably all in a rush to fix the situation you're in, but I need you all to stay calm and not do anything dumb, alright? The captain of my ship and the rest of my squad are up on the bridge, right now, negotiating with that Chamberlain arsehole."

"Negotiate?" said the tough looking navigation officer, whose name tag read Slater. "You can't negotiate with that murderer. He's going to butcher those friends of yours like he did ours."

"Nah, he won't," Steele grinned, "we've got four ships locked onto this one, so if he wants to get away with his life, he'll have to play ball."

Slater blinked, "Good idea, but I'd recommend _not_ blowing this ship up. The vast majority of the crew are loyal the UNSC, and didn't take part in the mutiny or any of the fighting. My group has been trying to figure a way to take back the bridge but we keep running into his patrols. They're well-armed and brutal. They were able to get more guns and ammo from the armory before us back during the initial split."

The officer jerked his thumb at his group, "Some of my people have been tortured, but were able to escape. I've got a lot of sick people too. Chamberlain locked down the medical bay and the mess hall. We've been surviving on small raids and what the neutral part of the crew gives us, but it's not enough. And they're still kidnapping and killing crew members, or roughing them up."

He pointed at a stoic looking woman in marine battle armor, "the other day they tried to kidnap a woman for this first time. Staff Sergeant Ferguson here was able to fight them off. God knows what they would have done to her.

"Shut up about it," she snapped.

Steele raised his hand, "I understand."

"Look, we're just glad you're here now," Slater said, "but if your negotiations are going to work, you're going to have to stop the patrols. Otherwise he'll have the upper hand."

Steele sighed and raised a finger to his ear piece, "Hey, Frosty the Snowman, you there?"

"That's real original," came the response, "give me a sitrep."

"I was able to cool the situation down here, everybody's locked arms and skipping through meadows. It was no big deal, really."

"Very funny. Grant, Moser, and the Pelican crew alright?"

"Yeah, they're good."

Steele stepped away from the main group and lowered his voice, "Got some of the guys from the engine room here. Main guy, Slater, says that they're starving and sick since Chamberlain's goons have the medical facility and the mess under lock down. Says there are still patrols out there on the ship rough people up. Got a woman with him that they tried to kidnap."

There was a long pause.

"And do _what_ with her?"

Frost's voice was seething and shaking with rising anger.

"Think we have to assume the worst here, mate."

There was an even longer silence. Steele knew what he was remembering then. Those poor women from long ago, how they found them in ditches on the snowy hillsides. He remembered the fury in his chest when they found the rebels who had done it, and remembered how they made them pay.

"Jesus," Frost hissed, "alright, you get a team together and get those places back under control."  
"Rules of engagement?"

"Order still stands: no lethal force unless absolutely necessary. If we start a fight, Chamberlain will have plenty of reason to fight back."

"No lethal force? Bruv, we've got a gang of fucking psychopathic sadists on this ship. They deserve a bullet in the brain, not a cell."

"Captain's orders. No killing. But anything else...I'd say that's fair game."

Steele understood.

"I'll check in with you later." Steele turned to face the group, who were all looking at him. He retrieved his shotgun and said, "Alright, let's do a little hunting, shall we?"

* * *

Frost had to hand it to Vivian, she had one hell of a poker face.

A large, squat crate had been placed in the center of the bridge, and a chair put on either side. Chamberlain sat on the right, Vivian on the left. She had quite the stare down. Her opponent was definitely intimidating, but Frost could see that even he was deterred by her icy, dagger-like gaze.

"I take it that's Captain Cain?"

Vivian had nodded towards the captain's command chair, where a rotting corpse in a gray uniform sat. There was a dark bullet hole in his forehead and a larger, more destructive hold in the back of his skull where the bullet had exited. Frost was no forensic analyst, but he knew enough to know that the wound was the end result of an execution style gunshot. Execution style wounds were like that; point blank range, the bullet wound enter the skull, tumble through the brain, and crash through the back of the skull.

The body was propped up to make it appear Cain was still alive. Somebody had placed his dress uniform cap on his head, but had taped a small slip of paper to the front of the cap. Written on it were the words: _King Cain_.

Chamberlain grinned, "Yep, that's the tyrant alright."

"Tyrant?"

"Yeah, Cain was a taskmaster if there ever was one."

"You do understand this is the military. As an officer of the Navy it is your duty to follow orders."

"Orders? Cain would unjustly punish anyone on this ship for the lightest mistake. I once saw him chew out a marine and put him on janitorial duty for having a boot lace untied. A fucking boot lace! Would you humiliate and reprimand a guy for having an untied boot?"

Frost was curious to hear that. He was standing slightly beside Vivian, a little to her rear, holding his assault rifle with one hand. She was stone-faced, as she had been the entire time.

"I believe that discipline as a whole and on one's self is a vital component to all those aboard a starship," she finally answered.

Chamberlain scoffed, throwing up his hand dismissively and leaning back in his seat.

"You sound like the goddamn politicians back on Earth. They never answer questions, just make a statement."

"I wouldn't have punished a soldier for having an untied boot, even if it is considered being out of uniform. But I can guarantee you that if you make one wrong move in between now and finding a resolution, you won't be able to ever utter another word," Vivian growled, her voice as cold and hard as metal.

Chamberlain shifted in his chair, leaning back, "That's a double-edged sword, lady-"

"Captain Waters to you," Langley snapped from her spot beside Frost. She was still holding the handset in her left hand; in her right, she was clutching her assault rifle.

Chamberlain paid her no mind.

"You put a couple MAC rounds through here, yeah, I doubt we'll get to the lifeboats in time. But that means you don't either, so I wouldn't play that card if I was you."

"I can. I'm not afraid to die."

"Bullshit."

"Want to try me?" Vivian turned, "Langley, give me the radio."

Langley placed the handset into the Captain's hand, "All ships, all ships, this is Captain Waters."

Chamberlain sat up a little, his brow furrowing.

"You're bluffing."

Vivian smirked ever so slightly, "Are you sure?"

"No way you'd kill everybody on this ship just to make sure I didn't get away."

"Do you know that for sure? Decatur, when I give the word, put a MAC round right through the bridge."

Chamberlain squirmed a little. He didn't say anything for a while. All he did was remain rigid in his seat, beads of sweat running down his faces. His loyalists watched him apprehensively. More eyes were focused on Captain Waters though, sitting cross legged in her seat, holding the handset up to her ear, her eye locked onto Chamberlain's pock-marked face. Some of the crew who had surrendered looked at Vivian like she was insane.

The stare down was broken when Chamberlain let out an exasperated breath.

"Even if I did surrender, what do I get?"

"Your life, and a fair trial."

"Life in prison? Not much of a life."

"Preferable to a slow, painful death suffocating in the vacuum of space or getting caught in the flames from the MAC round when it passed through here," Vivian countered, shrugging.

Frost thought this was torture. Effective no doubt, but torturous by any means. He was ready to shit himself. Looking at Captain Water's emerald eyes, he couldn't figure out if she was bluffing or not. Her tone and facial expressions were almost pleasant, but there was an underlying sinister sound that Frost was able to pick up.

Chamberlain groaned.

"Look, just put the goddamn radio down for a second, alright?"

"As you wish," Vivian said as she handed it back to Langley.

Frost, impressed, almost whistled.

 _One helluva poker face..._

* * *

Steele peeked around the corner into the mess hall. It wasn't as large and luxurious as the one on the _I'm Alone_ , but it was an adequate space nonetheless. Lone tables with extra seating, a small area for the crew to sit and relax in. Nothing grand.

"See anything?" Moser whispered.

Looking towards the serving stations, he could see two men-sailors in body armor-standing behind the counter. One was holding a shotgun, the other holding a mug with coffee in it. Even from the passageway, Steele could see the steam rising up from the hot drink.

"Two blokes, one visibly arms, behind the counter," Steele hissed, "probably more in the kitchen."

"How the hell are we supposed to secure an area if we're not allowed to use lethal force?" Grant complained. "We don't have stun rounds or rubber bullets, so what are we gonna do?"

Steele considered his gripe. Valid by any means. Their primary tool for offensive and defensive warfare-the firearms in their hands-were useless. Well, not completely he thought; they made good clubs.

The men, though preoccupied, would see anything entering the mess hall from where they were. Stealth and CQC weren't exactly viable options either. All Steele could think of was one plan, one that he was sure was foolproof.

"Why don't I work some of my magic on'em, huh?"

"Magic?" one of the accompanying sailors from Slater's group asked.

"Yeah mate," Steele beamed, "my natural charisma."

There was a long silence.

"Can't we just shoot them?" somebody else asked from the crowd pressed up against the hallway wall.

Steele rolled his eyes, hanging Moser his shotgun and sidearm. He turned to Grant, "When I hold up two fingers behind my back, just come out hot with your guns up, yeah bruvva?"

"Yeah."

"Stay outta sight til then."

With that, Steele took a sharp breath and walked around the corner with his hands up. Like he had predicted, the two men instantly spotted him and called for backup. Six more came filing out from the kitchen.

Steele kept walking towards them, arms up high.

"Aye mates, you think you could pour me a cup? I'm bloody exhausted and could use a pick-me-up."

The eight men came forward, forming a semicircle in front of them. They were hunched forward, their weapons raised. Steele looked down the barrels of eight different weapons. Each one would snuff him a second. A flash, a split second of pain, and then darkness.

 _Maybe this wasn't a good idea…_

"There any booze on this boat, because I'll take a little bit of whiskey in my coffee."

"Who are you?" one of the men barked.

"Are you blokes really that unobservant that you didn't see that big fat Pelican land in the hangar?

"What?" one asked, lowering his weapon.

Steele began walking backwards towards the exit where the rest of the team was. He smiled.

"Yeah man, rescue's here."

"No way…"

"Hey, keep your heads in the game. We're not UNSC anymore. Don't pussy out now!" one of the taller, more grizzled looking soldiers growled.

Steele continued to smile as if nothing was wrong. He could feel sweat on his back, causing his shirt to stick. The entrance was only a few steps away now.

"Come on man, if the UNSC is here we're screwed!"

"He said just one Pelican!"

"Yeah but they'll side with the group in the engine room, and that means they're going to frigging put us away for life, or kill us!"

"If we turn ourselves in we might get lighter sentences!"

"All of you shut up!"

Over half of the mutineers had lowered their weapons, and were now facing each other and arguing. Steele hadn't expected this and seized the opportunity. He held up two fingers on his right hand, making a V.

Grant and Moser were beside him a second, with the rest of the group from the engine room circling around the group. Taken off guard, half of the mutineers immediately dropped their weapons. The remainder attempt to shout back and make their own threats, but they were overpowered by the screaming and the numbers of the UNSC-loyalists. All eight mutineers were quickly subdued, laying on their stomachs in a row on the deck. Their hands were bound by zip-ties. Slater had wanted to go as far as to hogtie them—tying their hands and feet together—but Steele dissuaded him.

Steele had a group of the loyalists collect some of the food and bring it to the engine room. He diverted another squadron of the group to begin taking stock of what was left. Then, after grabbing a cup of coffee, he sat down at one of the tables. With a contented sigh, he leaned back and faced the row of prisoners in front of him.

"So, I have some question for you."

No one said anything. Steele slurped his coffee loudly. "Can everybody see me alright?"

One of the prisoners—the tough looking one—raised his head. He had to crane his neck uncomfortably to meet Steele's eyes.

"We're cuffed and laying face-down, it's hard to look at you, ass-wipe."

"Oh, I see. Grant, Moser, could you make him a bit more comfortable?"

The pair of marines quickly grabbed the mutineer, stood him up, then slammed him down on his front on the tabletop—hard. Steele quickly snatched up his coffee before the impact, saving it from being spilt.

"Turn him over."

Grant and Moser gave the prisoner a shove, so he was lying on his back. Steele rose to his feet and stood over him, again slurping his coffee.

Grunting and wincing with pain, the mutineer glared up at him, "What're you gonna do, limey? Annoy me to death?"

Steele shrugged, "Maybe." He held his coffee out over the mutineer and turned it over, dumping half of the boiling hot coffee right onto the man's crotch. The prisoner sat up immediately, crying and writhing around. Everyone watched with wide eyes as the man continued to scream loudly. Steele took another sip and turned around, "So, anybody here try to kidnap a woman recently?"

The men remaining on the ground blinked at one another, "No, that was Flammang. They're in the armory right now restocking. He's got about five guys with him."

Steele nodded, "Alright, how many are in the medical bay?"

"Four."

He added up the numbers in his head and was shocked by how few in numbers the mutineers were. Chamberlain was cruel but he definitely wasn't stupid. His barbaric methods had kept everyone in fear, enough so that his relatively small band of mutineers would be threatened only by the loyalists in the engine room.

Steele finished his coffee, formulating a plan in his head. Moser leaned over to him.

"That mean needs medical attention or else he's going to have some rather…permanent damage."

Steele smiled at his German companion, clapping him on the shoulder, "Let's get him to the medical bay then, shall we?"

* * *

Frost had stepped outside and had his finger on his earpiece.

"Steele, can you give me a sitrep?"

"We've taken back the mess hall. We're getting food to the people in the engine room. The medical bay is the next target and then the armory."

Frost nodded, "Good. If we take back the three core facilities of the ship, he'll have no more power."

"You gonna tell him that we have the mess hall? He might give it up now."

"No. He might see this as dishonoring these weird negotiations and try to fight back."

"How're things on the bridge?"

Frost peeked around the corner. Vivian and Chamberlain were talking, their voices hushed but hard. The SQUADCOM could be heard through everyone's earpiece, so he knew that Vivian could hear them.

"Chamberlain's no dummy, but Captain Waters knows how to make him blink. What's your plan on taking the medical bay?"

"I've got a bargaining chip."

"How's that?"

"You'll see. Steele out."

Perplexed, Frost shook his head. Whatever cockamamie scheme Steele had conjured up, he was confident that it would work, though he wasn't sure that he wanted to know what the plan even was. The Englishman, for as much as he liked to pretend that soldiering was no big deal and liked to shirk most soldierly responsibilities, he could come up with a sharp idea. In his own opinion, Frost felt that Steele didn't give himself enough credit. But he was glad he had chosen him for his corporal. If he somehow bit the dust, he knew Steele would make a good squad leader.

 _Is that why Teo had raised me to corporal after Ocampo?_

Ocampo had been the original corporal in the squad. Wright had been the Lance corporal. Ocampo died when they had been fighting the rebels some years earlier and Wright was vaporized fighting the Covenant on some Outer Colony planet whose name he couldn't remember. When Ocampo, that light-hearted Argentinian, died, Teo had jabbed a finger into Frost's gut as he had stood over the body.

"You're my Corporal," was all he said. When Wright, a serious fellow from Jamaica, was killed in action, Teo had Steele promote to Lance Corporal.

Frost sighed. Thinking of it like that made him and Steele seem like replacements. Stand-ins to lead and to command until they died and the next batch of leaders and commanders were picked to fill their shoes.

His thoughts finished, he began to enter the bridge again. Just he did, though, one of the mutineers grabbed him by his breastplate.

"What the fuck were you doing out there, pal?"

Frost stared at him for a moment. Everyone on the bridge was watching them now.

"Let go of my armor."

"You trying to trick us or something?"

Frost gazed into the eyes of the young man in front of him, a handsome, hot-headed looking lad who too small for the boots he was trying to fill. He couldn't have been more than eighteen, only about three years younger than Frost.

Without further hesitation, Frost head-butted the young fellow. His helmet cracked against the mutineer's forehead, toppling him onto his rear-end. A gash opened up, and blood began to trickle down his face.

Kneeling down, Frost took the mutineer by his own vest and held him close.

"Listen boy-o, don't try to pull that macho bullshit with me. I've killed aliens _and_ men bigger than you, so unless you want this here knife in your belly," Frost drew the blade and pressed the flat side against the teenage mutineer's cheek, "I suggest you drop the act."

Frost let go, sheathed his knife, and rose to his feet. Chamberlain looked pissed, but he didn't care. It was Vivian's stare that caught his attention. Her eyes were wide and shocked, as if she was seeing something for the first time. Her mouth moved just a little, as if she were about to say something. But Chamberlain interrupted.

"Lay a finger on another one of my people and this conversation will end badly."

Frost walked over to him, slowly, until he was standing right over him.

"Have you ever seen one of the Covenant up close?"

"I've fought against the Covenant plenty of times."

"Yeah, from your nice cozy bridge. I'm talking about face-to-face. An Elite? A Brute? Hell, you even seen a Grunt aside from battlefield photos?"

Chamberlain said nothing, simply looking away from him. Frost leaned down a little.

"Try threatening me after you've killed a Brute with nothing but your knife and your bare fists, alright bub?"

"Sergeant, that's enough," Vivian said, her tone shaky and uncertain. Frost raised an eyebrow at her, giving her a concerned look. She didn't seem to notice. All the same, he walked back over to her side. She cleared her throat.

"Mr. Chamberlain, you do understand that trying to bargain with me is fruitless. There are four ships—one super heavy cruiser, one carrier, and two heavy frigates—with their MAC guns hot and primed to fire on this ship. You and your compatriots, who I remind you are few in number, will be killed."

"I'd still like to remind you, Captain Waters, you're on this ship with me. Your force fire on us, they'll take you down along with me."

"An acceptable tradeoff."

"Don't try to pull that one on me. You value your life just as much as I do mine. There's no way you'll order those boats to fire on us."

"We've been through this before, Mr. Chamberlain."

"Guess we'll just keep running in circles then. This is still my ship; I've got control of the medical bay, the armory, and the mess hall. All the food, all the medicine, all the guns, belong to me."

"Still not your ship though," Vivian retorted, "you don't have the engine room. If you don't have the engine room. Without power, this ship still isn't yours. You'll have to do better than that."

Chamberlain gritted his teeth then. That struck a nerve. Frost smirked a little. He almost wanted to reach over and high-five her. But when he looked over, he was surprised to see Vivian looking up at him. Her eyes were wide with what appeared to be shock and disbelief, as if he were a ghost back from the dead. He leaned close to whisper, but she reared her head back. It was just a split second move, one that he would have missed if he hadn't been this close to her. No one else noticed. All of the marines' eyes were on Chamberlain's goons, and his goons were focused on Frost's marines. Chamberlain was too pissed to notice. Frost wanted to ask what was the matter, but she looked almost terrified when he began to whisper. Confused, he decided to remove himself a few paces behind her. That feeling he had, the suspicious one he had felt in the elevator, returned.

Once he found his new spot, Chamberlain resumed.

"I may not have the engine room, but if you convince the folks in there to kindly transfer to your ship, save for the key bridge staff, I'll just take my people and find a nice cozy planet to sit out the rest of the war. I'll even let you take the neutral crew too. All I—what we want—is to stop fighting for a war for a government that never did us any good anyways."

"Out of the question," Vivian said with a shake of her head, "I cannot allow you to take any hostages."

"They wouldn't be hostages—"

"Explain."

Chamberlain raised a hand and shook his head as he tried to find the words, but he couldn't come up with anything. He brought down his hand on his thigh, hard.

"Look, if you'd just let me talk to them, they'd understand. I'd be giving them a chance for _freedom_."

"No," Vivian answered bluntly.

"Oh, what? What's the UNSC ever done for us? All they do is round up more kids like you and the sergeant here and send you to the front lines. Do you know how many poor kids I've seen die on this ship? I've been doing this 2530 and I've seen hundreds come and go. The amount of times we've been hit by those plasma cannons…"

Chamberlain looked out the bridge window, shaking his head. His eyes were misty now. "Too many kids getting drafted. Boys not old enough to shave, girls not even old enough to buy a beer. Hell, kids who weren't even old enough to vote."

He sniffed and cleared his throat, "The UNSC is killing them just as much as the Covenant it is. Denying people like you their futures. How can you abide a government like that?"

Vivian seemed to think for a moment. Frost couldn't see her face from where he was.

"I enlisted."

"Get caught up by all the propaganda?"

"It's complicated. I don't you'd understand, nor do I feel that I owe you an explanation for my reasoning."

Chamberlain chuckled a little, "Guess you don't. How about you soldier boy? Drafted?"

Frost looked around for friendly eyes. He caught Bishop's and Knight's, who shrugged at him. Frost realized that he wasn't sure how to answer that. No one had ever presented him with that question in eight years. Had he been drafted, or did he volunteer? It wasn't a normal draft; it was a 'selection.' They had made it quite clear back then that it wasn't the draft—but they hadn't specified if there had been a choice.

"It's complicated for me too."

The mutineer folded his arms across his chest, "My, you're boring conversationalists."

"This isn't a conversation, Chamberlain. You can't use the UNSC's practices and methods as an excuse for treason and murder."

"Like the UNSC is any better? How many Insurrectionist communities were wiped out over the years?"

"Communities?" Frost scoffed, "You call a fortified base camps augmented by stolen heavy artillery and armed soldiers 'communities'? Don't try to make Innies come out as underdog freedom fighters—they're terrorists and traitors."

"Depends on your point of view, sergeant?"

"There is no point of view. They're terrorists and traitors, nothing more. You'd fit right in with them," Frost smirked.

"Then why don't you just fuck right off with those engine room people and the rest of this cowardly crew and let me and my people set off on our way?"

"Because, this ship is UNSC property," Vivian responded curtly, "unless you plan to pay for it, I don't think I could let you take it anyways. There is going to be only one solution: your surrender. If you surrender, your prison sentences may be lighter."

"Maybe for my group, but not for me. I was the instigator, the leader, and I did the most killing. For that, they'll shoot me."

"I could shoot you now," Frost offered.

"Sergeant," Vivian snapped quickly. She didn't need to say anything farther; Frost knew when he was needed to shut up.

The captain resumed, saying, "So, you're in it for yourself and not those loyal to you. If you can't have your way, they'll have to suffer for it, I presume?"

Chamberlain inhaled sharply. He placed his hands on his knees and drummed his fingers on them. He glanced at his loyal mutineers, who were no longer looking at their marine competitors but at their leader. Some looked a little hopeful, others betrayed, and one looked like he was ready to tear his head off.

"It's not like that. I'm offering them a better life than doing the UNSC's dirty work."

"Dirty work? You call fighting for humanity's survival dirty work?" Vivian asked, surprised. "You've got yourself a twisted view of the world, Chamberlain."

"Maybe. All I know is that if I can get my ship to an Insurrectionist haven, I'll never have to fight the Covenant again."

"You won't be leaving this ship unless you're in handcuffs," Vivian promised.

* * *

"Look all you really have to do is just put down your guns and come out with your hands up!" Steele called into the medical bay.

The four mutineers in the medical bay had bunkered down behind a makeshift barrier of filing cabinets and desks in the central hallway of the medical bay. Steele was at the edge of the door; he had tried sticking his head to look at them, but a bullet had whizzed by an inch from his face. Talking from behind the corner seemed safer.

"Go to hell!" one of the mutineers cried.

"Now lads, we've got the numbers on ya. Four against a dozen, two dozen when our friend show up. Why risk it when you could just give up?"

"Blow me!"

Steele laughed, "Lads, don't be so unreasonable. Here, I have something that may change your mind."

He turned to face Moser and Grant, who were holding the burned mutineer from earlier. He had been stripped to his UNSC-issued boxers and they had applied the burn cream from their first aid kits to his crotch, but he was still moaning in pain. They had shoved a sock into his mouth to keep him quiet, so his groans were muffled and tears ran down his cheek.

Grant seemed uneasy about prolonging the man's suffering. Moser probably did, but he had been hiding it behind a stony face. Steele didn't care. Traitors were scum and deserved to be punished. He knew they'd probably just end up throwing the mutineers into cells for ten or twenty years, maybe more depending on how many murders they committed. Life imprisonment was a possibility. All of them, too gentle in his opinion. Criminals deserved to feel as much pain as they meted out. So, he had only let them apply as much burn cream that would make the pain not be as scorching as before, but not enough to cease the pain entirely.

"Now, I have one of your pals here," Steele called, "he's hurt pretty bad. Got some terrible second degree burns right now on a spot none of you boys would want burned. Why not hear what he has to say?"

Steele removed the sock, then shoved the barrel of his pistol into the mutineer's gut.

"Guys, just let them in. They won't give me medical treatment. Please, my entire lower half feelings like it's fucking melting. Please!"

"Harold, is that you?"

"Who the fuck else would it be? Just fucking drop the guns so I can get some first aid! They won't give me any unless you surrender!"

There was only silence. Steele sighed.

"Longer you boys wait, longer he suffers. I daresay he might not able to use that thing if he doesn't get treatment now."

"Come on you assholes, I wouldn't leave you guys like this!"

"Okay!" came the response, "Okay, fine. We're done. Just get him in here, alright?"

Steele peeked around the corner, "Throw all your weapons over the barrier!"

It took about a minute for four sets of weapons to appear. The mutineers themselves walked around with their hands up. Slater's group stormed over to them and took them into custody, cuffing them. Moser and Grant quickly moved him down the hall and into a surgery room. One of the doctors on the vessel was with them, and immediately began to work on the burned mutineers.

"That was a good idea," Slater said after he sent a detail of troopers to take the four new prisoners to the hangar.

"A bit excessive, I'm not sure that's how Frost or Captain Waters wanted the situation to be handled," Grant said quietly.

"Got the job done, didn't it?" Steele jerked his thumb towards the man in surgery. "That's what matter, and he's getting what he deserves for turning on his mates. That just leaves the armory."

While Slater dispatched another group to start ferrying medicine and medical kits to the engine room, Steele began to hatch his next plan. The armory would definitely be easier to defend for the mutineers. Not to mention they could add heavier weapons to the defense. Cracking them with negotiations like that weren't going to work with the burned mutineer having done his part. Steele had promised that he'd get treatment after the medical bay was subdued, and if he relented on that promise he knew Frost would definitely be pissed.

He considered simply telling them that they had lost the medical bay and the mess hall—perhaps that would be enough to make them surrender. But he knew it wouldn't. Medicine and food were secondary to have weapons and ammunition. All the mutineers in there had to do was launch a few rockets and lob a few grenades to finish off their group. Numbers weren't going to help.

Rubbing one finger back and forth across his mustache, Steele realized that the key was to get them out of the armory.

Four of Slater's men began to dismantle the barrier but Steele stopped them.

"Hold on, I've got an idea."

He was standing directly behind the barrier then, his front towards the entrance they had just come through. He turned around and looked down the hall. There were multiple rooms on either side, at least six doors on both walls. Plenty of places to hide.

Steele turned to the four men, "Lads, crouch behind this wall like you're guarding that door right there. Everybody else, take up positions in the rooms around here."

"What's the plan?" Moser asked.

"We get them out of the armory by having burny-McCock-dude in there call them for reinforcements. When they get up to the barrier, we come out of the doors and subdue them, yeah? Feel me?"

Moser and Grant exchanged a glance. Steele held out both hands, waiting for a response.

"Well, I guess it could work."

"Oh, okay. I see how it is. Frost tells you, "Hey, let's drive a Warthog onto a moving Scarab and blow it up,' and 'Let's stay behind and set off a nuke,' and you guys are all like, "Hell yeah, let's do that!' But I come up with a plan to ambush a few blokes and you guys are like, 'Well I guess it could work.' You guys can shove it."

Grant laughed, "Alright, alright, we'll do it. Your plan is good, it's a good plan, I mean it."

"Don't just say it to make him feel better," Moser said, joining in on the joking, "it'll just hurt his feelings even more than before."

"Ponce," Steele muttered.

Steele planned the ambush as if he were setting up a school play. He ushered each individual man and women into their own room and even went as far as to direct how the men pretending to be mutineers should crouch behind the barrier. Once everyone was in position, Steele made the injured mutineer call the group in the armory. It took a few waves of his pistol and a threat to fetch more coffee, but the mutineer complied—Steele wasn't sure if it was the pistol or the coffee that scared him more.

After the leader, Flammang, confirmed they would be there in a few minutes, Steele took position behind a door that had a glass window in it. He stood to the side, so he was out of sight, but he could still look out somewhat.

The minutes dragged by. Steele drummed his fingers against the barrel of his shotgun. After a few moments he remembered that he wasn't allowed to fire it. He chuckled and set it down, then flexed his fingers. It had been a long time since he had fought up close and personal with humans. He missed it, in a strange way. Humans weren't as tough as aliens.

Though, the more he thought about it, the more he remembered from their stint fighting the rebels not too many years ago. The experience had almost killed him, and he was lucky not to be a cripple after the ordeal he had gone through. He remembered all those bodies in the snow, spread among the trees. And those poor girls from the Army, just left in the ditches. Every time he thought of them, he wanted to cry like he had cried when they had found them. He fought the urge, but it was hard. Often, he replaced it with anger. And that's just what he did. He let rage fill his chest, strengthen him. Flammang was his. Frost had given him license to do anything he wanted to the bastard just shy of killing him. So that was his plan.

"Hey! We're coming up on your rear, don't shoot!"

Steele snapped back to attention. He braced himself, putting a hand on the door to push it open and rush out. A moment passed and he could see the six men getting ready to fall into position with the fake mutineers.

"Alright, what's the situation?"

He saw one of the real mutineers put a hand on the shoulder of one of the UNSC-loyalists. Steele threw the door open.

"Now!"

The hallway erupted into a horde of screaming marines, sailors, and ODSTs, pouncing on the six mutineers. The four pretenders also turned and rushed into the fray. Steele was had thrown himself onto the nearest mutineer and began throwing his fist repeatedly into his face. The other mutineers were brought down one by one, often by two or three of the loyalists. Grant had been able to trap a mutineer's arms behind his back and Moser was slugging him in the gut. Slater was practically strangling another in his burly arms.

It was over in less than a minute. The six mutineers were pinned to the deck or to the walls by groups of several loyalists each. Steele recovered his breath and checked his hands. Nothing was broken, but his knuckles burned from impact after impact against flesh and bone.

"Frost, come in. We've got the armory. All the mutineers are in custody."

"Good work," came Frost's whispered response, "assemble everyone in the hangar."

"Copy that boss man."

He looked around the hallway, "Which one of you is Flammang?"

"I am."

The response had come from a man roughly Steele's age. He was skinny and had a smug looking face, with brown, curly hair and fair eyes.

"Ah…so you're the one I've heard about."

Steele brought his knee into Flammang's groin. The mutineer bent over, exhaling from the hit.

"You're coming with me," Steele growled, and grabbed him by the collar of the armor he was wearing. "Grant, Moser, Slater, get everybody to the hangar."

Steele took Flammang to an isolated examination room in the medical wing. It was small, most likely for the most basic of physical evaluation. He sat the mutineer into the single chair in the room and tied his hands behind his back. Flammang had taken quite a few blows in the fight. His temple was cut open and bleeding, his lip was split, and he was missing several teeth.

"So, what was your plan?" Steele asked him as he took off his helmet.

"What're you talking about?"

"That woman you tried to kidnap? What were you planning to do with her?" Steele took off his torso armor, setting it on the high examination bed. He turned around to face him, leaning back against the bed. "Hm?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Frost brought the back of his hand against Flammang's face, them slapped him back the other way.

"I wouldn't lie if you want to leave this room alive."

Flammang glared at him with those bright blue eyes. One might have considered them handsome eyes, but Steele could see the son of a bitch for who he was through them.

"What? You're going to judge me for that? I've been working this starship since I was drafted four years ago. Not once have I been able to get shore leave."

"Why's that?"

"That asshole Captain Cain never let me go. Always said it was because of disorderly conduct."

"Disorderly content is to be expected of a _thing_ that would try to kidnap a woman and do what you were planning."

"Thing? Listen prick, I'm a human—"

Steele hit him hard in the nose, breaking it. He felt it crunch against his knuckle. He grabbed Flammang's hair hard and pulled it so that he could look into the mutineer's eyes.

"No, you ain't. You're _thing_. A human has morals; a human has feelings. A _thing_ doesn't have any of those, including rights. And that's what you are. A _thing_."

A look of fear entered those blue eyes. Steele grinned.

"You know, my squad and I have fought people like you before. They did some horrible things to our friends in the Army. Awful things like you were planning to do. You know what we did when we found them?"

He let go and took a step back. "We didn't kill them when we found them. We didn't even torture them. But what we did do, was gather up some rope, and hang them from the trees outside their base. Thirty guys in all. We hanged'em, one by one, made all of them watch as we did. And we made sure it didn't snap their necks. We made sure it lasted as long as possible."

Steele slowly drew his knife and pressed the tip against Flammang's chin, "Lucky for you, I'm under orders to take no lethal action. Which translates to no killing. If I had it my way, you'd die a long slow death at the edge of this blade here. But I can't do that, no sir. So, I'll have to get creative."

* * *

"Steele? Steele do you copy? Are you there?" Frost whispered over the SQUADCOM.

"Hey, it's Grant. Steele took off with one of the prisoners. We've got all the prisoners under guard here in the hangar, and we're ready to come up to the bridge."

"Do it. Bring at least ten people. Frost out."

Frost looked over his shoulder to make sure Chamberlain hadn't heard him. He hadn't, as he was too distracted talking to Vivian.

"You would have done the same thing in my shoes if you had been oppressed by Cain. He was a fool and a madman, always putting our lives on the line, taking unnecessary risks."

"How he acted is irrelevant. All that matters is that you committed murder and treason. There is no way you can possibly justify this."

"Just try to see it from my perspective."

"I have. I had to commit munity as well; my previous commander was about to abandon several thousand marines and Army personnel, as well as violate the Cole Protocol. I placed him under arrest to save those lives and make sure our colonies' remained secure."

Chamberlain shook his head.

"You're a really loyal gal then, huh Waters?"

"I took an oath. As did you."

"Those are just words that are hundreds of years old now."

"To you, perhaps. But not to me. Not to the marines on this bridge. Not to the men and women on this ship or the rest of the ships in this system. Those words are a—"

Chamberlain jumped to his feet, pointing an accusing finger at Vivian, "those words are a _covenant_ of their own! You promised your service to a bunch of imperialists who have no idea what the war is really like out here! I've watch my own home burned at the hands of these alien bastards and hundreds of other colonies too. I'm tired of this war, and I'm tired of fighting for a bunch of unattached, fat scumbags on Earth. I'm done, so let me take this ship and go!"

Frost had automatically raised his rifle and trained the sights on Chamberlain. This time, his cronies hadn't raised their weapons. They had obviously given up.

"I urge you once more to surrender Chamberlain."

"No, this ship is mine."

"It isn't. Sergeant, tell him what I've heard over the comms."

Frost grinned, "My men have secured the armory, the mess hall, and the medical bay. All of the facilities of the ship now belong to us. All of your fellow mutineers have been apprehended. That leaves just you and your companions right here on this bridge."

Chamberlain stared in shock. His jaw dropped and he was shaking where he stood. His remaining mutineers exchanged a few glances and set their weapons down. They were done.

Vivian rose to her feet.

"Commander Chamberlain, your position is untenable now. You have no other choice but to come quietly. You are under arrest."

Chamberlain growled, his eyes growing furious.

"No, there's always a choice."

He drew his sidearm and pointed it at Vivian. Frost lunged forward and pushed her to the side as Chamberline pulled the trigger. He felt a heavy impact against his chest and the wind was knocked out of him. As he fell backwards, he watched as Chamberlain dropped down as a bullet fired from Knight's rifle entered his leg. Bishop had sprinted forward and brought the buttstock of his shotgun down on Chamberlain several times before cuffing him. He, along with Maddox, began to secure the other mutineers, who didn't resist.

"Nathan!" Knight bellowed. Frost wheezed, struggling to get his breath back. He was lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. Knight was over him in a second, undoing his battle armor and the ballistic vest. Vivian was over him as well.

"Is he wounded?"

"No, his vest caught it. Jesus, you had me scared for a moment, lad," Knight said, reaching down and patting him on the cheek. Frost smiled and coughed, and took a small gasp of air.

"Yeah," he struggled to say, "sometimes I forget our armor is better at stopping bullets than plasma."

Knight laughed and even Vivian cracked a smile.

"Thank you, Sergeant."

"No problem Cap, you would have done it for me."

She nodded slowly, but said nothing more as she helped Frost to his feet.

* * *

By the time Frost had arrived, Steele was cleaning his hands in the examination room's sink. Flammang was a bloody pulp. His eyes were swollen shut, his entire face was puffy and red, with streams of blood from his nose, mouth, and temples. His breathing was labored and slow.

"Who is this?" was Frost's first question.

"Name's Flammang, he's the one who tried to kidnap that woman earlier."

"You beat him up pretty bad."

"Deserves it," Steele wiped his hands on a small towel nearby and turned to face Frost. "You doing okay? You looked winded?"

"Chamberlain pulled his pistol on us at the last minute. He was going for Waters but I took the bullet in my vest."

"Nice catch. Gonna leave one hell of a bruise."

"Could say the same for this sack of shit. You know Captain Waters is going to be pissed at you for doing this, right? She said no lethal force?"

"Yeah, which means no killing. I was giving the bastard his dues."

"I know; I would have loved to put the screws to him myself. But she'll consider this torture."

"What he was planning to do that girl was torture. This is punishment."

"I know. Things are different now. This isn't Skopje fighting the rebs, this is a UNSC sailor and in the eyes of the law he has rights too."

Steele shook his head, "No, he doesn't mate. Don't try to pretend that you don't think so. I know you better than that. If you really thought that, we wouldn't have hanged those rebs."

Frost seemed to bristle for a moment, but then he sighed in defeat.

"Look, let's just get him out of here and head back to the _I'm Alone_. I've had enough of this goddamn ship for one day."

"Please…" croaked Flammang, "help me…"

Frost's face shifted to anger and he planted a fist into Flammang's gut. The man gurgled in pain. Steele smiled.

"Feel better?"

"A little."

They both took a hold of Flammang, each taking an arm over their shoulders, and began dragging him to the hangar.

"I heard you poured some coffee onto another guy's crotch."

"Yep. To get information."

"Effective, I take it?"

"You bet your ass it was."

"Well, if we ever have to fight rebels again, let's remember to bring coffee." They both laughed, and Frost smiled at Steele. "Look, this bastard aside and the coffee thing, I'm proud of the way you handled things down here. You kept it together, rallied the loyalists, and got all of the facilities back without killing anybody. That's grade A work Lou."

Steele would have blown off the remark if it had come from anyone else. But once more, it was Frost, his friend, his compatriot, his brother. He couldn't help but feel emboldened from the praise, as much as he tried to fight it.

"Means a lot coming from you, bruvva."

"I'm glad you have my back. I feel a helluva lot more comfortable knowing I can count on you to handle things when I'm not around. You'd make a good sergeant."

"Now don't go pushing it, mate."

* * *

As you can see, there was a lot of heavy stuff in this chapter. Maybe it was more than you expected, maybe less, but all the same, I alluded to and showed some graphic entities. Now, there will be some things that I will never show. There are lines I won't cross, even for the sake of making this story more…I dunno what the word is. But please understand that I'm trying to make this a believable, realistic world, and portray humanity much like we know it now. There are heroes, and there are revolting villains and criminals as well, and even our heroes can be flawed are imperfect. If I made perfect characters for us to follow, I believe they would detract from the story, and if I made basic villains and criminals, there wouldn't enough substance for us as human beings to find them threatening and appalling. So, if you were made uncomfortable by this chapter, I apologize and encourage you to message me privately with any questions, complaints, or thoughts that you have, I'm more than happy to talk to anybody about anything. Until then, thank you for reading and here are my comment responses.

Emipopescu21: Thank you for favoriting and following and all that, but to answer your question I honestly don't know. Romance is something that is still somewhat in the development stage despite the amount of thought I've put into it. And if there is romance, I don't know if I'll be able to work in sex scenes. It's a possibility, but if I do go through with them, they won't be as descriptive as some other stories' sex scenes might be. So the best I can tell you is that it's an even, 50-50 maybe that there will be sex scenes. I honestly have to keep working on the story and keep thinking on its future before I can fully answer that question, but I'm open to the concept.

Alpha HighBreed: Alpha, Alpha, Alpha, always good to have you around. Yes, that's something I was hoping to convey with Vivian. I wanted to present a character who we see as good, selfless, honorable, and duty-driven, but constantly we see her brought down further and further into the abyss. It's only going to get worse. And Langley isn't going to be our stereotypical rookie; you have RoseHarmony, a friend of mine, to thank for that. Our dear Jasmine may find it fun now, but later on…maybe not so much. And you're just so perceptive my dear Alpha. Stick around, and see what happens next.

MightBeGone: Don't you worry about being away my friend. You come back to this story whenever you want, there's no obligation. I'm grateful enough to you and all the folks who have commented, favorited, followed, and more that you would take the time out of your valuable days to read my story. The fact that you all devote a little time to it is very humbling. And yeah, it would be nice to see them just spit it out, huh? Alas, they will not. They write themselves now. And I'm glad you're enjoying it still, I'll try and live up to yours and everybody else's hopes and expectations. Thanks for sticking with me MBG.


	12. Chapter 12: An Honorable Man

Chapter Twelve: An Honorable Man

* * *

Vivian stood in the observation room above the training grounds in the armory. In the center, he was standing in the silver-plated room with about two dozen sailors around him in a semicircle. They sat crossed legged or with their knees pulled up to their chests. A few others simply knelt, watching Frost go through a tutorial on how to keep sidearms clean. On a table he had pulled over to where he was—an open space between the weight lifting and athletic equipment and the sparring rings—there was an array of different weapons. Assault and battle rifles, shotguns, SMGs, different M6 magnum variants, and even a sniper rifle.

Three days had passed and they were residing in the system where they had found the UNSC _Best of the Best_. Vivian knew that everyone was raring to go out and find some Covenant ships to fight, but she had made the decision to sit tight. She wanted to give the crew of the destroyer a chance to return to normalcy before setting out. Slater had been elected as the new Captain, a decision that was supported by Corporal Steele. She judged him a good man, if a bit rough around the edges, but he and his crew had cleaned the ship up in good time and were now settling back into their roles as soldiers and sailors. Many seemed agreeable to the idea of joining a hunter-killer task force, and were happy to augment the force with their destroyer. The crew had a good combat record, Vivian had discovered, and was glad to have their skillset available, as well as their cutting-edge ship on her side. Five ships, all built for fleet-to-fleet action, made them a dangerous group to tackle with. She had to admit that she was itching for a chance to go burn an enemy fleet to dust—two puny corvettes simply weren't doing it for her anymore—but she knew that the destroyer's crew needed some time. Another day or two and they'd be ready to sail, she had decided. As well, it'd give enough time for the ship coming to relieve her of the prisoners to arrive. In the meantime, she had all of the personnel on the ship, marines and ODSTs included, to hit the armory to train regularly. The marines took to it with admirable gusto, the ODSTs had the manner of the popular kids in high school—too cool to do something considered so menial—but De Vos whipped them into shape, and the sailors seemed to be out of their element, but had taken to training quickly with the help of the ground pounders.

The armory was alive with noise and movement. Duos of marines and ODSTs danced in the rings, trading mock blows. Men and women labored as they did pushups, ran on treadmills, and pumped iron. Gunfire chattered at the firing range, and through a window Vivian could even spy Jasmine giving an advanced first aid class to an assembly of marines, ODSTs, and sailors. De Vos was teaching hand-to-hand techniques to the sailors, while Holst sat with a few of his officers smoking and chewing fat. But her eyes were focused on the man below, smiling as he pointed to different parts of the pistol in his hand, and held up every individual piece.

"Gotta hand it to you, Captain," said Colonel Hayes, seated behind a monitoring console a few feet away, "making Frost a weapons instructor was a good idea."

She turned to face Colonel Hayes, who was looking out the same window as her.

"I figured he'd make a good instructor. I won't allow my sailors to get soft; when it comes down to it, they're soldiers too.

The large marine officer chortled.

"Well put, Captain. Although he'd probably have more fun teaching hand-to-hand."

There was a long pause. Vivian chewed her bottom lip, and decided to put her plan into action.

"Colonel, I'd like to put Frost in for a commendation medal."

"You can try, ma'am," Hayes responded after howling with laughter.

Vivian couldn't help but smile. Colonel Hayes always seemed to be grinning and laughing. Despite his tall, muscular frame and years of combat experience, she found him very approachable, and his care-free attitude was becoming infectious.

"Would it look bad for him to have cross-branch commendation on his CSV?"

Hayes snickered, "Frost doesn't like getting awards. I've recommended him at least two dozen times in five years of combat and he's only let me go through with the ones you saw back on Reach, during the awards ceremony."

That was a fresh memory that had burned into Vivian's mind. Her friends' possible killer walking across the stage, with a host of medals for bravery and valor on his chest. Vivian contemplated how ironic it was that killers were rewarded for their vile acts, and good people were shot in the dark and remained forgotten. She swallowed her irritation; she figured she'd have to put up with a lot that unsettled her if she wanted to use the ruse of giving him a medal to get more information out of Hayes.

"He's a humble man, I take it."

Hayes scratched his chin and rose to his feet. He moved closer to the observation window and watched the NCO move on to teaching his little group about SMGs. He dissembled it quickly, explaining each part like he had done with the pistols, and then showed them how to piece it back together. Vivian looked at Hayes during this. The senior officer had a warm smile on his face, the kind a father would wear when he would watch his son with pride.

"Humble is putting it lightly. He's sacrificed a lot in this war, personally I mean. He's got plenty of scars to show it. Those Purple Hearts he has don't account for all the small wounds he's occurred over the years. He's been through a lot."

Hayes sat down in a nearby chair, his smile fading, "Every time I put him in for a medal, I swear that Canuck finds it a more painful experience than fighting the Covenant. Gives me all sorts of excuses; I was just doing my job, it was nothing, any man would have done that for me, go to hell Colonel Hayes."

The smile returned; he laughed as he tried to put a little Canadian accent on the excuses he had heard. "He's one of my best troopers. He's brave, tenacious, loyal…"

The colonel scratched his chin and nodded his head to one side. "And he's a…good man. An honorable man."

 _Honorable? You'd call him honorable? That monster who killed my friends? Do you even know what he did? Did he ever tell you how he gunned down five teenage girls who were just trying to make a choice? Five girls, dead, bleeding like pigs on the floor. I had to walk through that blood, step over those bodies, and walk all the way home with their blood on my shoes and my conscious. You've lost men? Well, I've lost friends. Sisters, even. And you'd say this murderer is honorable?_

Vivian closed her eyes for a second, cooling the voice in her head.

"How did you come to meet each other?"

"Now that's a story. Gonna have to take you back to the start of my unit. When I came back from the front lines, I had a realization. Reinstating the draft hadn't done us any favors. Still hasn't. Whether you have conscripts or volunteers, they still get an equal amount of training. And that training isn't as long or thorough as it should be. We've never fought an enemy like this before. Thirteen weeks plus an extra three of specialized training just breeds soldiers who can defend against the Covenant, and then get killed in a tactical withdrawal or a pyrrhic victory. That's not going to win this war. Just like your Rear Admiral Travers says, we need to go onto the offensive. So, I pitched a plan to the brass to institute several Earthen Youth Programs."

"Youth Programs?"

"Special programs that targeted boys between ten-year olds to twenty-one-year old's for enlistment for a longer, more in-depth training experience and to instill a better sense of comradeship."

Vivian felt her nose wrinkle in disgust. Hayes held up a hand.

"Before you go giving me that look, the parents and the child were given the chance to discuss this opportunity together. It was not mandatory, and they had every right to decline the offer. Many did, many did not. I know you've never been to Earth but that's the heartland of humanity. Patriotism there is stronger than in, say, the Inner Colonies or what's left of the Outer Colonies. Besides, I figured it was high time we got Earthborn out there into the fighting."

Vivian nodded. At least that was something they could agree on.

"Why all boys, though?"

"There were some all-female units, some all-male, and some mixed ones. I took one of the boy units. It's just because some of the other handlers had some of their own theories about camaraderie as well; some thought that single gender units would be better for morale, others didn't. Didn't matter to me as long as I was able to command one in the end—it was my idea after all. Anyways, a dozen programs went out. We initially planned for each program to be around the size of the average Marine Expeditionary Unit: 2,200 men. But we decided that to make each MEU more effective in combat, we doubled the size to 4,400. Once each program reached the total number of necessary recruits, we began a three-year training period."

"Three years?"

"Yes. The goal was to get these kids to connect with one another, live together long enough to trust one another _before_ heading off to war. Training isn't just about building muscle and learning how to shoot—it's about learning how to work as a team, and forging bonds between troops. Makes them more effective in the end. Anyways, I developed a more advanced and intensive training regimen than the standard marine protocol. Training in every single human weapon available, training in Covenant weaponry, earning every ground vehicle certificate, acrobatics—"

"Acrobatics?"

"An umbrella term for advanced movement techniques; free-running and general parkour, buildering, plyometrics too. Among other aspects of the training were leadership courses for everyone, privates included, advanced survival training, advanced first aid though Ebrahimi can hopefully show them more than they already know, and more in-depth hand to hand combat training. That's how I met Frost. One of the instructors told me that one of the thirteen-year olds was requesting to teach the other boys a new CQC style he developed himself. I was surprised and met him, this kid with thick, messy brown hair and bright blue eyes and this energetic smile."

Hayes shook his head, chuckling, "I look at him now and see how much he's changed. His eyes aren't even blue anymore. One day not many years ago, he looked at me and I realized they'd become gray. War changes a man so much."

His expression was starry-eyed. He cleared his throat after a pause and said, "But uh, so he showed me this style; a combination of Russian Systema and swarmer style boxing. He calls his style the Halifax Myrmidon, combining the fluidity, stamina, and psychological bonuses from Systema with nonstop aggression and combination hitting-style of swarmer boxing. He even incorporated knife-fighting into the style. A thirteen-year-old kid came up with that, all on his own. Can you believe that? I allowed him to teach it, and gave him that knife he always has as a reward for his innovation. Have you seen it?"

"Yes, I have. The large one with the serrated blade and black hilt." _He practically circumcised a mutineer with it…_

"He's damn good with that thing. Back when we were fighting rebels on Skopje, around five years ago, he charged a bunker on a hillside that had pinned down an entire company, and shoved a grenade into the firing port. After that, he stormed the bunker by himself. Killed nine men using that knife and his style, and saved about every man in his company. I gave him the Bronze Star for that action. Too bad he doesn't get to use his style that often on the Covenant."

She did her best to keep her heart rate down. Vivian swallowed.

"Skopje, you said?"

"Yep."

"That's my home planet."

Hayes blinked.

"No kidding?"

"No, sir. Five years ago, I was fifteen years old and still in secondary school."

Hayes bellowed with laughter, slapping his hand on his knee.

"Well, who would have thought? I guess our fates are intertwined, huh?"

Vivian hid her grimace. _Intertwined fates? I'll take it if I can get my hands on that bastard._

"Or one hell of a coincidence," Vivian said with a feigned smile.

"He's saved a lot of lives over the years. That pal of his, Corporal Steele—good marksman despite being a daily pain in my ass—almost got himself killed on a special assignment some years ago. Frost saved that limey, and damned near killed himself doing it."

"Corporal Steele is extremely loyal to him."

"Yep. Steele's come from a hard home life. No one ever gave a damn about him, or so he says. Lot of the men in my MEU don't like him; they find him un-soldierly and sometimes plain annoying. Not Frost though; not sure what he sees in Steele, but they'd do anything for each other."

 _Which means if I try anything with Frost, I'll have to tackle with Steele too._

"I've been meaning to ask; I've heard some nicknames tossed around among your marines," Vivian said. Hayes grunted.

"They call them 'war names,' I think."

"Yes, war names. By any chance, has Frost been called Jack the Ripper?"

Hayes blinked and raised an eyebrow of curiosity. He stood up again and looked back down at the NCO, who had moved onto shotguns, a weapon that the sailors seemed eager to try.

"He earned that name a long time ago, on Skopje, actually. He had a reputation as a night fighter—a lot of the bigger battles we fought on those damn hillsides in those cavernous forests were always at night. Because of that, and his skill with a knife, the rebels, his fellow marines, hell even the Lionel City Army Garrison called him Jack the Ripper."

 _Night fighter? A fighter doesn't slaughter innocent people, doesn't take his time to jam a combat knife into a teenager's throat. He's not honorable—he's Jack the Ripper, a cruel, vicious, murderer._

Vivian wrung her hands together behind her back. Everything was falling into place. The evidence was building up. He had fought and killed other people—human beings—he had been on Skopje five years ago, as confirmed by both Steele and Hayes, and he was known as Jack the Ripper. That _had_ to be enough evidence to go on. Part of her wanted to run right down into the armory and confront him. Take him by force, throw him in with that treasonous lot in the brig. Or gather the evidence to at least start an investigation, leading to his imprisonment. But as her mind wandered through plan after plan, she felt ghosts standing around her. Five dead girls with familiar faces with blood leaking from bullet wounds, with one glaring at her as blood drained from her slit throat. Vivian knew what they wanted. No trial, no imprisonment. Death was the only punishment for him. One life for five. Vivian shut her eyes, listening to their whispers.

"What did he do that made you want to give him a medal?"

Vivian's eyes snapped open. Hayes was distracted watching some of the men sparring down below. "I didn't look at the after-action report."

Clearing her throat, Vivian answered, "When we had finally secured the ship, Commander Chamberlain drew a pistol on me. Frost pushed me out of the way and took the bullet in his vest."

Hayes chuckled, "Yeah, sounds like Frost alright. He won't let you give him a commendation medal for that, Captain Waters. That was all part of the job for him."

Knowing that she had been saved by the man who had slaughtered her friends brought a bitter taste to Vivian's mouth.

"Still, you can compose a written commendation and submit it to me. I'll add it to his CSV later."

"Thank you, Colonel."

"If I had tried to give him a commendation for that, he would have told me, quite respectfully, to eat shit. But he'll accept the written commendation if it comes from you."

Vivian quirked an eyebrow, "Why's that?"

Hayes shrugged and grinned softly, "He respects you, I think. A lot of these marines do. We were left out to dry on Ambition, but you came storming out of those clouds and saved us all. You could have gotten court martialed for it, you could have been kicked off this project—you took a lot of risks to save us. Not to mention you went over there yourself with him and his marines to investigate that ship. I've been doing this since the war started, and I've never seen a starship captain get out of their command chair to take part in an operation beside marines. Not once."

Vivian nodded slowly, "I understand. But it's…" she managed a smile, "all part of the job."

She left Hayes in the observation room and went down to the armory. The hour had just passed so everyone was moving onto to a different set of training. Personnel at the firing range went to the locker rooms to change into workout clothes, the men and women who had been working out left to hit the showers and return for firing practice. From the classroom Jasmine had been teaching, sailors, marines, ODSTs, and even some of the pilots filed out, heading over to begin their hand to hand training.

Frost's grew split up as well. Vivian watched as most of the sailors there shared a joke and a laugh with the NCO, some going as far to shake his hand. He was giving them friendly pats on the back, making jokes, and giving praise. He reminded her of a school teacher she once had. Mrs. Morey had been the instructor of the dancing team in high. She was middle-aged and short, with graying blonde hair that was always wrapped into a messy bun. Her hazel eyes always sparkled and she was quick to laughter. After class, each day, she would stand by the door and share a quick word of praise or humor with each student as they left. Every time she passed her, she would make a corny joke about dancing that always managed to make Vivian laugh. Mrs. Morey was about the only teacher she liked in high school. Part of her thought that she understood what she had been going through. Many teachers felt like they had to walk on eggshells around her, like she was unstable or fit to break down into tears at any moment. Sure, Vivian had felt like that at some points, but she had always kept it together. Allowing herself to cry was for when she was at home, with the door locked and her pillow pulled close to her face so her sister couldn't hear her in the next room over.

But everyone knew about her friends, that they had been killed while planning to defect to the Insurrectionists. Much of Lionel City's populace was very pro-UNSC; most Inner Colonies were. The fact that they had been a part of an Insurrectionist movement to recruit young, idealistic individuals had brought just as much outrage as it did grief in her school. Their families ended up moving away because of the atrocious letters they received, calling their daughters traitors. Vivian however, was left untouched by such propagandist fury. That was because she had never told anybody that she had been there that night, not even her parents. Trudging home that cool, rainy night, she had washed her blood-covered shoes in a roadside puddle, and was able to hop on one of the late-night buses back to their tall apartment complex. Her parents had been working at the shipyards, her sister was a heavy sleeper, and her younger brother hadn't been born yet, so she had been able to sneak back into her apartment that night without a hitch. For five years, she had kept it a secret from everyone, except for Jasmine.

That had saved her a lot of flak, although she wanted to tell everybody in school. Everyone acted so uncharacteristically _nice_ to her, to the point that it infuriated her. Almost every day she got an apology from another student or one of their parents, "I'm very sorry for your friends, I hope that you're doing well," and, "I'm sorry that your friends turned out to be traitors, that must be very hard for you." Vivian had remembered wanting to hit the folks who had said that, thinking they were somehow comforting her. How far from comforting they all were. Whenever somebody offered their sympathies, she had wanted to tear her hair out, holler at them to leave her alone. No one had helped her with what they did or said, except for that Mrs. Morey, that kind little woman who stood by the classroom door. She missed her very much, and hoped that she was well.

Vivian waited outside the armory classroom for Jasmine. Everyone who came out smiled and nodded. Vivian smiled back.

"Jensen, how are you?" she asked.

"I'm well, thank you Captain."

"Frederickson, glad to see you're paying attention for a change."

"Of course, ma'am!"

"Markov, looking sharp."

"Gotta keep up appearances, Cap'!"

"Torres, we all know you're here to try and meet the ladies."

"How'd you see through my master plan, Captain!?"

Vivian laughed. The next one to come out was Langley, the young half German, half Englishwoman.

"Senior Airman, I'd like to have a word with you in a few minutes, would you kindly wait outside the classroom."

"Of course, ma'am."

After the last few sailors and marines exited, Vivian went into the classroom. It was a basic set up; about five rows of steel tables with two chairs at each. The walls were silver like every other damned wall on the ship. At the front was a large screen with large marker boards on each side, which had a few notes written in red marker pen. Jasmine was collecting her paperwork in a folder at the desk on the right-hand side of the room, in front of the rows.

"How do you like teaching?" Vivian asked.

"It was nice actually. I was concerned that not many would show up, but I had a full house."

"Guess a lot more are interested in first aid than you thought."

Jasmine chuckled, "That or they're just trying to find an outlet to break up the monotony of daily ship life. Or find an excuse not to hit the firing range or work out."

Vivian smiled and sat on one of the tables, "I used to take every opportunity to go to the library. Whenever I had a free class period or a study period, that's where I'd go. Books were my only friends for a long time."

"Until you met me?"

"Not much of a difference Jas; you're a textbook with legs and arms."

They laughed a little. Vivian looked around, "What did you go over today?"

"Well, we've gone through a lot these past few days, and everyone was showing clear aptitude with what I was teaching. Today was an introduction on how to treat a jugular laceration."

"Just an intro?"

"I'm trying to figure how to use what we have available to simulate such a wound. But essentially, one must stitch in between the heartbeats, because if you don't the pulse will aggravate the stitch and render it useless. It's dangerous to do it outside of a surgery room, but if done correctly it may give a critical casualty enough time to be casevaced back to the ships."

"Why not use biofoam? It's designed not to hamper a casualty's breathing; it's been tested and proved on lung wounds and neck wounds."

"True. Biofoam is the best option. But consider this; marines generally take heavy casualties during a firefight. To keep casualties from becoming critical and to keep themselves in the fight, they use their biofoam. That means biofoam is depleted very quickly. What's a marine to do when they're out of biofoam?"

Vivian shrugged, "Have to do things the hard way I take it?"

"Precisely, which is why all personnel should be trained more thoroughly in first aid and minor surgical techniques. Biofoam isn't always available. So, if a man is hit in the neck, a medic or anybody who has the training will be able to do it. Buying time, even if it's just minutes, can make all the difference."

"Stitching that kind of wound would be next to impossible, wouldn't it?" Vivian countered.

Jasmine smirked, "I think our marines are more comfortable under fire or training. Sitting around doesn't suit them. They'll be able to do it if they pay attention in class.

Vivian snorted. Jasmine had told her how restless the marines had become when Frost's squad had accompanied her to investigate the _Best of the Best_. It was quite clear that Hayes' strategy on building comradeship over longer time periods worked out; the 89th MEU didn't like sitting idly by while fellow soldiers were out in dangerous situations. Her dispositions against marines aside, Vivian could understand their plight, at least somewhat. Not being able to help friends was akin to torture. Who would want to sit on the sidelines while pals did all the work? Though, the more she thought about it, if she hadn't been forced into that pantry, Frost would have killed her too, along with the rest of her friends.

"I was just talking to Hayes. He told me that the 89th was on Skopje, and he confirmed that Frost is called Jack the Ripper and has killed people. And I heard him say he has himself, back on the _Best of the Best_. It's him. I know it."

Jasmine sighed and sat down her data pad loudly.

"You know; you haven't said a word about him since you came back from the investigation. I had this little forlorn hope that you had dropped it. Just magically lost the desire to find out if it was him or not. Poof, gone, into thin air." Jasmine waved her hands exasperatedly before letting them fall limply back down to her sides. "I can tell from that glare what you're going to say, and no, I'm _not_ trying to trivialize your situation for the umpteenth time. You've gathered a lot of evidence, sure. His name, his nickname, the fact he's killed humans, and was on the planet five years ago. That's damning evidence, I'll give you that."

Vivian felt relieved. For once, it sounded like Jasmine was going to be on her side about this. But her hopes were dashed when the good doctor took a step closer to her, pushed up her glasses, and folded her arms across her chest.

"What are you going to do about it?" Jasmine asked.

Vivian blinked, "What?"

"You going to take that pistol on your hip, walk on out of this room, and shoot him? Or are you going to present the evidence to Travers and started an investigation?"

"I'm not going to just storm out there and kill him in front of everyone, I—"

"The way you casually talk about a man's life _disturbs_ me, Vivian. But you did what I asked and I thank you for it. But now you have a choice."

"What are you talking about?"

"If you shoot him, every single person on this ship will want you gone. Murder is murder, no matter how justified. You'll be slapped in cuffs and tossed in prison for life. And don't try to tell me that you don't care about the consequences, because I know you do. You don't want to lose command of the ship, because you care about what happens to those people out there. But, start an investigation and the crew will have your back—every sailor, maybe even the airmen—everyone. The marines will hate you though. You try to lock up one of their own, a man they've loved and respected for eight years, for something they see as part of the job, and they'll never trust you again. And do you know what that means? A breakdown of cross-branch cohesion. Is diminishing our combat effectiveness really worth your vengeance?"

It hadn't been too long since they left Reach. Her mind had raced and considered so many possibilities, outcomes, and consequences. Yet, Jasmine, once more, was right. A little cross branch xenophobia and competition was always healthy, in some twisted way that only existed in the military. One couldn't imagine such instances in, say, an office building. But if the Navy and the Air Force personnel started to view the Marines as murderers, and the Marines saw the rest as holier-than-thou tattletales who didn't understand what it meant to carry out orders, there would be nothing but trouble. They were all human, and grudges could be carried in and out of the battlefield; Vivian could attest to that personally. What about when they weren't fighting? There would be segregation on the ship; designated Marine areas and Navy areas, and no mingling between the two like there was now. School yard antics like pranks and slinging insults could turn into brawls. Perhaps those would escalate even further. Vivian could see it now, writing another report of a marine and a sailor getting into a fistfight and having be locked in the brig to cool off. And what would she be? The tyrant, operating on what would be flimsy evidence to them, trying to throw a war hero with a famous, deadly name into the slammer. The task force, the mission, the project, everything would corrode as the branches grew further apart. Their only escape would be when they docked at a friendly port, but the nature of their operation meant that wouldn't be happening too often. That meant cooped up men and women with grudges and chips in their shoulders would be roaming the halls of the ship, and the tension would drive them mad.

The captain in her knew she couldn't afford that. But the ghosts demanded blood.

"I'll make the right choice in the end," Vivian said finally.

"And what choice is that?" Jasmine asked, coolly.

Vivian groaned, "I'll decide tonight."

"Tonight? Here I was hoping you'd take more time than that."

With that, Jasmine walked brusquely out of the classroom, leaving Vivian torn, unhappy, and…ashamed.

* * *

Doctor Jasmine walked out in a huff. Nora Langley stood to salute her, but the doctor shook her head.

"The captain will see you now, airman."

Langley watched her stomp off towards Frost. She seemed to relax when the sergeant greeted her with a warm smile. They began talking; Frost said something that made the doctor laugh. Perplexed, she entered the classroom.

"Ma'am, you wanted to speak with me?"

Captain Waters seemed distant for a few moments, and those emerald eyes of her seemed hardened by something. Langley felt suddenly uneasy. She hadn't heard a word between the two, but she could just _feel_ that something had happened that made the two compatriots angry.

"Yes, senior airman, I wanted to talk with you about just a few things. Firstly, Frost put you in for a commendation."

Langley blinked.

"He has?"

"Yes, for busting into the bridge with your radio like you did. You were able to defuse an explosive situation. That was damn good thinking—I don't think many others in your shoes would have the presence of mind to come up with an idea like that."

Langley stood a little straighter. Praise from the captain of the ship and a legend among the marines meant a lot to her. She promised herself not to take it lightly.

"I approve of the commendation and I'll see that it's noted on your CSV."

"Thank you, ma'am. I'm honored."

Captain Waters smiled a little then stepped closer.

"Now, how are you fitting in with your squad? You can speak freely."

"It's taken some adjusting but I'm fitting in just fine. They tried that macho routine when I first showed up but once they saw that I wasn't as green as they thought I was they've treated me like one of them. Sort of."

"Sort of?"

Langley shrugged, "They act like they've never seen a woman before. They're very shy in the barracks."

Captain Waters stared at her for a for a moment, confused. Then she laughed.

"A bunch of grown men who have fought for five years are shy around a woman?"

Langley found it as funny as she did odd. It was true, they were shy, every single one of them, even the big-mouth Steele and that messiah Moser. Well, Knight wasn't. He was older than the rest and was married, so he wasn't so much as shy as he was respectful. Even so, they did most of their changing in the bathroom attached to their quarters, rather than the living space itself. She imagined they would just change in and out of their clothes at will but they did it in private. Only once had she changed in front of the other men. They were all soldiers and adults; getting close to naked to change out of or into fatigues shouldn't have been a big deal. She expected a glance or two, but she didn't care. She was a soldier; being gawked at didn't concern her as much as getting shot or blown to bits. But on that occasion, when she had taken off her shirt and pants to slip into a tank top and a pair of shorts to sleep, every man grew red-faced and diverted their gaze. One retreated to the bathroom, while another two simply left their quarters. Knight had kept his eyes on his book, and just laughed at his friends. She had stood there in her undergarments, watching the men practically shield their eyes from her. The rest of the night had been…extremely awkward. After that, she decided to change in the bathroom like the rest of them, so as not to give them a heart attack each time she had to change clothes.

Captain Waters cleared her throat, but still smiled. "I suppose that's because they're an all-male unit."

"I noticed that."

"Colonel Hayes filled me in earlier. They were recruited when they were still kids, part of some special programs. I don't think the majority ever got the chance to go through the whole dating-game, let alone see a woman without clothes."

"I suppose not, ma'am."

 _That explains a lot; my entire squad save one is made up by virgins..._

"But they're treating you alright?"

"Yes, ma'am. They joke around and talk with me like they would anyone else."

"Good. And what about Sergeant Frost, what do you make of him?"

"He's a good sergeant. He's fair and honest. Accessible too."

"Accessible?"

"Well, you can talk to him like he's a normal person sometimes. Sometimes you talk to him and you get the NCO, but other times you get the man. Most NCOs I know are all rank and no personality, you know? It's nice to have a squad leader who actually shows that he's a person too."

Langley had a conversation with him during the trip to the system during breakfast one morning in the ship's mess hall. He had sat across from her and chatted about his hometown of Halifax. He told her a story about how a ship had once caught on fire and exploded centuries ago, causing massive damage to the city. Organizations from the city of Boston in the United States provided aid and relief during the disaster. As a gift, Halifax had gifted a Christmas tree to the city a symbol of gratitude. Some years after, it became a tradition. It was a nice story, but she had noticed throughout it that Frost sometimes talked like an old man. When he told stories, he had misty eyes and a sad smile, and his voice enveloped the listener like a warm blanket.

Captain Waters nodded, "Yes, he does have that effect on people."

* * *

"How's that bruise doing?" Jasmine asked, lightly tapping Frost's chest with a pen.

"I've hardly noticed it. Not the first time I've taken a bullet in the vest."

"Fighting rebels?"

"Yeah, but friendly fire too. It's a big problem. We have so many guns firing in every direction, friendly fire is sometimes unavoidable. I've been smacked in my ballistics from stray rounds more than once. It's bound to happen."

It was almost disturbing how casually the man talked about getting shot. Jasmine had treated multiple wounds now, and despite her synthesia she still couldn't imagine what it would feel like. People had described feeling heat, others a tremendous impact, while a few said they had felt nothing. She chalked that up to their adrenaline.

"Hopefully you can try to avoid it in the future, if you can help it. As your doctor, I should tell you that bullets are bad for your healthy."

Frost laughed.

"You're funny, Dr. Jasmine. Most docs I've known are grim-faced, mean sons a-bitches."

"I can believe that."

They were silent for a time. Jasmine pushed up her glasses. "You were very brave to take that round for Captain Waters."

Frost seemed to grimace then.

"She would have done it for me if it was the other way around."

Jasmine squirmed and hoped he didn't notice. How badly she wanted to tell him that she definitely would _not_ take a bullet for him. If somebody had a gun trained on his head, she'd let them pull the trigger. Hell, she'd probably just take her sidearm and kill him herself. Any other man on the ship, in their miniature fleet, she'd die for them. Not him though. It went against all her instincts, her beliefs, absolutely everything to withhold that information from him. Wrong, it felt terribly wrong. He was her friend, or at least she thought so. So was Vivian. Betraying her meant saving him, but staying true to her would cost him his life or his freedom.

"How are your men?" Jasmine asked, changing the subject.

"They're swell," Frost said, "everybody but Steele is enjoying the training."

Jasmine followed Frost's gaze to one of the sparring rings. Knight and Bishop were in the ring—without pads, much to Jasmine's aggravation—practicing hand-to-hand combat maneuvers. Steele had his arms crossed and was leaning against one of the posts, not paying attention at all. A cigarette dangled from his lips, and a thin trail of smoke drifted upwards.

Frost laughed. As he did, Jasmine glimpsed that missing tooth of his again.

"You know we have a dentist on the ship. You could get a false tooth."

"Nah," Frost said with a shake of his head, "I kind of like it."

"Huh?"

"Yeah. It's like a…a…mark of pride or something. I took a Covvie fist to the face and lived to tell the tale."

He beamed down at her. Jasmine smiled awkwardly. The psychologist in her kicked in, telling her that Elites, being the savage fighters that they were, usually won the hand-to-hand engagements. Beating one of the alien monsters one on one was a feat that one could be proud of.

"Just make sure you brush that spot very well. Food particles could get stuck there and—"

"I've had a thousand doctors tell me that," the sergeant mumbled, not unkindly.

"Doesn't mean it's not true," Jasmine pushed her glasses back up her nose, "I better see sparkling white teeth once your physical comes around, or else I'll send you to Doctor Carver."

"Physical?"

"Yes. I'm instating mandatory physicals. Seeing as we'll be far from ports for extended periods of time, it'll be up to me and the medical staff to see to it that all personnel are healthy. Most physicals are done on a yearly basis in the civilian world, but I'll be making them quarterly exams—every three months each member of the crew will have a physical."

"Why make them more frequent, Doc?"

"Given the unique circumstances of our mission and extended living in starships, I'd like to keep an eye on everybody's immune systems and keep in check any sickness that could spread among the ship. Living in a controlled environment such as a starship tends to weaken it overtime. I aim to prevent that. Physicals begin the day after tomorrow."

Frost chuckled, "Roger that, ma'am."

"Your squad will be the first marines I see."

"Great..."

"Don't like going to the doctors?"

"You're about the only one I ever liked, Doc Jasmine."

They both chuckled. Jasmine went on explaining more of her ideas and plans to keep the crew healthy. During their conversation, she kept glancing sideways up at Frost. He didn't say much, but it was obvious that he was interested and was listening intently. He was a good listener, she decided. Maybe if she needed someone to talk to other than Vivian, she could rely on him.

That thought left her head as soon as it ended. She was the chief medical officer. It was her job to ensure everybody else was healthy physically, mentally, and emotionally. Spiritually too? No; she decided to leave that to the several religious personnel in the fleet. As well, an officer socializing with an enlisted man was bound to break the regulations surrounding fraternization.

 _Which is what I'm doing at this very moment…_

Jasmine suddenly looked around. More than a few eyes were staring in their direction. She imagined it looked an odd yet intriguing sight; the ship's doctor taking a leisurely stroll with one of the most well-known marines on the ship. She looked up at Frost. The sergeant was walking at her pace, hands in his pockets, head slightly low, his lips forming a small, pleasant smile. He didn't seem to notice. Or maybe he did, and just didn't care. Maybe he was just too good-natured to mind what others thought. Perhaps he just enjoyed her company. Jasmine couldn't lie to herself—she enjoyed their conversations and the walks they had begun to take.

Still, she cleared her throat.

"Well, thank you for your time, Sergeant. I've got to see to the patients."

"You mean that scumbag Chamberlain?" Frost asked with no hint of emotion.

Jasmine winced a little. She felt guilty as well as embarrassed to use the man who had _shot_ Frost as an excuse to part ways. Still, it wasn't a complete lie. The bullet Knight had fired had hit Chamberlain's femur and shattered it. He was still in the medical bay after an arduous surgery to remove the round and repair the damage—under heavy guard of course. And there was that man whose genitals had been burned by coffee, and the other one, whose face had practically been smashed in. Corporal Steele had excuses for both; the former had been injured by coffee during a scuffle, while the other put up stiff resistance during an ambush. Jasmine had deduced that these tales were untrue; she could tell by looking at the faces of his companions. Vivian had agreed, and wanted to push for an investigation of Steele for prisoner abuse and torture. Jasmine had recommended to wait, as much as that manner of crimes sickened her. The burned man's injuries had been easily treatable and in the end, it was nothing 26th Century medical technology couldn't fix. The second's face needed a great deal of correction, but Jasmine had gathered that he had attempted to abduct a female crewmember. It was a thought that made her stomach tighten and her blood boil just as much. Even she had to admit that certain punishments were sometimes deserved. Still, she'd look into the matter in the future, perhaps in a month or two, when the boarding was well behind them all.

"Unfortunately, yes. It's best that we finish Chamberlain's follow-up procedures and that of the other mutineers in the medical bay quickly, to move them back onto the cell."

More than once in the past few days, Jasmine had had to force some of the crew from the medical bay. Marines, ODSTs, and sailors gathered from time to time to stare at the mutineers in their cots. Vivian had moved all the mutineers to the _I'm Alone's_ brig to prevent a lynch mob from tossing them out of the airlock on the _Best of the Best_. However, there was a great deal of resentment present among the crew, and having an attempted rapist on board didn't sit well with many. Getting them patched up and back into the brig as soon as possible was more for their own safety.

Frost nodded. He seemed to understand, yet he still looked a little disappointed. Part of Jasmine thought, then and there, he appreciated her company more than she originally thought. Getting away from his squad, as much as he cared for them, and talking to someone else for change must have been a welcome relief—even family and close friends could begin to grate on the nerves after a while, and Jasmine could attest to that.

"My door is always open to you and the rest of the crew," she offered with a smile, "I up late most nights and company is always welcome."

The young sergeant smiled. It was a boyish smile that revealed his missing tooth. Some, Jasmine would, would find that smile charming. In a way, it was.

"If and only if you promise not to psychoanalyze me."

"Just as long as you promise to work on that gap in your teeth."

The sergeant laughed again, but before he could retort, a cry rang out in the armory.

"Medic!"

* * *

Vivian felt depressed.

She sat in her office, slumped back in her chair, staring at the wall. It was some time after the incident in the armory. If she had been on the surface of the planet, night would have been falling. Instead, she was in her office with a migraine which was made worse by the bright lighting, dreading of the letter she might have to write.

Not long after exiting the classroom, Petty Officer Third Class Markov had donned some armor and joined a group in the CQC training chamber. Vivian had been under the impression that paint rounds were used in the CQC chamber; it turns out that the instructor—one of the ODSTs—had them training with _live_ ammunition. Hot rounds were being used to shred the targets that appeared in the dark, tight training area. A bullet from an assault rifle had ricocheted and embedded itself into Markov's gut. It was a miracle no one had been hurt in the past few days.

Another miracle was Jasmine. Had she not been in the room, Markov may have died. Jasmine had been able to stabilize him in a matter of minutes with a simple first aid kit. She, along with the help of Frost, and several others, transported him to the medical bay instead of waiting for the staff to come to them. Immediately, she gathered her team and entered surgery. As far as Vivian knew, the surgery was still taking place.

Markov was also extremely lucky, according to Jasmine. In the few brief moments they had been able to speak, Jasmine had explained that although Markov was hit in the belly, it had missed his abdominal aorta by a mere half inch. If that bullet had hit, he would have bled out much faster. The bullet, however, had possibly damaged other organs without penetrating them; if it had, the blood flow would have been even thicker than it had been It may have had tumbled as it moved within him, essentially scratching his internal organs. The bullet hadn't exited though, so it was up to Jasmine to not only fish the bullet out, but fix any damage on the organs and seal the wound itself.

Jasmine had said that there was a good chance that he would survive, but that the alternative was also likely. Depending on the type of belly wound, the injured individual could last from a few minutes to a few hours. Vivian had heard stories of some going even longer. But gunshots to the stomach were among the most painful type of wounds. Prolonged survival with an untreated gut wound would be marked by immense pain.

Vivian had confronted the ODST in charge of the training exercise. She had thought it would be easy, but seeing the officer with his face buried in his hands, bawling like a child, made meting out punishment harder. His defense was that elite units had often trained with live ammunition since the inception of special forces in the mid-20th Century. It was to make the exercise as real as possible, so that the trainees could be better prepared for actual combat scenarios. Vivian understood the logic, but still placed the man essentially under arrest in his barracks.

Holst had argued that it was just a culmination of bad luck. Nobody had fired the round with the intent to harm, and dozens of training ops in the chamber had taken place for days without incident despite the usage of live ammunition. Vivian hated to admit it, but he was right to an extent. Still, she planned to remove the officer in question from training duties, no matter how qualified he was, as well as demote him from a first lieutenant to a second lieutenant. He should have known better, Vivian had decided. Their mission was dangerous, and getting to friendly ports would never be easy or quick. They needed every able body, and she needed to make an example. She knew that some would consider her to be too lenient, others too harsh. Either way, she felt secure in her decision.

But the fear for Markov's life, or rather, his death, overshadowed thoughts of judicial action. Markov was a good man. Man—he was nineteen years old, a year younger than her. She knew him though—she knew every sailor on her ship. Markov was a Bulgarian who had enlisted almost two years earlier. However, he was a skilled technician and had been noted a valuable asset in the engine room.

What the hell would she write? How could she explain to his parents that he had died because of a mere training accident? What was she supposed to say: your son died bravely at the hands of a bullet that ricocheted off a titanium wall?

Vivian pressed her hands against her face. She wouldn't lie to them—she couldn't. In the end, she'd tell them the truth. But how?

 _I'm ready to sob. How am I going to react when a day comes a plasma blast burns a quarter of my ship and I lose hundreds of sailors? Am I just going to break down? Crumble?_

Her data pad chimed suddenly. Vivian looked up, and snatched it. It was a message notification from Jasmine. Vivian took a deep breath and opened it.

 _Viv,_

 _Just thought you should know that PO3 Markov got out of surgery a little bit ago and will make a full recovery. The bullet penetrated deep into his midsection. Fragments of it almost reached his spine, it went so far. Luckily, they didn't, and we were able to extract all the fragments and the bullet itself. There was some other damage that we repaired and the wound has been closed. He'll need some time to recover, but he'll be able to return to his duties eventually. He was awake for a short time afterwards, he wanted me to let you know that he doesn't want you to punish the officer in charge of training. It was just an accident, he said, and nobody's at fault. I happen to agree with him, but we'll talk about that later. He's asleep now, and you should be too. Don't worry, I've got my eye on him._

 _-Jas_

Vivian dropped the data pad and exhaled in relief, sitting back in her chair. Now, she wanted to sob in joy. Markov was a good lad who didn't deserve to die like that, and now he was going to make it. Part of her wanted to bound to the elevator and get down to the medical bay at that very moment, but the wounded chap needed his rest, she knew. It was best to leave him be until tomorrow. She bet that the ODST officer had gotten the news and was just as relieved.

Her emotions settling, Vivian decided to take Jasmine's advice and head to bed. She finished filing a few more reports, took a few pills for her migraine, and was about to go take a quick shower when she remembered her conversation in the classroom. Jasmine had said she'd have to decide. Vivian had hardly given it any thought, since her conversation with Nora Langley had been interrupted by Markov's wounding.

She took a moment to gather her thoughts, separate one from the other, compartmentalize them, so she could focus. At the end, all she could conclude was that Frost was a murderer. He was, plain and simple. There was no denying it. Five teenage girls were buried in a city cemetery, rotting in their coffins, while he walked free. All he ever seemed to do was smile and laugh with his compatriots, like he hadn't a care in the world. She remembered their exchanges; his jokes, his light mood. He and his squad even sang on the Pelican ride back to their ship, after everything. It was as if the past had never even occurred. Maybe he just didn't feel any guilt. There was no regret, no doubt, no self-hatred present in that man's mind. He was the 26th Century's Jack the Ripper, except this time, he was going to be caught.

"Decatur?" Vivian said out loud.

The blue hologram appeared on the AI pedestal.

"Yes, madam?"

"I wish to contact Rear Admiral Travers via the monitor. Can you prepare the video link, please?"

"As you wish!"

The gentleman AI tipped his hat and disappeared again. Vivian knew it wouldn't take long, and went back into her cabin to retrieve a data pad she had been keeping there. It was her personal data pad, mainly used for keeping logs and journal entries. She had taken the time during the past few days to create a document cataloging and providing details and connections to the evidence she had gathered so far as well as her wish to push for an investigation and eventual conviction. Rear Admiral Travers wouldn't be happy, she knew that, and investigating and preparing _another_ court case was going to be hell, especially since the would have to return to Reach. She paused for a moment, as she opened the file on her data pad—she realized the crew wouldn't be happy about that. The marines especially; their icon, their best soldier, was going to be treated like a criminal. They'd be at her doors ready to riot. Vivian grimaced but walked back into her office, determined to see it through. Justice was what mattered most, for her friends.

And they stood around her as she mulled over the data pad. Five black shrouds, with no features or visible characteristics. Just undefined black figures, vaguely shaped like five young women. They stared her with hidden eyes, and they pierced her heart. She knew what they wanted, what they demanded. Blood for blood, an eye for an eye. His single death to satisfy their five. Putting him in a coffin, snuffing out his miserable life, would restore some kind of balance. But Vivian had people like Markov to look after. Thousands of lives were at her hands. All of them looked to her for not just orders, but guidance. And she had worked too hard, given up too much to ascend where she was. She was going to give it up...as much as she wanted to obey her ghosts. It had to be done right, she kept telling herself. Killing him would throw her in prison, or worse, and these wonderful men and women of her small fleet would be left without a leader. No, she wouldn't leave them, and her ghosts, her five _friends_ , wouldn't want her to rot in a cell for the rest of her days.

Decatur appeared on the pedestal.

"Madam, you may—"

There was a knock on the door.

Vivian was slightly startled.

"Who is it?" She asked, loudly.

"Sergeant Frost, Captain," came that familiar voice.

Vivian froze. Did he know? Of course, he didn't, how could he? He was a dumb marine who didn't even realize she was deciding what to do with him. Still, she set her data pad down and folded her hands behind her back.

"Come in, Sergeant," she said, doing her best to sound professional.

The door slid open and in he came.

He was still dressed in his fatigues. Frost was fit but rather slender, at least when compared to some of the other marines who were hulks of muscle. His brown hair was growing thicker by the day and his beard was on the verge of becoming scraggly. He was a year older than her, but possessed something about him that made him seem much younger. But Vivian knew what lie beneath that façade, that sinister intent, that willingness to maim and kill. Yet, she did her best to seem pleasant.

"You could do with a trim and shave, Sergeant," she said with a fake smile that she hoped didn't look too fake.

He chuckled.

"Think so? Thought I'd try growing everything out since I heard you're pretty lax on the grooming standard."

"As you wish. Can I help you?"

"Well, no, ma'am. I just thought it'd help to hear that boyo, Markov, he's gonna be okay."

Vivian blinked but continued smiling.

"Dr. Ebrahimi made me aware not too long ago, but I thank you for the thought, Sergeant."

"Doc Jasmine beat me to it, huh? Ah, should have figured."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Frost cleared his throat. "Look Captain, I don't mean to be disrespectful, but I've been fighting the Covvies for five years now…"

 _And rebels. And innocent people._

"…and I've, you know, lost people. Friends. And it uh, it takes a bit away from you every time, when they…go. Something that I've had to let sink in since I became squad leader is that people are going to die, and get wounded, and it might be an order I give or a mistake I made that kills them. But sometimes, things are just gonna be out of our hands. We'll have no control, no say in what happens. It'll be hard to deal with, but in the end, we have to accept that it wasn't our fault."

Frost shook his head and smiled sadly. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, don't beat yourself up too much, Captain. I bet you have been, but you don't deserve it. It wasn't your fault."

Vivian stared at him for a few moments. He shrugged and smiled, "Anyways, I think I ought to go."

"Sergeant?" Vivian said, just before he was at the door.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Will you be able to follow your own advice? If you lose men?"

Frost chuckled and looked down a little.

"No, ma'am. I know myself. Even if I drill that philosophy into my head, if one of my guys buys it in a firefight, it'll always feel like my fault." He looked down for a moment, looked back up, and said, "It'll always be my fault. Not yours though. Goodnight, ma'am."

Vivian stared at the door for a long time. Or at least it felt like a long time to her. Her thoughts were broken by Decatur.

"How very gentlemanly of him. Shall we proceed with the transmission?"

Minutes ticked by. Vivian still stared at towards the door. Eventually, her eyes fell.

"No. I've changed my mind. Cancel the link. I'll contact Admiral Travers at another time."

"Are you sure, Captain?" Decatur asked. "All we have to do is send it."

"I'm sure. Thank you, Decatur, that's all."

"Of course, madam."

The AI winked away, leaving Vivian standing empty handed at her desk. She pulled the chair back out, sat down, and covered her face with her hands. She didn't want to see them, judging her for letting him go again.

* * *

 _"_ _Colonel Hayes, with all do respect, I don't want a damned medal. I didn't do it for a medal. I did it because he's my friend, and I wasn't going to let him die out there."_

 _-Corporal Nathaniel Frost, rebuking recommendation for the Medal of Honor after his exceptional rescue of Lance Corporal Louis-Henry Steele during a classified operation on planet Skopje, 2539_

* * *

 **BA-BOOM! I'm back with not one, not two, but THREE chapters! I thought it'd be most fitting for the wait to be worthwhile so as part of a belated holiday gift and as a gift for the New Year's, here's three chapters for you to enjoy. I hope you do and hopefully this shall appease you in the meantime. (looking at you with squinty-eyes Josef)**

 **Let's get the sentimental stuff over with because I'll probably cry and it's like 4:00AM so that bed over there is really looking inviting. I never expected to have so many positive reviews, followers, and views for this story in what I consider to be a short amount of time. It's been difficult to write this story because of school and other things going on, especially recently as I've been wrapped up in the turmoil of the holidays. Knowing that I have wonderful folks out there like you reading diligently and supporting me with your feedback means more to me than I can say. It's difficult for me to find the words to describe those feelings you guys instill in me, and I'm damned writer. All I can say is thank you very much for your love and support, each and every one of you is absolutely incredible, thanks for sticking with me, and I'm super sorry for the long delay. Trust me, things were not fun for me _._**

 **So let's get to them comment responses. By the way I'm writing in bold because I want to. I'm over-tired so I can do what I want.**

 **Alpha HighBreed: Part of the evolution of characters is to show different sides of them. In a lot of stories, films, video games, etc. you'll find that characters have one defining trait and nothing else. It's unrealistic. Planning this story out, I wanted my characters to be realistic. Real people aren't one-dimensional. They have moods and emotions and can adapt. Vivian's a good person but she'll get dark if she has to make a point. Steele can be a lazy but has a remarkable high moral ground, but it's complicated by his willingness to do horrible things. It'll make things more interesting in the long run and help characters grow and help readers develop their feelings towards them. And yes, it's hard to imagine that kind of stuff. I myself struggle with writing; part of the time it took to write Chapter 11 was to find a way to add that difficult, horrible aspect without it being too blatant or too easy to miss. I'll warn you now, there's going to be hard stuff in this story. It won't all be sunshine and rainbows. I won't ever take it too far, but I have a few parts planned that may make you shiver. But as always, thanks for commenting, always glad to have you Alpha.**

 **MightBeGone: MBG, you leave a comment, you bet your ass you're gonna get responded to. I've said it before and I'll say it again; the comment section is not just a place for you and other readers to leave a comment, it's a place where you and I and other readers can open a conversation. You wonderful guys and gals take the time out of your day to read my story and that means the world to me, you do a lot for me by reading this story. The least I could do is talk to you guys; besides, I don't want to ignore you, I'm that kinda guy. I've been in your shoes where artists and authors won't have anything to do with you. You'll get a lot of that on DeviantArt, I'm sad to say. I strive to keep you guys entertained but also keep myself transparent and accessible to you. If you have questions, thoughts, ideas, leave a comment or message me. And hey, if you just want to just say what's up, feel free to PM too! Just because there aren't new chapters doesn't mean on the site, so always feel free to comment or message. I'm always happy to see your comments, looking forward to you coming around again.**

 **chase8999: Assistant? Heck, why don't you direct it, man? I'm a writer, not a director. You guy some people to dress up in Halo costumes and get a camera, we're in friggin' business. Joking aside, it's funny you mention that. I think in previous responses I've mentioned it before, I always played around the idea of getting this story animated and perhaps starting a YouTube channel for it. Obviously there'd be some complications with that, because Halo is copyrighted material, but I imagine getting a couple of animator buddies of mine to put this together. Brings the question of voice acting too, but I always imagined this story to be a rolling comic of sorts, where the characters still communicate via speech bubble but instead of being a still frame there's movement and action and all that stuff. I think it'd be a unique way to portray the story. Another idea I have is to have story adapted into a webcomic. If Deviantart had a friendlier interface for written submissions, you probably wouldn't see this story on this site. But then again, if I didn't upload it here, I wouldn't have met you and all these other wonderful people. I at least wanted to get a cover for the story to be able to post it in PDF form on DA, but it never worked. I still dream of having an artist work side by side with me as I write prose to at least provide images for the story for you and the other readers to enjoy. I may be able to pull something like that off in the future, but it's a far off dream. Ah well. But hey, thanks for commenting, I hope you stick with me and hang around for future chapters.**

 **josef772: DON'T PUT THAT KINDA PRESSURE ON ME, JOE! Nah, just kidding. Yeah I know, I've been there, you're waiting for your preferred stories to get updated and the author is just dragging their feet. It sucks big time and I'm sorry to make you wait, I really am. I myself get impatient for updates so trust me, I get it. School is starting up again soon but I'm going to try to crank out at least one more chapter before second semester hits, so hopefully these three chapters and the next one will sate your hunger. I appreciate you sticking with me brother, hang in there! I'm gonna try to be more punctual, I promise!**

 **Aurora Mandeville: Hey, good to see you! I think I dropped your DA username in a previous comment response. Glad you're caught up; sorry to slam you with three new chapters though. I'm sorry that I haven't gotten around to your work though; it's all pulled up on my Watchlist. I've got to get around to it, it's just been tough; lotta school and family stuff going on, you know, just hard to find some time to actually sit down and write. And yeah, typos are bound to be found in my work, since I do most of my writing late night (like right now; it's 4:35AM and I really want to crash) and Google Docs doesn't have the best spellcheck and I'm too lazy to re-read when I'm tired. And it's actually funny you mention their names; when developing these characters I didn't realize until you've just pointed it out that the names Waters and Frost have a funny relation to them. I was never planning on doing anything with the names but that is interesting, I never realized I make that kind of connection. You've got a sharp eye! Thanks for leaving a comment, it's always nice to hear your feedback my friend.**

 **And that's it for comment responses. It's take me a frigging half hour to write this and days to write these chapters, so that's yer lot everybody! In all seriousness though I'm grateful for you all, grateful that you're still commenting and reading; this story would mean nothing without all of you. Thank you everybody, love you.**


	13. Chapter 13: Normal Punishment

Chapter Thirteen: Normal Punishment

* * *

It was the morning after the incident in the armory. Frost walked into the mess hall. The smell of cooking bacon, scrambled eggs, syrup, and fresh pancakes filled the air. Every meal in the _I'm Alone's_ mess hall was spectacular. Not once had he had to eat sloppy stews or stale bread. It was like eating at a four star restaurant for breakfast, lunch, and dinner every single day.

He spotted his squad sitting at one of tables. Steele, Grant, and Knight waved at him. Frost returned the gesture, and headed to the breakfast line.

"Morning Norman," he said to a passing marine.

"Sup' brother," Norman responded, bumping his fist against Frost's. Another marine, a Frenchman by the name of Coste, was also passing by.

"Bonjour," Frost said to him.

"Salut," Coste said back.

"Comment vas-tu?"

"Je vais bien. Et toi?"

"Affamé."

Coste grinned.

"Hungry for liver, Jack l'éventreur?"

Laughing, Coste and Frost exchanged a brief, one-armed hug. Frost knew French, but it hadn't been spoken much in his house after they had moved from Yarmouth to Halifax. He liked being able to converse with his fellow marines who knew the tongue. His secondary language saw little use out here in the fleet, especially when his squad was made up of two Scots, two Englishmen, an American, a half-English half-German, and a full German. He knew only a little German; Frost had difficulty with the language. Grant had been able to pick it up quickly though, so Moser had him and Langley to converse in his native tongue with.

Only a few marines spoke French; among them were Coste was from Lyon, France and liked to poke fun at Frost's Acadian French and Jamar Lombe hailed from Mokolo, Cameroon, where French was still an official language. Coste was a dry-humored man who was a demolitions expert. He played it cool when he was out of combat, but as soon as he pressed his thumb on the detonator he cackled like a madmen. Most of the demo men in the MEU were utterly mad. Lombe, on the other, was a good man too, if a little on the serious side. He had his reasons; he had joined the program with his two brothers. Both had been killed three years ago; Dewayne was cut in half by an Elite's energy sword, while Ayuk was blown apart by a Grunt's sticky grenade. Lombe had been awarded the Silver Star for charging into the field to collect his brothers' remains; Frost remembered watching Lombe throw the medal in the nearest garbage bin after the ceremony. He had become a sad, serious soul, taking comfort only in his brothers in arms. Sometimes he and Frost would sit and speak French for hours, the former telling tales of his childhood with his brothers, and the latter spinning yarns of his four sisters. Frost made a note to sit down with him again sometime and chat.

He felt a hand slap on the back.

"Jack the Ripper, ready for training today?"

"More ready than you, Tessmer."

"Oh, think you take me in the ring?"

"Me against the Mad Prussian? If I'm being polite I'll say that I'll give you a gentle ass whooping today."

Tessmer was a big man with a large mustache and a receding hairline. He resembled the pugilists from the 19th Century. Out of the 3,700 or so men that remained in their MEU, he was one of ten who could last more than three rounds of boxing against Frost. Muscle and endurance never lasted against Frost's style.

Smiling as he listened to Tessmer's laughter fade behind him, Frost got into line. Soon after, he had a full tray. Bacon, eggs, toast, a few sausages, a cup of coffee with lots of sugar, topped with a glazed donut was enough for him.

He went over to his table and sat down in between Knight and Bishop, across from Grant, Steele, Moser, and Langley. Maddox was seated beside Bishop, who was on Frost's left.

"Ooh, looking trim today are we?" Steele said as he shoveled bacon into his mouth. Frost shook his head and sipped his coffee.

"Course I am, you're the one who cut my hair."

Earlier that morning, Frost had trimmed his beard down to a near-stubble, but had sat down while Steele took a pair of scissors to his mop of hair and cleaned it up. It still possessed some of its volume but it was neatly swept backwards and tighter on the sides.

"Since when did you care about how you look?" Moser asked as he bit into a bagel.

"Someone pointed out that I was a bit hairy, so I thought I might as well trim up a bit. Grooming standard is pretty relaxed her, but no need to get too out of uniform, eh?"

"Now was that just a normal 'eh?'" Steele joked with a sly grin, "Or was that a Canadian 'eh?'"

Frost shook his head, chuckling.

"Too early to be pulling that shit on me Louie."

But it was too late.

"Better get our haircuts too, _eh_ lads?"

"Wouldn't want to piss of the Sarge, _eh_?"

"Why don't we get seconds, _eh_?"

Even Langley joined in.

"Maybe we ought to get him some Canadian bacon, _eh_?" she said.

Frost laughed as his squad got up to get back into line, spouting more bad humor as they did. Steele was the only one who stayed. He had finished up his meal and was starting on his coffee. That brought a smirk to Frost's face; Steele had a peculiar habit where he didn't start drinking his beverage until he had finished the food on his plate. Without failure, he saved his drink for last, even when they were in the field eating tasteless MREs.

"Not tea today?"

"Trying to make an English joke?" Steele asked with a smirk. Frost shrugged.

"You love tea."

"I like coffee in the morning and tea with lunch and dinner," Steele swished the coffee around in the cup. "Wish we could have booze."

"Alcohol on a warship? In your dreams."

"Well, I _can_ dream can't I? Next time we're fighting Covvies in a city, remind me to nick a few bottles from the liquor store."

Frost could tell when his friend was being sarcastic or trying to make a joke-this was not one of those times.

"We're marines Lou, not looters."

"You're a barrel of fun, boss," Steele said, but let the matter close. The two sat quietly together, Frost digging into his breakfast and Steele slurping his coffee. The mess hall buzzed with hundreds of conversations. Laughter, cursing, even a little singing filled the air. Frost finished his eggs and sat back, closing his eyes. He listened to all the voices, the voices of marines-friends-he'd known for eight years. There was nothing sweeter to his ears than the sound of his brothers in arms' voices. He could even single them out; Hannachi was telling another of his long-winded but enjoyable jokes, Gallo was telling the same old story about how he saved a dog in a burning house when he was twelve, Tran was talking about the meals his mother used to cook, and MacDonald was still complaining about the food-he was about the only man on the ship displeased with the food. All of these men, all of their thoughts, were familiar to him, and they were comforting.

"The captain say you needed a haircut?" Steele suddenly asked.

Frost opened his eyes, surprised.

"Actually, yeah. Good guess. How'd you figure that out?"

Steele shrugged.

"You's two are always looking at each other."

Frost blinked, confused.

"We do?"

"You's two's eyes were doing a lot of traveling over the other when we were in that elevator back on the _Best of the Best_." Steele hunched his shoulders and leaned in closer. "Are you two fucking or what?"

Frost nearly spit his coffee into Steele's face.

"What?" he said, his voice raspy.

"You heard me," Steele said cheekily.

"No, we aren't. What gave you that impression?" Frost hissed back.

"Well, one, the looks you two give each other. Two...I mean, why else would you go up to her cabin late at night like that, other than for a booty call?"

"How the hell did you know I went up there?"

"I deduced it."

"How?"

"When you told me that the captain was the one who told you that you needed a haircut. After that sailor got to the med bay, you were with me for the rest of the day. Only time you weren't with me is when we were in our barracks and you just up and left when it was late. I just connected the dots."

Frost stared at his companion for a few moments, speechless. Steele smirked victoriously. "I notice these things. I'm not as dumb as I look," he said smugly, running his pinky finger along his well-groomed mustache.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but you've got shit for brains. Me and the Captain aren't involved like that."

"You involved at all?"

"No. I just went up there to offer some words of encouragement. You saw how beat up she was aftering see that poor kid screaming as blood poured out of his belly."

Steele snorted.

"Kid? He's two years younger than us, bruvva. And yeah, I saw. So, what, you two pals something?"

Frost thought about it for a moment. They were on a first name basis, though they hadn't spoken much since the awards ceremony on Reach. Aside from stamping out the mutiny on the _Best of the Best_ and one or two other occasions, there had been no interaction between them. Every time there had been, however, she had seemed to be hiding something. Emotions were withheld, fronts were put up. There was something about her voice and her eyes that told Frost that she was seeing something else when she looked at him. It was as unsettling as it was baffling. He couldn't read her like he could other people. The fact that there was a clear facade was as far as he got. Whatever was going on in that mind of hers, he just couldn't figure out. But it wasn't his place to go asking if something was wrong, although giving her advice on dealing with wounded men hadn't been either. Their interactions weren't typical of the enlisted man and commissioned officer relationship. The enlisted man stood at attention, clicked his heels together, and saluted sharply when he spoke with commissioned officer. He spoke loudly, clearly, and there was nothing exchanged but the business of orders and reports. The commissioned officer would return the salute, speak calmly, appear in control, and give the orders, then would dismiss the enlisted man.

All of that was absent when Frost was in the same room as Captain Waters. Maybe, he figured, she was just different from most officers. The unique circumstances of their long range, hunter-killer style mission called for somebody who could communicate well, be at ease among the enlisted ranks, and understand the necessity of going easy on certain regulations. But there was something else, and although it intrigued Frost, he wasn't sure if it was his business to go about finding out what was making her tick. Her prying questions in the elevator left him with questions of his own, but he had kept that at the far back of his mind.

"We've spoken a few times, but nothing more," Frost said.

Steele sighed.

"Anticlimactic. Can I make another guess?"

"No."

"The doctor."

Frost set his fork and knife down on the table hard. It was loud and caught the attention of a few of their friends in another squad, but they were too immersed in their own conversations to pay much attention.

Normally, an individual in Steele's shoes would defuse the situation by simply ending it. It was a good solution when a friend was angered by the former's actions. But Steele was not that type by far. He smiled a knowing, sinister grin.

"Struck a nerve, have I?"

"This isn't funny, Lou."

"Come on Nate, it's perfectly normal to talk about women. I'm not shy about sharing what I'd do to Michelle Clarkson if I had her on a bed and she was raring for it."

"Brother, that's because you know you'll never get with her. You wouldn't dare talk that way about a woman you actually cared about."

Steele groaned.

"Come on mate, don't you want to try and be _normal_ for a change? Talk about the stuff guys talk about all the time, like women, or their favorite guns, or some dumb shit like that, for Chrissake. It's mindless chatter to fill the space between fights, what's so bad about it?"

Frost didn't feel so hungry any more. He pushed his tray way and looked up, hoping that the others would return soon. Hopefully then, the conversation would be ended. But they were still in line and to make matters worse, Dr. Jasmine was standing at the other end of the mess hall talking with Captain Waters.

"Speak of the devil..." Steele murmured, following Frost's gaze.

From the looks of it, the doctor was exhausted. Her somewhat long, oval shaped face was fatigued, and she had dark bags under her eyes. Her hair seemed frazzled and her bun had become a long, messy ponytail. Waters was definitely better rested and appeared concerned.

Steele chuckled. "I can see why you'd have designs on the ship's Doc."

"Lou, this isn't funny. I don't have designs."

"Why not? She's got a good figure, pretty face, smart as hell..."

"Shut up. Jesus Christ, why do you always try to have these conversations with me?"

Steele set his cup down on the table with enough force that a little splashed out onto his hand. If it was burning hot he didn't seem to notice.

"Because the rest of us do and you never join in. Why not? Are you bent?"

"Come on, Lou, really?"

Steele held out both hands, exasperated.

"Bruv, I honestly have no idea why you don't join in. It's not normal. Every man in this goddamn unit talks about women or booze or what they're gonna do after the war except for you. I'm just trying to get you to loosen up, have some goddamn fun, join in on the convos like everybody else. It's just us man, and we've known each other for eight years and not once have you talked about any of that shit. Eighteen years and all I get every once in awhile are snippets!"

"Seriously, why are you always so frigging concerned about me being normal?"

With a heavy sigh, Steele slumped backwards.

"Bruv, come on. I just want you to lighten up and have some fun."

"Lighten up? Have fun? Didn't you see me laughing and horsing around with the guys like, two minutes ago?"

"Like I said, snippets. You laugh more when we're out in the field."

There was a long silence. Frost and Steele didn't look at each other for several minutes. Eventually, Steele threw one of his hands up. "Alright, geez, I'm sorry Nate, I didn't mean to piss you off."

Frost sighed.

"I appreciate the thought, but I'm good, I know how to loosen up just fine. I don't need to talk about women and stuff like that to feel normal."

Normal. Frost knew that was something Steele struggled with. To say that Louis-Henry Steele's childhood had been rough was an understatement. An unwanted child born into a poor family, neglected by his parents from the moment he took his first steps. Frost considered his closest friend's younger years to be harsh, but Steele had come to terms with them he supposed. Steele always said that when he thought back to those times he tried to think of something funny or enjoyable. He considered those parts of his life to be normal, and missed them dearly.

Of course, that was different from Frost. If he looked back, Frost decided that his childhood had been quite sheltered. When they made the move to Halifax when he was very little, he spent his years attending private schools. Few kids attended them when compared to the public schools, and he had no friends. He didn't fit in with them. Halifax was a place he loved, more for the adventures he went on with his siblings, but even those were a blur. There was no clarity for him when he was a child. Time only slowed when they went to their private ranch for winter and summer. When he was there, among the flower beds and the horses, Frost finally felt like he had a chance to grow up, to be normal. But it wasn't enough. His chance for clarity came when he was chosen for the Youth Programs. Everything made sense in the Marine Corps. He understood what role he had to play, he knew his place in the vast machine, he knew his capabilities. Most people didn't fight and kill aliens, didn't know how to kill a man in less than three moves, and didn't have to suffer from dysentery from time to time. But that was all normal to him. Normalcy was different for everyone. His idea of normal was being a soldier. Normal for Steele were those brief moments when he was actually happy and able to break from his rough childhood; he sought to reclaim and relive those moments. The fact that Frost didn't was alien to him in a way; it was made harder by their close friendship. Of all the people he wanted to revive those normal moments with, it was Frost. At times, Frost felt guilty that he simply couldn't.

Frost looked towards Dr. Jasmine again. He sighed.

"She's got...uh...pretty eyes, I'll give you that."

Steele smiled. It was a knowing smile, showing that he understood the attempt.

"You would be that goody-two-shoes who goes for the eyes."

Frost chuckled and looked back. Captain Waters had gone over to another group of officers. Dr. Jasmine was about to walk away when she caught Frost's eyes. She smiled softly and raised her hand. Frost smiled back and gave a little wave.

He decided to get up and go speak with her. After all, she had been up all night with the surgery and monitoring the patient. She probably wouldn't mind talking with someone and getting it all off her chest.

But a pair of hands clamped down on his shoulders.

"Nate, can you sing that song about California?" Grant asked eagerly.

"What? Why?"

"I was just thinking about it. Come on, I can't remember the words. Can't you sing it?"

"Here in the mess hall?"

"Yeah, who cares?"

"I don't want to bug our buddies."

"Come on, sing it, you haven't sang it for a while!" Grant begged, like a child pulling at his parent's sleeve for a toy they wanted.

"Yeah, come on, sing it," another marine, Graves, chimed in.

"Let's hear it," Lieutenant Fitzpatrick shouted from another table.

Frost sighed.

"Okay, okay, here it goes."

* * *

"... _California, here I come, yeah!_

 _Right where I started from_

 _Where bowers, are flowers, bloom in the spring_

 _Each morning, at dawning_

 _Birdies sing and everything_

 _A sun, kissed, miss said "Don't be late!"_

 _That's why I can hardly wait_

 _Open up, open up, open up that Golden Gate!_

 _California...here I come!"_

Jasmine watched from the side of the mess hall as Frost finished the song. He was standing with one foot on the bench, and the other on top of the table. All the marines in the mess hall had joined in with his song. She hadn't ever heard a song like that before and after the hellish night she had been through, it was a grand sight to her exhausted eyes.

After Frost finished, his fellow marines cheered and bellowed his name. Frost bowed a few times and jumped down. Jasmine began walking over. As she approached, she heard him say, "See Lou, I told you I know how to loosen up!"

"Like I said before, like I said, _snippets_. And only a crackpot sings songs that are five or six centuries old, Nate," Frost's companion joked. Laughter resounded through the ranks of men that had gathered around. They began to disperse as Jasmine approached. Frost and his men rose to their feet to salute but Jasmine waved them down.

"No need. That was quite a song, Sergeant."

He seemed almost embarrassed.

"Yeah, I guess so. Grant here makes me sing it because he's from California."

Grant, the young soldier, beamed up at her from the table.

"It's my favorite song. Can't wait to get back home."

"I bet," Jasmine said with a smile, "and did someone say that song is centuries old?"

"Yep. 20th Century, 1924," Frost answered.

"I've never heard music from the 20th Century," Jasmine admitted.

"Yeah, none of us did until we met the professor here," Steele said, jerking a thumb towards Frost. Frost waved him off and explained.

"My dad is a university professor and scholar on 20th and 21st Century music. He's runs an entire database that preserves the music, and he sometimes takes breaks from teaching to go on lecturing tours around Earth to teach people about it and get them exposed to it. He loves the stuff and played it all the time when I was a kid."

"He's got about a thousand songs memorized in his head," Bishop put in.

"Don't know how he's got so much room in there," Maddox mumbled.

"I have this image of this bugger here," Knight said, patting Frost on the shoulder, "singing a song while we were riding a tank during a major offensive. Plasma artillery coming down, gunships screaming overhead, cannons firing, and he's _singing_."

Jasmine laughed. That was quite the image. She imagined him tap-dancing on the main cannon of a Scorpion and belting off a tune.

Frost shook his head and changed subjects.

"How're you doing, ma'am? Will you join us?"

 _Socializing with the enlisted ranks again, huh Jas?_

Jasmine shook her head, smiling softly.

 _Ah, what the hell?_

"Sure," Jasmine said. The squad chuckled happily and opened up a spot between Frost and "let me grab a tray first."

"Ah, you can have mine," Frost said, motioning towards his mostly untouched food, "I lost my appetite."

Smiling and doing her best not to appear awkward, Jasmine stared at the plate. The last thing she wanted to do was eat someone else's food; she no harrumphing germaphobe but she had her boundaries. But then again these men ate each other's food all the time, she supposed. Langley reached over and snatched a sausage from Knight's tray, who failed to catch her hand in time, while Maddox swapped his burned toast for Bishop's lightly toasted bagel. She didn't want to be rude, and she just wanted to talk normally for a change, shed her rank and her status for just one conversation. So, she sat down and began eating, ignoring the fact she was eating with used utensils.

None of the others seemed to think it was gross to eat with another person's fork and knife. Frost had the forethought to wipe them down with a napkin, which did nothing to assuage Jasmine of her withdrawn disgust. But germs meant nothing to marines, she guessed. They had faced dangers she had never had to-not yet at least. These men had been shot, blown up, scarred, stabbed, and more. Germs were the least of her problems, and if they could survive all of that. Jasmine decided she would survive this meal.

"So, how'd it go?" Frost asked.

"Yeah, we heard he was stable," Langley put in, "was it a smooth operation?"

"It could have been smoother, given the circumstances. But my surgical team did well. The bullet didn't hit any vital organs or arteries, but it did cause some exterior damage to a few."

"What? Like scratches?"

"Grazes, yes. Markov is extremely lucky. It took some time to repair the superficial damage and of course extract the bullet. It didn't exit his body; in fact, it impacted with such force that it stopped just short of his spine. Doctor Mayland, who has ten years of experience, said it was one of the most devastating ricochet wounds he had ever seen."

"Damn," Moser said, "if that bullet had hit his spine he would have been paralyzed."

"Quite right," Jasmine said, "luckily, it didn't. Markov will need some time to recover but he'll be able to return to his post eventually."

The team nodded. Grant leaned across the table.

"What I want to know is how that ricochet caused so damage. Bishop was hit by a ricochet round a couple years ago and it didn't cause that much damage."

Bishop shook his head as he swallowed a piece of toast.

"Mm, that was different though," he said once he finished, "that round only hit my right side. Somebody behind me fired a round and it bounced off a wall in front of me. Basically came right back, never saw a bullet ever do something like that before. Anyways, if it was an inch more to the side it would have missed me, but it caught the very edge of my side and went through. Nothing vital there, though it did take a bit of flesh."

"Just served to piss you off," Maddox said, "you nearly through that idiot out the window."

Everyone laughed. Jasmine smiled.

"To answer your question, Private Grant, the bullet hit him at a particular angle from a nearby wall. His close proximity, the speed of the round, the bullet type, and the place of impact all contributed to how damaging the wound was."

"Yeah, it's hard to say," Langley added, "bullets can do crazy thing and it's hard to chalk it up to just one reason. You guys have no idea how many factors are in place when a bullet hits a body."

"Sure we do, we fire guns for a living," Knight joked.

"Yeah, right," Langley snorted.

Frost cut in.

"Wasn't he wearing his armor, though?"

"He was, but the bullet struck him just below his vest, as the bullet came _up_ towards him."

"Damn, that's a pisser," Steele said with a shake of his head.

Jasmine remained silent for a moment. The surgery had taken hours, much longer than she had originally thought. It was difficult, not only searching for the bullet but also located any damage it caused. It was unlucky, indeed, any wound was. Markov was lucky though. The bullet could have hit his abdominal aorta, could have buried itself in his organs, but somehow, by some miracle, it had missed every, and had even stopped before causing permanent damage. Granted, it was most likely a combination of factors, like she and Langley had agreed upon. But Markov would make a full recovery, and that was all that mattered to her. If he had died on her operating table, she would have never forgiven herself. He was a young man with a life ahead of him. A life of what, she did not know, but she wouldn't deny him the chance to live. Everyone deserved a chance.

When he woke up afterwards, just for those few brief moments, he clutched her wrist and asked her if he was going to die. Jasmine had to choke back a sob. It was a moving moment for her, seeing this paled boy, not much younger than herself, eyes struggling to open, panic evident in his voice, asking her that question. She had assured him that he wasn't and be practically broke into tears. Jasmine tried to imagine what it would be like to feel that fear of death, to be injured and wondering, frantically, if this was it. Her synesthesia had kicked in during the entire ordeal, and it was a struggle to fight it back, not only to avoid feeling his physical pain in her own abdomen, but also his emotional fear. Sometimes she wondered if it was synesthesia or her overly empathetic nature. That thought made her wince; she hadn't been so empathetic with Vivian in the classroom yesterday. She didn't like getting angry with her; Vivian was about her only friend. And to think she had scolded her for that more than once. Jasmine sighed. She wanted Vivian to do the right thing, and pursuing the man beside her didn't seem right. The way she had helped Markov, helping to move him to the medical bay, keeping vigil until Jasmine sent her away to rest, that was the Vivian she knew. That was who she needed to be at all times, not a fifteen year old girl with a desire for revenge. But there was her synesthesia again, her empathy, battling with her.

She felt exhausted from the games her mind and her emotions played with her. Tiredly, set down her utensils, set her glasses down, and rubbed her eyes with both hands.

"Take it that you didn't get much sleep?" Frost said kindly from beside.

"None at all," she replied. When she lowered her hands she did her best to smile. "Part of the job, though. I'm sure you've been in worse states."

Knight chuckled then.

"During one siege, we went without sleep for thirty-six hours. I have no idea how we managed to fight when we were so exhausted."

Steele nodded in agreement.

"That battle was like a dream," he said, "I swear I was so fuckin' tired, I was hallucinating.

"None of us have ever had to operate on a wounded man for hours, though," Frost said, matter-of-factly.

"Cutting your damn hair was like surgery," Steele joked. He pointed to the sergeant, "You should see this bloke when I trim his hair. If I make one snip he doesn't feel sure about he asks, nay, _demands_ I give him the mirror. He turns a fifteen minute cut into a forty-five minute ordeal."

"That's entirely untrue," Frost said, cracking up, "don't listen to him, Dr. Jasmine."

Everyone began snickering, which then turned into full-blown laughter, to the point that some were red in the face and slapping the table with their hands. Jasmine had no idea what they were laughing about-perhaps an inside joke or a past, humorous event known only to them-but she couldn't help but laugh along anyways. Their jovial nature was too much to resist, and she instantly forgot how tired she was. At the same time, she couldn't help but wonder how strange these marines were.

 _First, they invite me to breakfast and engage in serious conversation about a wounded man's life, and the next minute they're laughing like hyenas._

She decided that military life was so odd that emotional ups and downs were normal for them. Or perhaps it was just an offshoot of their high and low adrenaline lifestyle, switching constantly from the desperate nature of combat to the elongated boredom of ship life. She was glad they could laugh like that.

Jasmine quickly looked around and leaned closer.

"If you want to hear about someone concerned with their image, I should tell you about one of the medical officers who trained us back at OCS. His name was Jake Bentley, and he took every opportunity to check his hair, smooth it back, fix it up, when he wasn't teaching."

She couldn't help but giggle, remembering. "I've never told anyone this, but me a few other students got sick of it, so one night, we snatched some deep sleeping meditation from the clinic on base."

This caused the marines to look at one another with surprised smiles. Jasmine was excited to tell the story now; they were about to find out their doctor wasn't as by-the-book as they thought. "He had to take a few pills before night because of a mild chronic pain condition, and we were able to sneak that into his regiment. When he was out, and I mean _out_ , we sneaked into his room..."

Everyone listened intently, and Jasmine grinned. "And we cut up his hair."

"No way..." Moser snickered.

"You're kidding?" Grant asked, astounded.

"Nope," Jasmine said, "We shaved a few spots, cut some other spots really short, and we shaved off one of his eyebrows and half his mustache."

"Ohhh, that's cruel!" Knight laughed.

"And the next morning," Jasmine concluded "he woke up and we heard him scream from the mess hall. He ran to the base's barber sobbing like a ten year old girl."

The marines chortled. She couldn't tell if they were laughing to be polite, or simply found it funny, but she laughed too, glad to have humored them.

"I take it back, that bloke is definitely the pissiest bitch when it comes to hair treatment," Steele said to Frost.

"Got anymore stories, Doc?" Frost asked.

Just as Jasmine was about to delve into another story, she heard a voice from behind her.

"Dr. Ebrahimi."

She knew that voice. Jasmine turned around to see Vivian standing there, looking mildly annoyed, with arms folded across her chest.

"Captain?" Jasmine said. She found it strange to call her that. Despite that uniform, it was still Vivian, her old friend.

"The ships sent to retrieve the prisoners have arrived. I'll need your help seeing the wounded ones are properly transported."

"Yes, ma'am."

Jasmine stood up. She reached for the tray, but Frost put his hand over it.

"I'll take care of it, ma'am. Thanks for joining us."

"Thank you for having me. Remember, your physical evaluations begin tomorrow morning, oh-nine-hundred, sharp."

The squad mumbled and jeered and cracked more jokes, which made Jasmine smile.

"Hey, we've for firearms training at sixteen-hundred, won't you join us?"

"I've other duties to take care of sergeant," Jasmine said, "but maybe the Captain will join you."

Frost grinned.

"How about it Captain?" he asked. Jasmine looked over at Vivian, who offered a small smile.

"We'll see, Sergeant.

With that, Jasmine began walking with Vivian. Nothing was said between the two until they exited the mess hall, side by side. Jasmine could feel the anger burning inside of Vivian. To an untrained eye, Vivian was emotionless. But Jasmine had known her for longer, and found her friend's ability to hide her emotions to be very poor.

"If you're mad at me, just say so."

"I hate the fact that you socialize with the man who killed my friends."

"Vivian..."

"Furthermore, you're fraternizing with enlisted ranks. That goes against regulations."

Fraternization policies had been uniform in the UNSC since its creation. Policy dictated that too informal, casual, or romantic relationships were forbidden between officers and enlisted ranks. The backing behind such laws was that relationships had negative effects on the chain of command. A breakdown of discipline among the troops, or perhaps officers engaging in favoritism, a lack of impartiality, a dissolution of order on and off the battlefield, and emotions interfering with battlefield or command judgements.

Jasmine was familiar with all the UNSC's laws and she agreed with them. Still, she didn't see herself in violation of the policy.

"I'm the ship's doctor. I don't command marines in the field nor do I order the sailors about. My job is to coordinate the medical staff and I've carried out my duty as the chief medical officer to the best of my ability. I believe I don't have to be as formal or strict with the enlisted ranks from other branches or different parts of the crew."

It felt strange to talk formally with her friend. Vivian must have found it odd too, though her expression remained stiff.

"You're one of the highest ranking officers in the entire task force," Vivian said after a few moments, "It's not uncommon knowledge that you and I are friends. If something happens to me or to Solak, everyone knows you're next in line to take up command of the fleet."

"I'm a doctor."

"You're still an officer; you know how to fight lead."

"I'm better at performing surgery and filing reports," Jasmine sighed. The last thing she wanted to think about was taking command of their miniature fleet.

"Jas, all I'm saying is that you need to be aware of the policy. Yes, I've lightened the regs a bit, but we still need to follow them. A complete absence of any rules will have a negative effect on how this task force operates. Okay? Just don't cross the line. You can still take your walks with Frost."

Jasmine felt her cheeks begin to burn.

"So people are talking?"

"No. I'm not blind."

"Is this about frat regs, or about him?"

"Frat regs."

"Sorry, but I find that hard to believe," Jasmine hissed, trying to keep her voice down as sailors, marines, and ODSTs streamed by in the hallway. They were too focused on their own duties to care, aside from offering a curt nod to the captain.

"Believe it," Vivian said. Her expression had changed from stern to tired. "I was about to send a call to Travers last night, right after your messaged me. I had a report of all my findings and was going to ask him to start an investigation. But he came into my office."

"Frost?"

"Yes. He told me not to be too hard on myself because of what happened to Markov. He had some..." Vivian's eyes fell for a moment as she tried to find the words, "wisdom, I guess, on the matter."

She seemed sadder then. Jasmine pushed her glasses up her nose, looking at her friend from the corner of her eye. Her heart was beating with hopeful excitement.

Vivian shook her head, "I couldn't make the call. I just didn't have it in me."

"So..."

"So, I won't be opening an investigation."

"You're just going to drop the matter entirely?"

"Yes, even though it's him. You're right. The objective and this task force are more important."

Jasmine sighed with relief, but she wasn't going to gloat or be condescending.

"I know it's hard, Vivian. I know it's going against every wish and desire you have. But it's the right thing. Please take comfort in that. You know I'm always here for you."

"Yeah," Vivian said. She looked up and smiled, "Yeah."

* * *

Vivian stood in the hanger and observed the Pelicans from the UNSC _Winter's Keep_ touching down. One would have gotten the job done, but Captain Hasanoglu was the type of officer who didn't leave things to chance. If something needed to be carpet bombed, he'd carpet bomb it twice. If a squad requested a Pelican for evac, he'd send two. If he needed to drop a platoon of ODSTs, he'd drop two. He was by no means a chessboard tactician though; Vivian knew he could adapt and had unorthodox strategies in that mind of his. Four years ago, his _Marathon_ -class cruiser had defeated not one but _two_ CCS-class battlecruisers in an orbital engagement. Those battlecruisers outclassed _Marathons_ but somehow he had limited damage to his starship and reduced both hostile crafts to particles. She remembered studying his incredible maneuvers back at OCS. A part of her was giddy to meet him.

But her mind was still foggy with her decision. Hard was an incredible understatement. Her memory of her friends' brutal slaughter had replayed over and over again after Frost had left. She could still hear their voices shrieking in pain, feel the room settle once the shooting ended, and could here Roseanne gurgling blood.

Vivian closed her eyes, shutting it out. It was difficult. Ghosts had followed her all day. Talking to Jasmine helped, but Vivian was the type to get psychoanalyzed. Normal conversation was enough. Routine and activity was what she needed. The sooner they got the traitorous ilk from the _Best of the Best_ off her ship, the sooner they could go hunting. That would provide a lengthy distraction.

She looked over to where the prisoners were. A squad of ODSTs without their helmets, led by Major Holst, stood by the uninjured prisoners, who were in shackles. Jasmine and a small medical team were presiding over the wounded in traditional stretchers. Captain De Vos was leading the ODST contingent guarding the prisoners, whose hands and feet were cuffed, and tied tightly to the stretchers.

Chamberlain had refused to be carried onto the Pelican on a stretcher. He stood with the other prisoners, leaning on a crutch for support. Holst was standing right beside him. Chamberlain's free hand was cuffed to Holst's wrist. His hand that was clutching the crutcher was tied to it. Vivian had expressed concern that he would attempt to use the crutch to bash somebody, but Major Holst assured her that he wouldn't without catching a bullet in his other leg. She watched the pair; he and Chamberlain were talking. Holst seemed mighty interested in what he had to say, but Vivian didn't pay it much mind.

Once the Pelicans landed, with their rears facing the prisoners, Vivian approached. The rear compartments opened and two teams of marines filed out. Captain Hasanoglu also appeared. He was younger than she expected, probably in his late thirties. She had pictured him being closer to fifty. He had short black hair as dark as night, that glistened with gel. A stubble of beard coated his cheeks and chin. His hazel eyes were sunken into his long face and he had a loud, deep voice; every word that passed his lips sounded like a shout.

Vivian exchanged salutes with him and they shook hands.

"Captain Waters, it's good to meet you."

Vivian almost jumped from his loud voice, even though his expression was purely business.

"Likewise Captain Hasanoglu. The prisoners are ready for transport."

"Good," he said, grimacing at the traitors. Arms akimbo, he turned to his marines, "Alright, get these prisoners on board. Wounded travel separately from the others." The marines filed out to carry out their orders.

"By the way Captain," Hasanoglu said, "we've got a package for you from Rear Admiral Travers and the brass."

"A package?"

The senior captain nodded towards the Pelican behind him. A man with tanned skin, dark hair that fell to his ears, and a clean shaven face stepped down. He was carrying a duffel bag and was wearing a black military vest over his blue sweatshirt with large, white letters that spelled out a word that Vivian had never wanted to see: PRESS. He had on a backpack and had several expensive cameras slung over his shoulder.

"Captain Waters," he said, extending a hand, "nice to meet you. I'm Matthew Katz. I'm a war correspondent for _Time_ magazine."

Vivian's eyes flitted between his face and his hand for several moments. Eventually, she turned to Hasanoglu.

"What is this? Is this a joke?"

Undaunted, Katz retrieved a slip from a pocket on his vest.

"Nope. I was sent to cover the war and the brass said that I could tag along with a new offensive task force that had just been formed. I agreed seeing as how I wanted to get close to the action. That Rear Admiral Travers guy is a riot."

Vivian stared at him in disgust for a few moments.

"How much of the war have you covered?"

Katz cleared his throat.

"Uh, none. I'm new. The last correspondent got uh...vaporized."

Vivian ran a hand down her face and turned to Hasanoglu.

"Look, I already have thousands of lives from three different branches of the UNSCDF, people from intelligence, and a science team who never leave their goddamn lab. The last thing I need is a civilian who has no idea what ground action is like."

"Well, Rear Admiral Travers said you didn't get a choice, Captain," Katz said uneasily, "he said that it would raise spirits on the war front."

Vivian made a mental note to contact Travers later and tear him a new one. But orders were orders.

"Fine," Vivian grunted, "go to the mess hall, I'll task someone to find accommodation for you."

"Thank you Captain!" Katz beamed. He picked up his duffel bag, then looked confused. "Um, where's the mess hall?"

"Get out of my hangar."

"Right away," he said, and bumbled off, pestering everybody who passed by for direction. Vivian rubbed her forehead while Hasanoglu chuckled. Their attention turned back to the prisoners as they approached the Pelicans. Hasanoglu eyed them with grim resentment, asking, "Which one's the leader?"

"Chamberlain, he's the one with the crutch."

Chamberlain approached with Holst. Hasanoglu stopped him.

"Thought you could just cross the UNSC and get away with it?"

The treasonous officer snickered.

"Yep, I did."

"You'll be placed in the smallest smell imaginable once I get you to Reach," the senior captain threatened through gritted teeth.

Chamberlain, the bastard, seemed completely unimpressed. As he was uncuffed from Holst, he turned to Vivian and smiled. His grin wasn't smug, rather it was almost sad yet pleasant.

"Captain Waters, we have our differences, but you're devotion to the UNSC is something to be admired."

Vivian frowned.

"That means alot coming from a traitor," she said with harsh sarcasm.

"Hate me all you want, but I mean it. You're from the colonies so you've probably seen what the UNSC has done to people who don't support them."

Vivian felt her expression darken.

"More than you know," she said quietly.

"And yet, here you stand, clad in that gray uniform, leading the same people who have made it their job to oppress poor farmers and factory workers for years." Chamberlain chewed his lip in thought for a moment. He raised his eyebrows and nodded his head to the side. "You still made the choice to enlist. That's something."

Vivian stood as tall as she could, hands folded behind her back.

"It wasn't a choice at all."

"Of course it was," Chamberlain said, sneering now, "everything you and I do, every action we take, it's a choice. We all have a choice."

With that, his free hand was handcuffed to a marine's and he boarded the Pelican. The rest were quickly chaperoned into the Pelicans. Hasanoglu grunted when the business was done, shook Vivian's hand, clambered in his Pelican, and the dropships were off. Just before the rear door closed, Hasanoglu saluted and shouted, "Looks like you're going to be famous, Captain Waters.

Vivian watched them go. She was glad it was over. Having the brig freed of traitors would do well for the morale of the entire task force. Holst was beside her too; the war hero seemed to be deep in thought.

"Major, are you well?"

That snapped him back to attention.

"Yes, Captain, I am."

Before Vivian could enquire as to what he was thinking about, Holst rounded up his ODSTs and marched them off. Only De Vos remained, who watched the major as he walked off.

"Please Captain, don't punish that officer who was running the drills," Markov said. His words were labored and drawn out. It pained Vivian to watch him struggle like that. She knew it was more from being utterly drained of energy than pain. Jasmine had kept him a moderate supply of painkillers. Those too, Vivian supposed, were clouding his mind a little.

"I understand, Petty Officer. But you understand that safety during training isn't a light matter. Someone needed to be accountable."

Vivian was glad to see Markov but hated talking to him while he was in bed like that. He was a pitiful sight. His face was white as a sheet and he couldn't even lift his hand he was so tired. It felt wrong. She turned to Jasmine, "Maybe we should hold off on this conversation until he's better rested."

Jasmine was standing on the other side of the bed, standing over Markov with a data pad that was monitoring his vitals. While her eyes remained serious, her posture copied that of a concerned, doting mother.

"No, Captain," Markov said, shaking his head from side to side on the stark white pillow, "he's good man, a good officer, I've talked with him. It's not his fault. An accident, that's all it was."

"Markov," Vivian said softly, "it was his responsibility to ensure that the trainees in that room were as safe as possible. Using live ammunition put them at great danger. What happened to you could have happened to someone else."

"But it didn't, ma'am."

"I know, but what matters is that it could have, and that it _did_ happen to you. Part of being an officer-a soldier-is being accountable for your actions. The lieutenant has to be held accountable for making the CQC environment unsafe for training."

"No, ma'am. It was just an accident. Please, don't put him in jail. Don't punish him. He's a good guy. Ask anyone else who was there and they won't blame him."

Vivian sighed.

"I'll take that under consideration Petty Officer Markov. For now, rest up and get your strength back. Your buddies in the engine room want you back as soon as possible, I think they miss you already."

She said this with a smile and they looked out the view glass of one of the medical bays. Several other engineers were standing outside, watching and waiting patiently for their turn to see him.

Markov chuckled, though she could tell it pained him to do so.

"They just want me to get back to work so they don't have to cover my duties anymore."

Vivian chuckled.

"Rest up, that's an order."

"Yes, ma'am."

Vivian and Jasmine walked out together, letting Markov's mates rush in to see him.

"What will you do?" Jasmine asked.

"It was an accident, but the officer should have realized that live fire exercises in a confined space would lead to injury. The best course of action will be to use non-lethal ammunition types in the CQC chamber, demote the officer, and take him off the instructor roster."

"Holst won't be happy with that."

"I'll have to speak to him about it. If I'm to compromise, I'll skip the demotion. Normal punishment would be to discharge him, but seeing as how more training routines involve live rounds and that our mission is unique, we can't afford to lose an experienced officer."

Punishment was something that Vivian didn't take lightly. Holst was probably going to be in a fit when she presented her with intents. Holst was a war hero and his troopers worshipped him. She wasn't always happy with the way he acted, especially when he was supposed to be training, but she commended him for being just as loyal to his troops as they were to him.

Vivian contemplated what kind of punishment would have awaited Frost if he was investigated and put on trial. Most likely, the military courts would have found him not guilty. She guessed it would have more to do with Frost's stellar record and his prestige as Jack the Ripper, rather than adherence to the rules of engagement. Did her five friends fall under the rules of engagement? It was something she hadn't thought about before. There had to be intent to harm. But they had raised their pistols in self-defense. Of course, that doubled as intent to harm, obviously. Not to Vivian thought. Self-defense and intent to harm were two separate entities. If anything, Frost was the one who possessed the intent to harm that night.

The more she thought about it, the more she wanted to make that call. Vivian resisted as best she could, but it was difficult. More so, it was saddening. She felt sad that she had come all this way and by some turn of events the murderer she had obsessed over had ended up on her ship. A golden opportunity for justice presented itself and she was consciously passing it by for the greater good. Being right sometimes felt wrong.

"When will be heading off?" Jasmine asked. Vivian was grateful for the distraction.

"Tomorrow morning. I think the rest of the day should be used to finish up the current training and getting everyone prepared for combat operations."

"Will you be attending training?" Jasmine asked, smirking. "I'm sure that invitation is still open."

Vivian thought it over. She wasn't needed on the bridge for a while, and shooting something would definitely occupy her mind.

"I think I will."

"Aim. Fire!"

Vivian squeezed the trigger of her M6C, slowly firing the twelve rounds of the clip at the paper targets extended from the ceiling or propped on the floor of the shooting range. She was focused on her own target, but could hear others on the firing line. Some fired quickly and their spreads were wide. Others were careful and had tight spreads on their targets. She strived to make sure that each round was as close to the previous one as possible, and when her clip was empty, she was satisfied to see that she had the closest spread of all.

"Cease fire. Cease fire. Cease fire on the firing line," called Frost, who was walking back and forth behind those in the shooting range. The range itself was an enclosed box with automated targets. It helped separate the loud gunfire from the rest of the armory. The firing line was the only point where one could look into the shooting range for the elongated window on the left hand side. The firing line was divided in three foot across areas occupied by one shooter in order to prevent confusion as to which target an individual was firing at.

Frost was in his fatigues, arms across his chest. Vivian kept her eyes down range but could feel him standing a few feet behind her. "Check your weapons," he called, "check your weapons. Make sure that the clip as well as the chamber is empty."

He repeated his instructions again. Vivian ejected the clip and peered inside. Empty. She pulled the slide back. The chamber was empty.

"Remember to keep your weapon facing the range. Do not turn from the range even if your weapon is completely unloaded," Frost said, speaking loudly and slowly. One might have mistaken the marine legend for an ordinary drill instructor. "I know many of you understand basic firearm safety; you wouldn't be in the military if you didn't. But you have to understand how to handle a weapon safely and properly before you engage the enemy. The idea of combat is to maximize enemy casualties and minimize friendly casualties-preventing friendly fire and misfires are key to minimizing damage to your buddies. It's important that you understand that."

He marched up and down the line. "Some of you were yanking your finger back against the trigger, so your aim was off. _Squeeze_ the trigger. You'll have better control of your weapon and increase your accuracy. Some of you were firing quickly. With a semi-automatic weapon, you should never fire quickly when you're at medium range. Firing slow and aiming carefully will land you more hits. If you're up against a larger Covenant soldier, say a Brute or an Elite, at close range, then by all means fire as fast as you can, because you're screwed anyways. Pistols are good against low level Covenant however; Grunts, Jackals, and Skirmishers have no shielding. All it takes is a few rounds or a pop to their heads and the target is down. Elites and Brutes have heavy armor and shielding, pistols won't do you you any good unless you can consistently hit the head. SMGs and assault rifles are good for draining shields-if you can drain their shields, most sidearms will do a decent job of puncturing their armor and putting them out of their misery."

Frost came up behind Vivian. "The M6 series is a reliable handgun, but different variants come with pros and cons. You'll find that M6D's are a good all around weapon but lose effectiveness at longer ranges more than other M6's. M6G's are very powerful but have short clips, so you need to make your shots count. M6C's aren't very powerful, but they've got a good sized clip and can rip apart unarmored targets."

Vivian grimaced. Unarmored targets was a term that felt geared more towards humans than aliens. Most aliens wore armor. The lesser species of course didn't have the equipment their betters had, but most humans who opposed the UNSC didn't have any access to state of the art body armor. She looked at her M6C; she couldn't remember the type of pistols her friends were using when they died. It had been dark, she had been terrified, how could she remember? But then again, what was the point? It wasn't important.

"M6C is a good pistol," Frost said. She jumped a little. He leaned over her shoulder, arms still crossed. "Though it's typically issued to marines, mostly mechanized troops. Why'd you pick it?"

"I like the control it offers. I imagine it would be good for close quarters as well."

"That's true; when I don't have an M6D, I usually carry the C. Won't do much against shields but the only time I end up using it is against Skirmishers, so it gets the job done." He paused and looked down range. "You're doing great, Captain. Let's see it again."

This time, however, he didn't step back behind the firing line. He was less than a foot behind Vivian.

"Load!" he cried. Vivian reached into her belt and slid a fresh clip into her sidearm. "Aim!" Frost called. She raised her weapon with both hands, aiming carefully. Her paper target was in the shape of an angry Brute, its face contorted with anger. She shut her eyes for a moment. Her mind wanted to picture someone else standing there, but she refused to place that image there. "Fire!"  
Vivian opened her eyes and slowly, deliberately, squeezed the trigger again. Twelve rounds flew down range, and each struck the paper Brute in the face. When she fired her last round, there was nothing left but a shredded hole.

"Cease fire! Cease fire! Cease fire on the firing line!" Frost called. "Check your weapons!"

As Vivian did so, she heard Frost whistle. Then he said, "You're pretty good."

Vivian's eyes widened.

" _You almost got me. You're pretty good."_

" _Murderer..."_

Those words sent a chill up her spine. Her heart began to pump. Rage filled her chest. _You're pretty good. You're pretty good. You're pretty good._ The phrase resounded throughout her mind, like a voice echoing back to its owner as it bounced off the walls of a cavern. _You're pretty good. You're pretty good. You're pretty good._ Four girls lay dead on the floor, bullets buried in their bodies, blood so dark it ran black on the floor. One was still alive, clinging to life. And a killer knelt over her, mocking her, reaching for his knife to finish her off. _You're pretty good. You're pretty good. You're pretty good._ Behind her stood a murderer. The man, the monster, who butchered her friends. Jack the Ripper. _You're pretty good. You're pretty good. You're pretty good._ Roseanne lay at her feet, a terrible gash in her throat, her abdomen torn apart by bullets. Her eyes were frozen in pain and fear. Why did she have to die? She was innocent. Adrenaline flowed through Vivian's veins, her breathing picked up, and her fingers gripped her sidearm so hard that her knuckles hurt. _You're pretty good._

* * *

A bell rang throughout the armory. Everyone stopped what they were doing. It signaled the end of the training period and the call to supper.

Frost was surprised at how fast the past two hours had gone by.

"Alright, make sure your weapons are empty. If you're an officer, you can keep your weapon, but if you're an enlisted rank who isn't permitted to carry a sidearm, please return your weapon to the armory or else I'll hunt you down," he said with a smile. Sailors passed by, nodding and grinning. Nobody walked away from the range without a smirk on their face.

"Frost, come on mate!" Steele called from across the armory, "let's eat!"

"Coming!" he yelled back, jogging across the armory.

"Sergeant Frost!" Captain Waters barked. Frost had never heard her voice sound like that before. He stopped dead in his tracks and turned. Waters was still in her spot on the firing line, so he couldn't see her. "Hold a moment," she said, her voice shaking.

"Yes, ma'am..." Frost said, standing still. "Is something wrong?"

"Just wait..."

"Yes, ma'am," Frost said slowly. He turned and watched as the armory emptied. Steele raised his arms in question, but Frost waved him off. A few minutes later, the entire armory was empty. There wasn't a single sound to be heard.

Frost felt uneasy. He was standing at least two dozen feet from the range now. It felt silly to be standing all alone in there. When he'd go to the armory alone, whenever everyone else was asleep, it didn't seem so strange. But at that moment, it was strange to him.

Captain Waters finally stepped out. She was still holding her pistol.

"Captain, is everything okay?" he asked, his eye traveling to her sidearm.

"Look at me," she seethed. Frost did so, and looked at her emerald eyes. They were burning with a dark hatred he had never seen before in another person.

"Captain...?"

"I know what you did," she said suddenly, "I know who you are..."

Frost watched as she grabbed a clip from her belt, loaded her pistol, and pointed it at him. "...Jack the Ripper!"

* * *

' _Hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy gurdy,' he sang,_

 _Here comes the Roly Poly Man,_

 _He's singing songs of love,_

' _Roly poly, roly poly, holy poly poly,' he sang..._

-"Hurdy Gurdy Man" By Donovan


	14. Chapter 14: The Confrontation

**It's almost frigging 5:00AM...I apologize for the length, but it felt right to keep this chapter short.**

* * *

Chapter Fourteen: The Confrontation

* * *

The pistol trembled in Vivian's hand as she kept it trained on Frost's chest. He stared at her, more perplexed than afraid. That just made her angrier. Why didn't he seem scared? She had a gun pointed at him and he hadn't even flinched.

"I know who you are..." she growled once more through gritted teeth. "I know what you did. You killed my friends."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Captain," he said slowly. Frost took a step forward, raising his hands slightly. "Just put the pistol down, ma'am."

Vivian took a step towards him, but didn't lower her weapon.

"You know exactly what you did. Five years ago, that dark, abandoned apartment complex. Those five teenage girls?"  
Frost seemed perplexed.

"Captain, I don't know what you're..."

He stopped. His eyes widened and parted from her steely gaze, finally realizing. Vivian knew then, finally, _finally_ , that he had done it. Finally, she knew for certain.

"How do you know about that?" he asked after thinking for a few moments. "That was a classified op, no one else was there."

"I was there," Vivian said, slowly, bitterly. "I was there, and I saw what you did through the slats of the pantry door. I saw you gun each one of them down, and finish Roseanne off with that knife you pride yourself over."

Frost stood up straight then, his mouth open in shock, eyes still wide with surprise. He was stupefied, as if the past had rushed forward and slammed into him, taking the wind out of his chest.

"Roseanne, that was her name? I was trying to-"

Vivian took a violent step toward him, gripping the pistol with both hands. Her eyes grew wide with rage and her lips drew back in a snarl.

"Don't say her name! Don't you _dare_ say her name! You didn't know her, you never cared, you're a sadistic murderer who cut her throat! You _are_ Jack the Ripper, except this time, you've been caught."

She began advancing on him. Frost started to back up, hands still raised.

"Vivian, I'm a soldier..."

"Five years I've been waiting to find you."

"...my duty is to fight and to kill enemies of the UNSC and the UEG..."

"I'm dreamed of you, of what I'd say, of what I'd do when I found you."

"...they were armed...they were in the presence of Insurrectionists..."

"I was just going to pass you up, let sleeping dogs lie. Not not. You're not even going to get a fair trial."

"...I was _forced_ to fire, Vivian! What was I supposed to do? Let them shoot me!?"

"I won't let you get away this time, Jack the Ripper. You're a murderer!"

Vivian was only a few feet away from him when her foot caught on something. She only stumbled a little. When she looked down, she realized it was a misplaced dumbbell that hadn't been returned to its shelf on the training floor. However, as she looked back up, Frost pulled his own pistol from his holster and aimed it at her. Vivian froze but kept her sidearm trained on him.

"I resent these accusations of murder. I adhered to the UNSC's rules of engagement that night; those were not extrajudicial killings, Vivian!"

"They were just teenage girls. They just wanted to get away from the UNSC!" Vivian cried. "They were innocent! They had their own beliefs and were trying to carry them out, _and you killed them for it!_ "

"Vivian, put your pistol down!" Frost hollered back. "I don't want to shoot you!"  
"I don't care what happens," Vivian snarled, "no matter what, you're not leaving this place alive!"

Silence fell between the two. Vivian's eyes were locked on Frost. Beads of sweat rolled down his face. He was exhaling and inhaling loudly, but even as his shoulders rose and fell, his hands remained steady. Vivian could feel her hands tremble, the pistol shaking in her clutch. Time seemed to slow down and her mind wandered. Firing first would keep her alive. But would it be like in the movies when both gunslingers fired at the same time? No, she'd be faster. Frost was a trained killer, a murderer who had perfected his art against both men and monsters. He was faster, definitely faster than her. It would be her skill against his experience. Vivian had complete confidence in her skills. His experience would have nothing.

A hand clamped down on Vivian's hands from the side. Before she could even see who it was, she felt herself knocked off her feet by a swift kick. Vivian felt the air go out of her as she hit the titanium deck, hard, and a knee buried itself in her gut.

She looked up at saw it was Colonel Hayes, with fury in his eyes. Frost approached.

"Nice one, Colonel, she was about to-"

Hayes, with lightening reflexes, snatched the gun out of Frost's hands. "Hey!" was all Frost could manage before Hayes grabbed his wrist, yanked him down to ground level, flipped him onto his side and put him a chokehold.

"Just what in the fuck is going on in here!?" he bellowed, all charisma and enthusiasm vacant from his being, "Captain Waters, why were you pointing a weapon at one of my men!? Sergeant Frost, why were you holding a gun against Captain Waters!?"

Vivian regained her voice first.

"That man murdered my friends five years ago on Skopje, during your counter-Insurrectionist operation," she said, her voice still hoarse.

Hayes looked down at Frost and lessened the tightness of the chokehold just enough to let him speak. Frost was gripping his senior officer's burly arms with both hands, struggling to get free.

"She called me a murderer and pulled a gun on me, Colonel. She was going to kill me."

"No she wouldn't of!" called a voice.

Vivian, Hayes, and Frost all looked at the door that led into the classroom. Maddox, Frost's combat engineer and technician, was standing there with his pistol still aimed at Vivian's head. Vivian couldn't believe that she hadn't seen or heard the Scotsman.

"Maddox, stow that pistol."

Some of the armory technicians appeared, looks of horror plastered on their faces.

"What's happening?" one asked.

"Should we get the security team? Should we get Holst?" asked another.

"No!" Hayes yelled, "Maddox, round up everybody who's still in here and put them in the classroom. Do not let any of them out. If anyone tried to run, put a bullet in their foot."

"Aye, sir."

As Maddox carried out his orders, Hayes pulled both Frost and Vivian to their feet. He hand a large hand on either one's neck, like a father separating his two squabbling children. Gripping them tightly and leaving their sidearms on the deck, Hayes pushed them into the locker area, then to the staircase that led into the observation room. It was empty. He pushed both of them in, roughly, finally letting go of their necks, and shut the door.

"Explain yourselves. Waters, you first."

Vivian told him everything, the entire tale of that night. She told him of that shadow that flew into the room, gunning her five friends down. She told him how they were just teenagers who had high ideals and wanted to live away from the government. It was a conscious choice they made, she explained, and didn't want to cause anybody harm. But Frost had burst in and only gave them two, brief warnings before he began spraying the room with lead.

"And he took his time with my last friend. Her name was Roseanne. He killed her with that fucking knife of his, cut her throat."

"Yeah, because she tried to stab me," Frost muttered.

"You were already reaching for it!"

"Can it, both of you!" Hayes snapped. "Are you done, Waters?"

"Yes. I think so."

"Fine. Frost, now you can talk."

Frost explained how he moved into the run down area with the rest of the MEU under the cover of sniper fire. He went to the building his squad was assigned to take down and cleared it with his squad. Below were armed Insurrectionists, and he went up to the highest floor and gave a warning to the girls to lay down their weapons, but he had reason to believe they were going to fight back, seeing as they hadn't dropped their pistols. He had the gall to say that he couldn't take any chances, so after he killed the first one, he assumed the rest were hostile. After securing the room he checked to see if they were dead, but when he checked on the third and attempted to render first aid, she attacked him and he was forced to respond. That was too much for Vivian.

"Liar! You were going for your knife! You were going to torture her!"

She stormed towards him but Hayes shoved her back before she could close.

"Stay where you are, Captain!" he growled. "Frost, is that all?"  
"Yes, sir."

"Alright," Hayes turned to Vivian, anger still on his face. "Before I put any input into this, what would you have me do, Captain Waters?"

This was her opportunity. She wouldn't get another one.

"My actions in the past few minutes were rash, but this man operated beyond the rules of engagement, and five, scared teenage girls paid the price. I demand that we investigate his role in the operation and bring him to court for breaching UNSC law."

Hayes sniffed, nodded, and turned to Frost.

"What about you?"

Frost looked more pissed than Vivian had ever seen him. He was staring daggers into her. She knew if Hayes wasn't here she'd be fighting those daggers off.

"I'm innocent, sir. These accusations have no weight or foundation. I operated within the rules of engagement. What I did was not murder."

"And what did you do?" Vivian snarled slowly.

Frost stared her dead in the eyes.

"My job."

Vivian lunged for him again but Hayes pushed back once more.

"One more outburst like that Waters and I'll break your rib cage, understand!?" Hayes hollered. He regained his composure with a heavy sigh. "Captain Waters, I cannot agree to such an investigation. I say this with complete impartiality; I was there as well and received a full report of the night's events. Sergeant Frost carried out his orders within the boundaries of the rules of engagement and UNSC law. I understand your feelings but your friends were armed, and were collaborating with the enemy, and thus became hostiles."

"They were my friends," Vivian said slowly, her hands balled up into fists. Her world was crashing down around her. Frost was slowly but surely becoming untouchable. With Hayes' decision, he would go unpunished for his crimes.

"Yes, they were," Hayes continued, "and if they had been taken prisoner they would have been detained and put on trial for collaborating with the enemy. They would have spent most of their lives in prison. Some might have considered that as treason, and they may have been put to death anyways."

Vivian felt tears well up in her eyes.

"They were innocent."

"No, they weren't," Frost said solemnly. Vivian began her charge and Frost braced himself, but Hayes caught her arm just as she flashed past him. She struggled in his grip. The memories of her friends, from their childhood together to their eventual deaths, clawed at her mind. Every fiber of her being wanted to tear itself apart in rage. Her growls and snarls were filled with fury as she tried to grab Frost, but she was too far, and her fingertips brushed his shirt.

"Back off, Waters!" Hayes said, and pushed her so hard she almost fell onto her back.

"I won't have a _murderer_ serving on my ship."

"You won't, because I'm _not_ a murderer," Frost said.

"Frost, shut up!" Hayes shouted, "Captain Waters, Frost had been assigned to this ship. He will remain on the ship for the duration of our mission. You will not touch him not confront him about this any further. If you make an attempt on his life I will have you arrested, I will wrest your command from you, you will go to court, and you will be convicted. While he is on this ship, you will treat him with respect and put your dispositions against him aside! Order among the ship must be maintained, and your revenge will destabilize it!"

Vivian remained silent, her anger burning bright with every breath she took. She kept her eyes locked on Frost. His face was emotionless, but to her, he seemed smug, victorious.

Hayes towered over her, "I won't let you leave this room until you agree. You want to be the captain of this ship, you leave my trooper alone. If you try this again, or try to start an investigation, I will address Rear Admiral Travers myself and will have you removed."

Everything said no. Her mind, her body, her soul all said no. Agreeing would be wrong, morally wrong. Five girls were dead and the killer was only a few feet away. Because of the rules of engagement, he was a hero and a legend, instead of a murderer. Vivian shut her eyes, blocking out the voices of the dead, trying to replace them with her own-the captain's voice-and that of Jasmine's. Reason would keep this fleet running, reason would ensure their mission wasn't scrubbed. The mission, the fleet, the men and women her relied on her, they were more important. And it made all five of her ghosts, all five skeletons in her closet, shriek and scream with betrayed agony. It made Vivian want to scratch her eyes out. It felt like acid was running through her veins.

"Fine," she said, her voice nearly coming to a sob, "fine..."

Hayes nodded gruffly. Frost was beginning to leave but Hayes grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him close.

"And you!" he roared, "You won't cross the Captain, understand? I may be your commanding officer, but she is the supreme commander of this task force. An order from her should be treated with the same respect you give to one of mine. You will obey her commands to the best of your abilities, understand?"

"Are you serious, Colonel?" Frost asked indignantly, "She pulls a gun on me and threatens to shoot me, and you want me to treat her with respect?"

"You will, or you'll see home before any of your buddies."

Frost's eyes widened with betrayment and despair.

"Sir, you wouldn't?"

"I would. You've earned your right to be in this unit and fight in this war, but you can still lose that right. The last thing I want to do in the world is dishonorably discharge one of the best soldiers I've ever seen, but I'll do it to maintain order in this task force."

Frost shut his eyes. He was obviously struggling with this too. Eventually, he opened his eyes.

"Yes, Colonel," he said bitterly. Vivian interpreted those two words as: fuck you.

"Alright then, we three are agreed," Hayes said, his red face returning to his normal color and his voice regaining its normal volume. "I'd lock you both in here until you sorted out your differences, but I don't think I can trust you to do it."

A feeble attempt at humor resulted in silence. Hayes sighed. "Captain Waters, those men in the classroom deserve an explanation. Shall you tell them, or shall I?"

"You."

"Fine then. You're both going to sit in here until Maddox comes up here to retrieve Frost, understand? And not a word about this to anybody. Not your squad, Frost, and not your staff, Captain."

Vivian nodded slowly, while Frost mainly grunted. Hayes stomped out. Vivian watched him go, then turned her eyes back on Jack the Ripper.

* * *

Frost leaned against a control panel with his arms folded across his chest. He felt pissed off. Eight years of diligent service hadn't earned him a goddamned thing apparently. Hayes left him out to dry, letting the Captain draw on him, threaten his life, and accuse of murder without bringing it up with higher authorities. Now, he was stuck in there with her.

He watched Vivian from across the room. She had seated herself on the arm of one of the chairs. Tears silently rolled down her cheeks. Her eyes glistened like jewels, but they were still filled with fury.

"You'd be more comfortable if you actually sat in the chair instead of the arm of it," Frost jested. Vivian's eyes darted in his direction, red from the tears.

"Fuck you..." she seethed.

"I'm not going to say sorry for what I did."

That made Vivian jump to her feet. Frost stood up straight, balling his hands into fists and holding his arms down by his sides, bracing himself for a shouting match.

"You're a fucking monster. How can you not have remorse for killing five teenage girls?"

"You don't think I replayed that scene in my head when that happened?" Frost growled, "I had nightmares about that night."

"And that makes it okay to you?"

"No. The rules of engagement do. My orders that night do. I'm a soldier, I follow orders. It's my job. It took me a year to figure that out and I finally forgave myself for that night and what happened on Skopje those years ago. You ought to make your peace too."

"Make my peace? Like it's that simple? Go fuck yourself! My best friends, my _only_ friends for most of my life, died that night because of you. Do you have any idea what it's like to look into the face of the man who killed your friends? Who killed them without hesitation, without second thought, without any doubt, without any ounce of humanity!?"

Frost wouldn't say, but he had to admit that he didn't know what that was like.

"It's hard to fucking sympathize with you when you just had a gun in my face less than fifteen minutes ago."

"I don't want your sympathy. I want you behind bars. What would be even better is if you dropped dead."

"Well, I'm not doing either anytime soon. I've got military law on my side. What have you got?"

Vivian stopped. Her entire body trembled. Frost folded his arms across his chest. "You don't have jack shit. Take it from me, don't fucking dwell on things. They only fester like an infected wound."

"Like you don't. I remember seeing you in the armory, that night we rescued you all from Ambition. You're hypocrite."

Frost grimaced. Vivian took a step closer to him. "I don't want you to say sorry. I want you to pay for your crimes. How many other people have you killed? Hm? How many other innocent people have you murdered?"

"None."

"Oh really? Hayes told me about how you assaulted that bunker and killed all those men with that big fucking knife of yours? Everyone thinks you're this man of honor, they put you up on that pedestal like a saint, but you're just a liar like everyone else, another killer."

"You're forgetting, my dear Captain, that there's a difference being killing and murdering. I've never committed a murder. I've personally killed thirty-nine human beings, if that's what you're asking."

And Frost remembered all of their faces, except for those five girls. It had been too dark to see them; the only light came from the muzzle flash of his assault rifle and the small flashlight attachment. Their bodies had been twisted, contorting entities that looked more like ragdolls than humans when he had been firing. Even the first girl, who he had kept the light on for a few moments, he couldn't remember her face.

Vivian looked appalled, like he was a beast of some kind.

"You are about the most inhuman person I have ever met. How can you live with yourself? You killed the people you were supposed to protect."

Frost took a violent step forward.

"Protect? Those people I fought were thieves, murderers, kidnappers, and rapists. If you had ever seen the things they did, you wouldn't be singing the same tune you are now."

"Then enlighten me. You're the ever-so-perfect saintly Nathaniel Frost, who can do know wrong and knows more than everybody else. Fill me in."

"No! I won't!" Frost shouted, "You weren't there on those hillsides, in those forests! You didn't see what happened up there, you were just a scared little girl hiding in a pantry! You don't _deserve_ to know. You might think yourself better than me because you've never had to take human life, but you were ready to take mine down there a few minutes ago, weren't you? Who's the hypocrite now?"

Frost stuck his finger in her face. "The only way you'll ever figure it out is if you kill another person yourself, but you don't have the guts or the heart to do that. So until then, you won't get anything out of me about what happened on Skopje, and you can't make me regret those girls' deaths, because I don't. I had orders. I carried them out. End of story. If you can't accept that, then you're no soldier."

Vivian was about to say something when Maddox stepped through the door. He leaned against the frame with a labored sight.

"C'mon Nate," he said with his heavy accent, "time to go."

Frost looked over at him.

"What did Hayes say to you and the rest?"

"Said to keep our traps shut unless we want to end up spending the rest of our tours in the brig. Nobody'll talk, I'm sure of it. Hayes is good at scaring people like that."

"Alright," Frost turned to Vivian. He clicked his heels together, stood at attention, and saluted.

"Get out of my sight..." Vivian said slowly through clenched teeth.

Frost walked out of the armory with Maddox at his side.

"We going to eat dinner?" Frost asked. Maddox put a hand out and stopped him.

"Are you daft, man? Bullocks to dinner, what the fuck happened in there? I'm stowing my weapons and next thing I see is the Captain with a gun on you."

"Keep your voice down."

"No one's here, Nate. What happened?"

"Waters accused me of murdering her friends five years ago on Skopje."

"She was there?"

"Yeah, she's from Skopje. She saw me kill them."

"So you did it?"

"They had pistols and wouldn't drop them. I had to take them down."

"Well, she ain't got jack on you then."

"Yeah, but Hayes says I still have to follow her orders, and that she can't do anything to me either. How fucked is that?"  
Maddox sighed. He ran a hand down his orange goatee.

"Gotta think big picture, Nate. Big man once discipline to be maintained. Commander of the task force and a marine being at each other's throats ain't good for discipline. Or morale. Or order. Basically, it ain't good for our line of work, boy-o."

"I thought he'd have my back more than that."

"Stopped you from getting shot, or doing something stupid."

"Is defending myself stupid?"

"No. But shooting the Captain of the ship? That's not just stupid, that's fuckin' madness."

Frost groaned and threw his arms up into the air in despair.

"Christ, I can't believe that all just fucking happened! Can you believe it? The captain of the ship was there, five years ago, and saw everything! And now she's the captain of a ship, the leader of a fleet, and now I'm under her command! I can't believe it. She was there, and now she's here."

"A real blast from the past," Maddox remarked, lighting a cigarette. Frost reached out and took the cigarette, taking a long drag on it. Maddox snatched it back. "You've got your own, ya prick."

"Sorry, sorry. I just...I just can't believe all this. I feel like my damn heart is going to burst through my chest."

"Think we should go to the infirmary?"

"Shaddup," Frost said. He braced himself against the wall of the ship with one hand. "Man, I have no idea what to do with myself. That's insane, what just happened in there. I can't just brush that one off."

"You were more concerned with dinner a second ago."

"Yeah but it really just hit me," Frost said, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

"If you don't your ass moving, I'll hit you."

That was enough to make Frost crack a nervous smile. He laughed anxiously and stood up.

"Okay. Okay. I'm okay. This is nuts but I can deal with it. How about you? How're you dealing with it?"

Maddox shrugged.

"We've seen some crazy things in five years, some of which happened about a month ago. We drove onto a Scarab and outran a nuke. That isn't nuts to you?"

"This takes the cake, I think," Frost said as they resumed walking, "would you have taken the shot?"

"If she put a round in you, you bet I would have. I was just about to make myself known too, but Hayes sneaked up on you two."

"How can such a huge guy make almost no noise."

"I have no idea. You need some water. Come on."

Frost had stayed up all night, thinking. His mind had been torn between memories of Skopje and the recent events in the armory. He felt betrayed by Hayes and his military mind told him to tell his friends-his strength would come in numbers. But he wasn't fighting a war with the Captain. She was in a different uniform, a different branch, but she was still UNSC, still human. The enemy was the Covenant, not each other. But Frost lay in bed and didn't feel safe. Irrationality was not something he exhibited often, but more than once he imagined an ONI hit squad breaching his barracks and putting two rounds in his chest and one in his head.

His mind had wandered further and further back, however. He remembered that night perfectly. Everything about Skopje he remembered. Those heavy woodlands, the hillsides, the mountains, the sprawling grasslands. Skopje was billed as a heavily developed world, but that was geared more towards its urban areas. Much of the planet was left untouched, despite all those rail networks. That snowcapped mountain stood vigil over that city-what was it called, Lionel? Yes, that was it, Lionel City. The rebel base was on the other side. They prowled through those trees, searching for people who wandered into the woods for camping getaways. Sometimes they would come down to derail a train and loot the goods. Someone must have had access to all those old, cheesy Western movies, where gunslingers wearing masks boarded the train and stole all the passengers valuables, blew the safe, and ran off with the money inside. Those Innies were a touch bunch. An evil bunch. Frost remembered the bodies. Those bodies, naked, in the snowy grass, butched and sliced, with only a few survivors among them, crying silently.

Vivian defended them to an extent. She hadn't been there, hadn't seen what he saw. Maybe she had seen flesh and blood as she grieved over the bodies of her friends, but out there, in those forests, on those hillsides, it had been worse. Atrocities he could have never imagined had been committed there. All of what he did on Skopje was to avenge those who had suffered at the hands of the Insurrectionists. It had taken time to recover from the shock of killing humans, taking comfort in orders. He hadn't said it to Vivian because she wouldn't have understood, but seeing what the Innies had done, made him understand that he had right on his side, no matter how brutal he had been.

Morning hadn't come quick enough. Of course, their physical examinations were due. Frost had been the last one to go. Maddox had shared a knowing glanced with him as they filed out of the barracks and headed to the medical wing of the ship. It was a glance that hadn't lasted more than three seconds, but it was one that said: keep your mouth shut.

Frost had been the last one to go. He had been dreading it. Making it worse was that it was Jasmine who was examining him. Frost had never gotten naked in front of a woman before. His pediatrician had been a middle-aged man. Jasmine was a woman around his age and a good looking one at that. Uncomfortable was a grave understatement. Frost had stood with his hands folded over his crotch. The boiling point had been when Dr. Jasmine had had to check for testicular cancer. Frost had blushed as she felt for lumps and made him cough. Dr. Jasmine had been kind enough to try and make him feel more comfortable, centering her humor around his missing tooth. She teased him that it wasn't clean enough. Frost appreciated it but it didn't help too much. If he was honest with himself though, he hated the blood pressure cuff more than anything else, even standing there naked in front of the doctor.

He was distracted the entire time too. His mind kept falling back to Vivian Waters. Would she have pulled the trigger? He couldn't figure it out. She was lost in righteous fury. Was is righteousness or a blind lust for revenge? Frost had lost friends but he had shoulders to lean on and understood that casualties were unavoidable in war. Even at sixteen, he knew that. Vivian had been, what, a fifteen year old girl? No fifteen year old-no, no person of any age could cope with seeing someone's death firsthand as well as a soldier could. A soldier had the training. He was prepared for loss. Even though watching his buddies died had been like have a limb torn off, Frost had been able to cope. Regret plagued him, but he carried on. He had to admit that she hadn't broken from seeing it. She was strong, definitely stronger than most. Not many came out of something like that like she did. Frost had separated his disposition from the recent events from what he had come to learn of her; Vivian was determined, honorable, and selfless to a point. She assumed command with grace, ran a tight ship, and maintained her promises that she made to the crew. Most military individuals would idolize someone like that. But underneath was that fifteen year old girl, and that girl wanted to put a bullet in him. What the hell was he going to do?

That question clung to Frost's mind all night and through the entire physical, and had led him to the door to Dr. Jasmine's office. It was later in the day, and the examination period was over. She was probably organizing her files; Frost felt guilty already for intruding. Guilt. Did he feel guilt over those people he killed? Those five girls? No. Even now, seeing Vivian, seeing the way she had turned out, the way their deaths and his actions had affected her, did he feel guilt?

 _No. It is_ no _, right? I don't, do I?_

Frost sighed and rubbed his temples. His mind hadn't shut up since he walked out of the armory with Maddox. He longed for control again. That one question needed an answer.

He raised his hand and knocked on the door.

"Come in."

The door slid open and Frost entered. He saluted and stood at attention as it slid shut behind him.

"Sergeant Frost, ma'am!" He said.

Dr. Jasmine laughed.

"Please, don't be so formal, Sergeant. How can I help you?"

"Thank you, ma'am," Frost rocked back and forth on his feet. Jasmine was at her desk, taking a pause from typing. Her brow furrowed and she looked concerned.

"Are you alright, Sergeant Frost?"

"Yes, yeah, I am."

"You seem nervous."

"No, no. I'm not."

Dr. Jasmine lifted an eyebrow. Frost shrugged.

"I was hoping we could talk about something."

Jasmine blinked. She took off her glasses, set them down on her desk, folded her hands together, and smiled pleasantly.

"Sergeant, I understand physical examinations can be a bit stressful..."

"What? No, no it's not about that. It's about something else. Not a therapy thing. Just...talk."

Frost cleared his throat. Dr. Jasmine looked at him for a few moments, then nodded.

"Very well. Would you like to sit here at the desk or the chairs."

One looking at the non-regulation furniture was enough for Frost. Sitting in those fancy armchairs or the stereotypical leather couch he had seen in every movie that involved a therapist, he opted for the desk. He approached and sat down.

"Listen Doctor..."

"Please, in here, it's just Jasmine."

"Jasmine, right. Okay. You're pals with the Captain, right?"

"Yes. We've been friends since we met at OCS."

"Close friends?"

"I'm her closest friend."

"So you know her inside and out?"  
"I am her doctor too, so yes."

Frost blinked. Jasmine smiled awkwardly.

"That was a joke."

"Oh."

"Just a little attempt at humor."

"Yeah...good one."

Frost noticed a slight blush on Jasmine's cheek and she nervously ran a hand back along her dark hair. He cleared his throat again and continued.

"I understand she lost some people close to her a long time ago."

Jasmine looked at him suspiciously.

"Yes. Her friends were unfortunately killed during a UNSC operation. Why do you ask?"

Frost couldn't hold back any longer.

"Look, Jasmine. I won't lie. I was the one who did it. But my actions didn't breach the rules of engagement, all of what I did that night-"

He stopped as Jasmine slowly rose to her feet, her eyes wide.

"What has Vivian done?"

Frost's words escaped him for a moment. But he relented.

"Captain Waters pulled a gun on me yesterday. She called me a murderer. I don't know if she was going to pull the trigger but Hayes stopped everything and made us promise not to tell anyone or do anything against one another."

That was all Frost managed to say before Jasmine slammed her fist on the desk so hard everything loose jumped an inch off the top. She picked up her glasses and stormed out.

* * *

Jasmine had marched down the halls of the ship with her hands balled into fists until she reached an elevator. She rode the elevators and steamed her way through the hallways, ignored all greetings. Eventually, she found herself at Vivian's cabin. She opened the door without knocking. Her office was empty. It was the end of Vivian's watch so she had to be there.

Without skipping a beat, Jasmine burst into Vivian's personal room. Vivian was in a tank top and underwear.

"Gah, fuck!" she cried, "Jasmine what the hell!?"

"You idiot!" Jasmine hollered, "You pulled a _gun_ on him!? Are you _insane?!_ "

Vivian had the look of a deer caught in the headlights.

"Who told you?"  
"Frost did!"

"He agreed not to tell anybody!"

"Oh, so you weren't going to tell me!? Me, your best friend?"

"Jas, it all happened so fast. He said one thing and it just...just...lit a fire in me."

"You pulled a gun on him!"  
"Jas, can I please put some pants on before we do this!?"  
"No you fucking can't! We're talking about this _right now_!"

Jasmine stormed over and seized Vivian by the shoulders. It took all of her restraint not to shake her. "Viv, you are a _Captain_ of the _UNSC Navy_! You are responsible for not one ship but five, and all of the souls aboard them! We have a mission to aggressively engage the Covenant at any opportunity, a mission almost no other UNSC task force has had for years! And you pulled a _gun_ on a fellow soldier!? Vivian, are you insane!?"

Their shouting match last for twenty minute straight. Jasmine had never been so furious in her entire life. She couldn't think of one other person she had ever been so royally _pissed_ at. Vivian could have squandered her entire naval career with one idiotic action. Jasmine made it very clear that she could have jeopardized everything that she had achieved and could be convicted to life in prison or capital punishment for treason. Her life was on the line in those brief moments. Furthermore, Frost could have killed her, or somebody else. How the hell was she going to explain why the body of one of the most legendary marines was lying in a pool of blood at her feet? What was she going to do with the murder weapon, toss it in a cupboard and hope nobody finds it!

"Do you honestly think it's worth committing murder to avenge your dead friends?" Jasmine finally yelled at her.

That made Vivian back down. Both Jasmine and Vivian were red in the face and huffing as if they had run a marathon. Tears came to Vivian's eyes and she sat on the end of her bed. Jasmine studied her for a moment. Vivian didn't look like a captain anymore. If she wasn't in uniform, no one could have guessed she was an officer in the UNSC. Vivian had a small, heart-shaped face, with smooth cheeks that had a natural pinkness to them. Her lips were not plump or large but no where close to being considered thin. Her body was that of a dancer's; slim and athletic, with a healthy amount of muscle. No one ever expected a woman like her to be the captain of a battle wagon like the _I'm Alone_. But she had pulled it off, defied all expectations, even with all that baggage, all that rage, all that hate that had built up over the years. Already she had completed great feats that Jasmine was proud to have been a part of. She could think of anyone admired more than Vivian.

"They were my friends," Vivian said, doing her best not to cry, "I grew up with them. We trusted each other. No one else gave me the time of day, but they did. They cared about me. I cared about them. I loved them. They were like my sisters. And that man, that... _monster_...came in the night and ripped them from my life."

A solitary tear worked its way down her cheek. "They meant everything to me then. They didn't deserve to die like that. Nobody does. Everyone trashed them, called them traitors. It was like everything they had ever been was just erased in one night. They weren't traitors. They were my friends, and that's how I'll always see them."

Jasmine sighed. She walked over and sat on the bed beside her.

"I know, Viv."

"All I did was sit there and watch them die. Sometimes I think there was something I could have done. Maybe I could have said something to make him stop. Maybe if I had just joined them, accepted their offer, we could have left before the UNSC came."

"You can't do that to yourself, Viv."

"I can't help it. It has always felt like my fault. I want to make things right."

"Did you ever think that there are no wrongs to right?"

"Five innocent girls died horrible deaths. There's something wrong about that, Jasmine. Isn't that wrong to you?"

It was difficult to say. On one hand, Jasmine was an officer of the most powerful element of the United Earth Government: the United Nations Space Command. At its heart, it was a military organization. She was a doctor and a soldier. Orders were orders. Frost's orders that night had been to assault the Insurrectionist and eliminate any threats. He had done so. It just so happened that five of the hostile Insurrectionist were Vivian's companions. Would they have fired, would they have surrendered? She didn't know. When someone was paralyzed by fear, there was no chance of them carrying out the next action, whether it was right or wrong. Frost had judge whether they were threats or not. Vivian told her upfront that her friends hadn't dropped their weapons. Frost had been forced to shoot. Anyone would say that it fell under the rules of engagement. Even if they hadn't, he had orders to follow. If it was an issue, it was an issue with the orders. Indecent orders reflected on the man who did that, not the man who carried them out. Hayes would be the one to investigate then, not Frost. But there wasn't a single problem with the orders. It was a standard operation from Jasmine could figure out. Perhaps there were other elements to the operation that she and Vivian were unaware of, but all of what she had to go on portrayed the action as legal by UNSC standards.

On the other hand, Jasmine was human. And she was empathetic by nature. Already she regretted barging in like she did, confronting Vivian when she wasn't even fully dressed. Not to mention Jasmine had her issues with synesthesia; she could feel Vivian's sorrows, her anguish, her frustration. It took a lot of her energy to fight these emotions that were not her own. But Jasmine was moral, she was human. She believed in justice. She believed that five idealistic girls deserved more than bullets in the night and slander on their names. Vivian was right; nobody deserved to die like that. If she was a civilian, she would have deemed it murder. Not only the man who carried out the killings, not only the man who ordered him to carry them out, but the entire UNSC had to be held accountable.

Which was she to give into, the human philosophy or the mindset of the military officer? As much as it pained her, she still had to side with the latter.

"Viv, I'm a broken record. But these people, this fleet, they need you. They need a strong leader they can trust, someone who fight on their behalf, who would die for them, who would never lead them astray. You are that person, that leader. You need to be that for them or they'll be lost."

"What if I'm lost myself?"

"You won't be if you focus. Focus, Vivian, focus. Keep your eyes and your mind on the mission."

Vivian nodded.

"But what about Frost?"  
"He's a marine. He's a good marine. We need men like him to get the fighting on the ground done."

"He's a murderer."

Jasmine put a hand on her back.

"And one of our best assets. If you try to get rid of him, you'll lose the support of the marines. Lose their support, and the fleet loses you entirely. We'll end up with somebody like Oswald or Hugh. You're the only person these people will ever trust. This was what you were meant to do. You're a great leader. Don't fail them now just because of one man."

"You say that like he didn't commit a crime. He's not an ex-boyfriend or something. He killed my only friends."

"Viv, you have to let go. Let go of them."

Vivian wiped her nose and swiped at her eyes.

"I can't."

"Try. You have to try."

* * *

The next day, Vivian ordered the fleet to head out. ONI prowlers had relayed information to the intelligence staff; the Covenant were on the move. Small scouting fleets had been spotted in systems that were neighbors to systems with human colonies in them. It was one of the last few Outer Colony systems, essentially the front line. But like most Outer Colonies, it was a heavily agrarian world, with limited infrastructure and still in the development phases. There wasn't a heavy military presence on the colony nor was there a fleet to defend it. Vivian's task force was closer than anybody else's, so Vivian ordered the fleet into slipspace.

Most of the ship's personnel had gone into cryo-sleep for the journey. Vivian kept a skeleton crew in order to monitor the ship. What was left were the normal bridge staffers and some of the engineering crews. Vivian, sitting at the captain's station as the ship traveled through slipspace, knew that Jasmine was most likely still awake, finishing up her efforts to organize and synthesize the data she had collected from the physical evaluations. Vivian hadn't gotten one yet, and with the bridge locked down, she decided it was as good a time as any.

"Bassot, you've got the bridge,"

"Aye, aye, Captain!"

Vivian took the elevator downwards She took a brief tour of the ship's main facilities. It was still strange experience to her eyes to see such a cavernous ship devoid of any life.

Hands folded behind her back, head hung low, Vivian thought and thought. Thousands of lives would live or die by her commands. Five lives had been lost just as many years ago, with the perpetrator behind their deaths lived. What was one life against five? What were five lives against thousands? What were thousands against the millions of people depending on them to fight on their behalf?

Putting smaller numbers against larger numbers wasn't going to get anyways. Reducing human lives to numbers took away the human aspect. Her friends had been good, innocent, respectful, intelligent, productive. They had never caused any real trouble, and they cared about one another as well as their own families. Frost was a soldier, through and through. His world consisted of combat and the rigid structure of military life. He fit into it better than most, she realized. Those that were drafted would always be something else. A truck driver who was drafted would still consider himself a truck driver. A mother of six would still see herself as a mother of six despite her new uniform. No, Frost's life, his job, his family, all of that was militarized. The UNSC Marine Corps had outfitted him with a new job and and issued him a new family. He was a good, productive member of the UNSC society. Some even considered him a hero.

A hero, he was not. Soldiers were killers. Vivian was an officer of the navy. Jasmine had called her a soldier, but she was no soldier. A sailor was different a soldier. How much different, though? Sailors fought on starships, not on the battlefields themselves. They still had to kill the enemy. Was Vivian a killer? She hadn't taken a man or an alien's life, but her orders brought the deaths of the entire crews of two Covenant corvettes. She didn't regret it. They were genocidal monsters bent on reducing humanity to ashes. Yet, didn't that make her a killer too? Her orders were designed to bring death, and in some cases Frost would be the tool to see those orders carried out.

No, she was better than him. Better than Hayes. She'd never force her crew to commit crimes such as those. There was no way to dress it up; her friends' deaths was a crime. Frost was a murderer. But she was an officer and leader, like Jasmine had said. It was her duty to see her crew survive this war, so she decided to make that her priority. But making Frost pay was next on her list.

Her thoughts were cut short as she entered the mess hall. Only one man was inside: Katz.

"Oh god..." she muttered under her breath.

Kazt was sitting at one of the long table and was writing something down. His duffel bag and cameras weren't with him. The correspondent soon spotted her.

"Oh, ooh, Captain Waters! Can I have a word?"

"I'm very busy."

"Just a moment please," Katz jogged over and activated a recording device. "Can I ask you, what are your feelings on meeting Covenant ships head on."

Vivian stared at him with aggravated eyes for a few moments.

"I have full confidence in my crew that we'll get the job done."

"Of course, of course, but seeing as how the UNSC has been suffering from such high casualty rates, don't you think that-"

"Katz, I'm two seconds away from throwing your ass out the airlock," Vivian threatened, "either save your smart ass questions for somebody with a higher tolerance level, or think up some better ones than that. Until then, keep out of my sight."

Vivian began to walk off, determined to leave the disappointed Katz in the mess hall.

"Oh, uh, Captain?"

"What?" Vivian turned around sharply.

"You said you'd fix accommodations for me? Nobody came to see me, I had to sleep on one of the couches in the recreation area."

He motioned to the couch. A small blanket resided on the cushions. He had used his backpack as a pillow and his duffel bag was on the floor beside it.

Vivian sighed angrily.

"Katz, I have five ships in slipspace right now and the crew is in the cryo-chambers. I need all of the remaining personnel to man their stations. You're going to have to wait until we exit slipspace."

"Oh, okay. Alright, thanks, I guess."

Vivian began walking again. She was almost out of earshot when she heard him say, "Slipspace sure is pretty...and bizarre, huh Captain?"

"Shut up, Katz!" Vivian snapped before she stormed off.

Walking like a ghost through the halls, Vivian's mind fell back to Frost. No one could tell he was a murderer except for her. That neat look of his, that toothy smile, it couldn't hide the truth from her. He'd pay, she'd make sure of that. One day, not even Jasmine could deter her from finding someway to make him atone for his sins. For now, she would be the leader her task force needed. But when the time was right, she'd exact revenge.

* * *

"Valjean, at last,

We see each other plain

`M'sieur le Mayor',

You wear a different chain.

...

I've hunted you across the years

A man like you can never change

A man... such as you..."

-Excerpt from 'The Confrontation,' _Les Misérables_

* * *

 **My god, I finally finished this chapter. It sucks and I hate it, but it's done. It's 4:40AM EST and this is your New Year's gift, Merry ho ho and all that jazz. Obviously there's no comment responses in this chapter because I've uploaded this with chapters 13 and 14, so there's none here. I'll begin work on chapter 15 soon (probably tomorrow...or whenever I feel up to it). Anyways, I hoped you enjoyed it, feel free to leave comments. I'll get back to them in the next chapter or if you'd, I can respond to you via PM, just say so in the comment you post. Always feel free to send me a PM, I'll get back to you as soon as I can and I don't mind having conversations.**


	15. Chapter 15: Invincible

**This is a reupload of the original chapter due to some continuity issues in terms of Covenant shield strength and the number of MAC guns on several ships. The chapter hasn't been fully edited, however, that will occur at a later date.**

* * *

Chapter 15: Invincible

* * *

"Six Covenant ships in total, ma'am! One _CCS_ -battlecruiser, two _CPV_ -destroyers, and three _SDV_ -class corvettes!" Tsang yelled as _I'm Alone_ and her fellow ships approached the besieged colony world.

Bassot laughed.

"Then it's an even fight!"

"They have one more than we do," Tsang said dryly, "and they have plasma cannons."

"Cut the chatter," Vivian ordered, then put a finger to her earpiece, "All ships, this is Waters. Begin charging your MAC guns. I'm sending coordinates for a formation now."

As she said this her fingers flew across the different keys of her station. It was going to be a standard line formation; _I'm Alone_ would take the center, _Best of the Best_ would take the left flank, and _Batavia_ the right. The line wouldn't be tight, however, there was going to be plenty of room between ships. The Covenant would have to pick and choose.

" _Lion's Den_ , _Determined Guardian_ , I want you to take positions above the firing line."

She wanted her heavy frigates to draw away the three _SDV_ -corvettes. It was crucial to her strategy, but it felt wrong in her gut to use them as a form of bait. The battlecruiser and destroyers were too much for them. Hell, even those corvettes posed a threat if they were attacking head on. "Decatur is sending coordinates and firing times. We're not in range yet so hold your fire. After your first shots, I want all ships to begin charging their MAC guns again for a second volley. Also prepare Archer missile pods, but do not use them until I give you the order to do so."

Vivian had worked the plan out in an instant. The capital ship and the destroyers were her priority. If they could take those out first, the three corvettes wouldn't stand a chance against the likes of her or Captain Kelly's ship.

 _I'm Alone_ would fire on the main ship. Two MAC rounds going one after the other was enough to knock out its shields. _Batavia_ and the _Best of the Best's_ targets were the destroyers. The former ship already had two MAC guns, so installing technology like the _I'm Alone's_ hadn't been difficult. Covenant destroyers were large ships, capable of taking a great deal of damage. More than three UNSC ships were often needed just to take down one. But their technology would give them the edge. The same couldn't be said for _Best of the Best_. They had a powerful MAC gun but it would only damage the enemy ship's shield. They'd need to warm up for a second shot to knock the shield out, and a third to cause damage to the ship itself.

"Frigates, it's important that you charge your main weapons but refrain from firing. On my signal, all ships in the firing line will use one of their starboard emergency thruster to propel the line to port. We'll have to stagger it; _Best of the Best_ , _I'm Alone_ , and _Batavia_. Frigates, when I give you the word, you are to use a topside emergency thrust to push your ships down and join the line. Is everybody clear on my orders?"

All four of her ships responded, "Yes, Captain!"

"Have you received your firing coordinates?"

"Yes, Captain!"

"Tsang, are we in formation?"  
"Yes ma'am; frigates are holding above us."

"All ships, slow ahead. Reduce speed. I want the Covenant to come at us."

Vivian stood up and looked at the large screen that was suspended on the wall. It showed her five ships in their formation, and the approaching Covenant vessels. Streams of data flow across the screen as well as her neural interface. The Covenant fleet had been hanging over the planet, seemingly doing nothing. But she knew what they had been up to up to; dropships had been deployed from their hangar bays and were landing on the colony world. Speed was of the essence; the sooner they engaged the enemy fleet, the sooner they could deploy their ground forces.

"Decatur, send word to Holst and Hayes. I want their troops ready now so that we can switch from fleet action to orbital support in a matter of seconds."

"Of course, madam!" Decatur chimed with his usual booming, enthusiastic.

"Also prep response teams; I want any dead or wounded collected and removed from damaged areas of the ship, and I want repair teams to be able to get to any part of the ship in less than three minutes."

"Yes, ma'am!" A few moments passed by as he sent the respective messages. Soon after, he replied, "Everyone is at their battle stations. We are fully prepared."

"Good."

This was it. Everything had been building up to this first real engagement. Their mission, all of their lives, depended on a positive outcome. What would happen if her ships were reduced to burn hulks floating in space? The colony world would be overrun without any orbital aid; millions would die. And all of her brave troops, the men and women under her command, would die. _She_ would die. This wasn't just a fight to save the colony world whose name she couldn't even pronounce, but a battle to their own survival. Vivian gritted her teeth. She was determined to see every single one of her ships through this battle unscathed.

The enemy corvettes broke off, rising higher than their three larger ships. Vivian felt a bead of sweat roll down the side of her. Yes, they were taking the bait.

"MAC guns are fully charged, Captain!" Bassot announced.

"All ships reporting that they MAC guns are hot and they have their missiles ready," Koroma added.

"Good work."

Vivian was proud of them. If she was going to die, she was going to die proud. Her four main bridge officers were working diligently at their consoles. Other staff kept their eyes glued to terminals and monitors. Solak was at his station, coordinating other teams on the ship. Everyone was focused, working as fast and hard as they could. Their faces glistened with sweat; the waiting was killing them. It was killing Vivian too. The Covenant ships were sluggish as they approached.

 _Taking their sweet time. They think they're going to just walk right over us. Not if I have anything to say about it._

"Captain, one mike until they're in range."

Vivian could see the bulbous, squid-like purple ships approaching, their strange shapes adding more ferocity to their reputation. She could see red and blue lights flaring on them. They were charging their weapons too. The heavier ships were picking up speed, leaving their corvettes behind. Yes, that was what Vivian wanted. Their overconfidence would be their downfall.

Seconds ticked by. Vivian had set a timer on her neural interface and she watched it countdown. Each number took an eternity to pass to the next one. Eventually, the timer reached fifteen. Then ten. Then five. Then...

"All ships on the firing line, fire! Frigates, hold fire!"

There was a terrific flash in the darkness of space as the MAC guns fired. While she had been in training, Vivian had read once that early steamships used to carry a signal cannon. Not only did they create one hell of a report that carried across the water when fired but they also caused a bright flash that could be seen from great distances. It was used only in distress. Vivian was reminded of that as the MAC rounds travel through space.

She watched as the _I'm Alone's_ first two rounds struck the battlecruiser. It took an average of three rounds to disable a Covenant shield. She watched as the two impacts spread across the white glow of the shield, which flickered a few times. The next two rounds struck; the first of the two finally overloaded the shields, and the second slammed right into the battlecruiser's nose. _Batavia_ had the same result with their target; three rounds two eliminate the shield and the fourth caused damage right on the head of the enemy ship. _Best of the Best_ hadn't been able to knock out the shield, as the destroyer only had two standard MAC cannons. The enemy shields were close to being overloaded, but still they remained active.

"All ships, begin recharging your MAC cannons! Hold for my signal to use thrusters! Frigates, hold position and fire at your coordinates!"

 _Lion's Den_ fired at the destroyer _Best of the Best_ had targeted. The MAC round splashed into the shield; the shield stuttered more than before, then died away completely. The three main capital ships were without shields. Perfect. _Determined Guardian_ had also fired on the battlecruiser. It was the largest ship so Vivian wanted to cause as much damage as possible to. Their MAC struck the enemy ship's bow, causing further damage. Particle dust billowed into space and purple flames appeared on the ship's nose.

"All ships on the main firing line, fire Archers now!" Vivian yelled over the comms. Scores of rockets streaked across the vast, empty blackness. Covenant ships had capable point-defense systems that could target and destroy many of the missiles as they traveled through space-but not all of them. The coordinates Vivian had selected were the ship's weapons. Causing damage to them would limit their offensive capabilities.

As some missiles were hit by point-defenses and were reduced to a puff of orange flame, the unhampered missiles slammed into their targets. Orange explosions grew out of the Covenant ships.

"Good hits, good hits," another officer said.

"Scans are showing that the missiles caused light to medium damage on several of the destined targets, and were able to disable at least one on all three ships."

That was good enough for Vivian.

"All ships, prepare another missile pod!"

"Ma'am, they're shooting at us!" someone yelled.

Motes of light appeared on the side and then flared brighter than before. Streaks of red and blew plasma flew silently towards the ships.

Vivian looked at the screen. The fleet's charging status was there; everyone was at a half charge. She looked back at the incoming plasma.

"Hold," Vivian said over the comms, "all ships hold."

"Ma'am, enemy corvettes are approaching above the main capital ships," Tsang informed her.

The three, smaller Covenant ships were still somewhat behind their larger, friendly ships. Their weapons were fully charged as well, but hadn't fired yet. Vivian studied them for a few moments and then pointed towards the enemy fleet.

"All ships, advance. I repeat, full speed ahead, all ships!"

Her five ships began advancing, staying in formation. The plasma was approaching faster. The charges were nearing seventy percent completion. Vivian stood tall and still, waiting for the right moment.

"Imminent impact!"

"Engage thrusters, all ships on the firing line, engage thrusters!"

Vivian was thrown across the bridge as her ship lurched to port. She sprung back to her feet in a moment, just in time to see the plasma bolt sail past them. "Damage report?"

Decatur turned to face her. "Zero damage across the entire fleet. The plasma missed us and we are still in formation."

Her strategy had paid off. Now they were almost fully charged while the Covenant ships were sitting there, defenseless.

Vivian was eager now. No, she was _excited_. No damage whatsoever and three large enemy ships stuck right in front of them. Perfect. It was perfect.

Her eyes were glued to the screen. A charging meter was underneath each image of the ship. They were almost finished.

"Ma'am, enemy corvettes are firing on _Lion's Den_ and _Determined Guardian_."

Oh, it was too much. The Covenant had played right into Vivian's hands. She smiled from ear to ear.

"Frigates, deploy your thrusters."

She watched the screen as the images of her two frigates quickly descended, falling into line perfectly. _Lion's Den_ settled between _Best of the Best_ and _I'm Alone_ , while _Determined Guardian_ came between the _I'm Alone_ and _Batavia_. It was another reason why she had left so much space between her three heavy ships; the intervals allowed her frigates to join the line without fear of collision.

Her eyes went back to the charging meters. A few moments, later the fleet was back to a full charge.

"All ships, you have your secondary coordinates...fire!" Vivian roared, pointing at the enemy ships ahead of her.

The ship shuddered as the MAC cannons fired again. Both pairs of rounds punched through the already damaged bow of the battlecruiser and traveled right through to its stern. Fissures appeared along the battlecruisers hull. White-purple flame leaked out from the cracks. A series of explosions riddled the enemy ship's hull, and finally, it broke apart.

Everyone on the bridge stood up and cheered. Vivian was in awe. Their third kill was a ship that outclassed their own. There it was, a magnificent field of charred purple hulks drifting through space. _Batavia_ and _Determined Guardian_ had just as much success. Their MAC rounds struck the first enemy destroyer with such force that it shuddered from end to end. It followed the same pattern of destruction as the battlecruiser, and after a few moments, it was in pieces. The new MAC rounds they had been issued were incredibly powerful, Vivian realized. Using them on the corvettes back at Ambition hadn't been a good demonstration. The amount of power it took to destroy such heavy ships with just a few rounds was astounding. That, and hitting all the right internal components.

The other destroyer exploded into large hunks after _Best of the Best_ and _Lion's Den_ fired their MAC cannons.

"Three Covenant ships destroyed," Tsang cheered, "holy shit!"

"I can't believe it!" Delaney joined in, who was normally reserved.

"Careful everyone, we're not out of the woods yet," Vivian said.

Her five ships glided by the wreckage of the three heavy ships. Vivian's plan was still going well; it was impossible for the enemy corvettes to change their angle; they passed by over their ships.

"All ships, maintain speed. I'm sending coordinates for our next position."

Vivian wasn't going to let those corvettes escape. She was monitoring their positions on the tactical screen. Scans weren't picking up slipspace ruptures and they were trying to reposition. Whoever was in command either had a trick up their sleeve or had a death wish.

Their route would take them around the planet. It would take only a few minutes. As they did so, still in formation, Vivian ordered all five ships to charge their MAC guns one more time. All it would take was one more salvo. Often, Covenant corvettes weren't shielded or armored to the extent of heavier ship types. But Vivian wasn't going to let overconfidence guide her actions.

"All ships, maintain your intervals, keep plenty of space between other ships. Reduce speed, those corvettes may be lining up to take shots at us as well."

Her cautiousness was well-founded but ultimately misplaced. The corvettes hadn't taken firing positions. One was breaking formation while the other two were heading towards the planet. Vivian was confused. Why had they done that? It would have made more sense to her to either commit to a full scale retreat or go out fighting. Perhaps they were trying to offload more troops and supplies to the planet before their destruction. The outlier was most likely trying to escape and bring reinforcements.

This was just going to be a mop-up operation now.

"Frigates, break off and enter the planet's atmosphere. Get in contact with whoever's in command down there and move to a position where you can provide fire support."

"Yes, ma'am!" replied Commanders Kolchak and Alastair in unison.

" _Best of the Best_ , pursue the fleeing corvette, don't let it escape," Vivian ordered.

"Solid copy, Captain Waters," said the newly-promoted Captain Slater, "they won't get away from us."

"Captain Kelly, take the leading corvette, _I'm Alone_ will take the second."

"Solid copy, out."

 _I'm Alone_ and _Batavia_ descended on the two corvettes like wolves about to pounce on sheep.

"Kelly, use only one MAC cannon to take these Corvettes down, I don't want to waste the ammo."

"Copy that."

Their MAC guns thundered together and two rounds pierced both Corvettes Vivian based her firing coordinates on locations where she believed vital components of the ship were, such as reactors, engines, and energy stores. Her intuition paid off, as detonations rippled along the hulls of both corvettes. Both soon broke up and more cheers resounded throughout the bridge.

A new stream of data flowed across Vivian's neural interface, but Decatur announced it to the crew.

"UNSC _Best of the Best_ is reporting a kill. One corvette down."

The cheering exploded. Everyone jumped to their feet, back-slapping, high-fiving, bear-hugging, and shaking hands. Vivian looked around at her joyous crew; some of them looked on the verge of tears as they went to one another, shouting in excitement. Even Decatur offered an huzza.

Vivian turned to the AI. She had to check. She had to hear it again, just to be sure.

"Decatur, casualty report?"

The blue hologram smiled at her.

"None, madam."

"Damage report?"

"All ships report no damage."

Vivian closed her eyes and smiled.

"Thank you Decatur."

She looked out at the wreckage of the six Covenant ships floating in the space around the planet. They were just hunks of metal now. One less fleet to worry about it and now their deployed troops had no support. That was the key, Vivian realized, to cut off the ground forces' support, and annihilate them with the marines. Already, her mind was mapping out new strategies, new tactics to employ against them.

"All ships, this is Captain Waters. That was one hell of a job. I'm proud of every single one of you. We took on a technologically superior force and brought about their complete destruction without suffering one casualty. What you've done is a feat that almost nothing fleet in the entire UNSC has ever accomplished. This is not just a victory for us, but for all of the UNSCDF. To quote Oliver Hazard Perry, we have met the enemy and they are ours."

She turned to her staff after further cheering subsided. "Alright, settle down. We've still go work to do. Delaney, coordinate with the rest of the intelligence team and start scanning the planet. I want all of its geographic traits, I want to know which cities are under attack, give me the number of Covenant troops, and find where they're massing their strength. Gather all of the intel you can and send and start feeding it to all of the ground commanders as well as my data pad."

"Aye, aye, ma'am," he said.

"Captain Waters," Commander Alistair said over the comm link, "I've gotten in contact with the Army garrison on the planet. Patching you in."

"Thank you, Commander."

A moment passed and a small stream of text on her neural interface indicated a new link had been established.

"This is Captain Waters of the UNSC _I'm Alone_. The Covenant fleet has been destroyed. Give me a sitrep, over."

"Army Colonel Lily Amsterdam here," the commanding officer replied, "The Covenant are retreating."

Vivian was shocked.

"Retreating, Colonel?"

"Yes, ma'am. Their deployment area is just outside the city limits; they've taken position on a hilly ridge line on the flatlands. You may have cut them off but they were able to get some heavy gear deployed. There's a large AA gun wreaking havoc on my Falcons. A ground assault without air support will result in heavy casualties."

Vivian scratched her chin.

"My marines are deploying right now, Colonel Amsterdam. Rendezvous with them and prepare for an assault. My frigates will dispatch the AA gun, my Shortswords will provide air support, and my Longswords will take care of any Covenant air assets. Coordinate with Colonel Hayes on how to carry the assault and send me your plan of attack before nightfall"

"You've got it Captain, Amsterdam out."

Vivian looked at another of the larger screens. Delany had brought up an image of the Covenant deployment area. It was definitely larger than she expected and the images that were scrolling by showed they were digging in. She was confident that her frigates would soften them up. The marines would crash over them like a tidal wave.

Her eyes fell. The marines. Frost. Was it wrong to hope that he would die in the attack? He didn't have to suffer-as much as she wanted him to. A quick death was acceptable. Incineration by plasma artillery, or a needler rifle round to his head. His death didn't have to come at her hands. The chance of war would be enough. Was it too much to ask?

"Ma'am, permission to speak freely?" Bassot asked.

Vivian turned. Bassot's hair and beard had grown out, and he looked more like a red-haired barbarian than a weapons officer.

"Granted."

"Meaning no disrespect, but seeing as we have orbital superiority, shouldn't all of the ships enter atmosphere and attack the Covenant base?" he shrugged then and added, "Wouldn't it make more sense just to nuke the place?"

"We can only spare the frigates for in-atmosphere ship support. We have to deploy our aircraft and troops but also have to be vigilant for a secondary Covenant incursion. There's a chance they sent a distress call and reinforcements will arrive, so we have to be prepared for that. A nuke is out of the question."

"Why, Captain?"  
Vivian tapped Delaney on the shoulder.

"Would you like to explain?"

Delaney, stone-faced, turn in his chair.

"This is a rather arid world; the flatlands around the city are almost deserts. Weather reports indicate that windstorms occur often. The wind could carry the radioactive fallout from a nuclear device into the city, potentially causing sickness and death among the populace."

The intelligence officer turned back to his terminal. Vivian turned back to Bassot.

"Trust me, I don't want to put more lives at risk than I have to..." _That's a white-lie; there's one man you wouldn't mind putting at risk..._ "...but we can't risk the effects it could have on the civilians. MAC rounds are safer."

Bassot chortled.

"Safe? Ha! After seeing what those MAC rounds did to those Covvie ships, I'd love to see what you consider _unsafe_ , Cap'!"

Vivian laughed.

"Alright, keep scanning the planet Delaney. Operations, keep scanning the sector for any other Covenant activity. Any sign of them, you let me know as quick as you can. Decatur, send word down to hangar. Scramble every available Longsword and Shortsword we have and give word for all the ships to deploy their marines."

She wiped her forehead. "Solak, take over for ten minutes. I'll be back momentarily. Keep me informed. Start preparing a full report to send to Rear Admiral Travers."

"Aye, aye."

Vivian left the bridge, shaking with excitement and adrenaline. She took the elevator and entered her office. She didn't know what to with herself. All this energy was rushing through her veins. Part of her wanted to hitch a Pelican, head down to the surface, and fight the Covenant there. She felt invincible.

She sat down at her desk before, breathing heavily and laughing a little. Part of her was just glad to be alive. Had she been holding her breath throughout that battle? Victory was hers and no one had been lost; she wanted to scream she was so happy.

As she did her best to relax her breathing and compose herself before heading back to the bridge, she remembered something. She opened a cabinet in her desk and retrieved the tall bottle of scotch. Her eyes were locked on it for a few moments, but she put it away.

 _Later. I'm on duty._

But then her eye caught the box of Sweet William Cigars Travers had given her. Vivian picked up the box, opened, and stared at the tightly back, bulky cigars for a moment. Travers' words echoed in her mind.

" _...just smoke one when you score a victory..."_

Vivian pulled one out and smelled the cigar; true it it's name, it did have a sweet scent. But she hesitated before grabbing the matches. Victory was hers, and the entire crews. But something inside her prevented her from smoking that victory cigar. It was a dark hole, a space occupied not by her mind and soul but the souls and demands of five others. Vivian sighed, and put the cigars away. The real victory was yet to come.

* * *

Frost stood beside the passenger side of the Warthog, observing the lights of the Covenant base. White and pink lights illuminated layer upon layer of defensive lines. He could see the large AA gun they had established on the ridge. It stood on three legs and the gun was pointed upwards, but remained silent. All aircraft had been ordered to hold off at a distance, attacking Covenant targets that had yet to arrive at their base of operations. As large as the gun was, it was accurate. It could take down a Longsword that was moving at full speed; Frost had once seen a similar gun take potshots at a frigate.

He held a hand in front of the cigarette he was smoking; he took one last drag on a cigarette before flicking into the dirt and stamping on it with his foot. A knowing smile crept across his face; he knew that AA gun wasn't going to get a single shot off before that frigate sent it to oblivion.

The sergeant turned around and rested his arms on the passenger seat of the Warthog. Netting had been drawn up over the seats to limit light output from the instruments. Night operations relief on stealth preparation. Part of that stealth meant concealing your numbers. Vehicle headlights, helmet lights, flashlight attachments, data pads, tactical pads like the one Frost wore on his left worst, all had to be turned off or covered. Even cigarettes had to be put out. In the old wars, the big ones, snipers could spot the orange dot of a burning cigarette and would fire at it. They'd up either scoring a headshot on an enemy soldier or wound a soldier who had held up a cigarette to get his hand shot so he could go home. The panel on the Warthog shone up, illuminating Steele's face as he readjusted the position of his sniper rifle. It originally had been on his left, the stock wedged between the seat and the edge of the Warthog's side, but now he was trying to lean it back against the passenger seat, with the stock pressed against the floor of the Warthog.

"Need help?" Frost asked.

"I don't need your sodding help," Steele said through gritted teeth. "Bullocks! Fucking thing keeps sliding to the side. Why do I have to drive when I have the sniper rifle?"

"Because you're the best driver out of all of us."

"So what do you want me to do, bruv? You want me drive or you want me to snipe? I can't do both at the same time!"

"I want you to drive until it's time for you to snipe," Frost said with a smile.

Before Steele could retort, Grant poked his head in from the back.

"Why the hell did they make all eight of us get into a frigging gun truck instead of one of the transport types? It's a tight squeeze back here, it'll make it hard for the MG to turn."

"I dunno G, but that's the way it is. The gun only has to point in one direction thought: forward. That's where the enemy is."

Frost was confident in the plan. Hayes and Amsterdam had decided for a full front attack spearheaded by Warthogs and followed up with Scorpions. The first wave of Warthogs would have gauss cannons or machine guns and the second, which would follow right on their tails, would bring the troops. These two waves would be made up of marines. The third wave would consist of the tanks, who would carry the Army troopers into battle. Once the marines had broken through the first defensive line and secured a foothold inside the Covenant perimetered, the tanks would exploit the breaches and offload more troops inside the enemy perimeter. The advance would then be support by the tanks, crashing through the barricades and letting the infantry through. All the while, they would have Shortswords carpet bombing enemy positions ahead of them and Falcons would buzz overhead, raking Covenant infantry with machine guns and grenade launchers. Longswords would keep any Banshees off their backs and the frigate, _Determined Guardian_ , would be firing the heavy machine guns on its hull, which were designed for ground support operations such as these.

"Net call, net call, all units, this is Colonel Hayes. Prepare for the assault. _Determined Guardian_ is moving into position. Once that AA gun is disabled, the advance will start."

Frost didn't get into the passenger seat just yet. He looked up. Night was coming quickly, but there was still some sunlight left. Behind the mountains in the distance, the sun was setting and cast a purple haze across the land. Already the sky was becoming a bluish color, dotted with white stars. None of that caught Frost's eye. He was more focused on _Determined Guardian_ , slowly moving into position above the assault force. It cast a shadow across the entire plateau and blocked out the sky. Now, night had truly fallen.

Once it had passed over his head, the MAC gun fired. Frost felt the earth shake as a streak of golden light struck the AA gun. The giant weapon hadn't even had a chance to fire.

The impact of the MAC kicked up a giant cloud of dust and sent it flying across the flatlands. Frost pulled his helmet over his face, and pulled the black bandanna he wore around his neck over his mouth and nose just before the dust cloud flew by. Dust coated his armor and bits of dirt bounced against the vehicles and his armor. When the wave of dust and sand died down, Frost fixed his helmet and climbed into the Warthog.

"Alright, hit it."

The Warthog sped forward as Frost slid a clip into his MA5B. Steele kept pace with dozens upon dozens of other Warthogs. Frost looked into the bed of their truck. Bishop, Knight, Langley, Maddox, and Moser were all seated on the floor, gripping the side with a hand and holding their weapon in the other. Grant was up on the machine gun turret.

"Knight, get ready with that rocket launcher. See any Ghosts or Wraiths, hammer them. Grant focused on the enemy in front of us when we're in range, leave targets to our one o'clock and eleven o'clock to the Hogs on our right and left. When we reach the first barricade, we're all going to dismount. Grant you're going to stay on the gun and cover us, but if you take too much fire jump down. Shade turrets are our main priority."

Dust billowed on either side of the Warthog as the tires grinded through the sand. The wind whistled and Shortswords soared by overhead. They dumped their payloads and streaks of fire cut across the Covenant base. Falcons were soon flying above them, keeping pace with the two waves of Warthogs.

The base approached rapidly. Blue, green, pink, and purple blots of plasma shot by them. Blasts of white-purple plasma landed among the weaving Warthogs. One unfortunately was hit by the plasma barrage; the Warthog flipped end over end, spilling its charred occupants across the landscape.

"Almost there!" Frost shouted. He could see the light purple barricades broken up by plasma turrets. Streams of blue plasma raked back and forth against the line of charging Warthogs. A few blots slammed against the windshield, cracking it in a few spots. A few shards flew against Frost's orange-tinted goggles that were connected to his helmet; if he hadn't been wearing them, he would have been blinded.

A cloud of plasma landed in front of the Warthog, kicking up a large cloud of dust. Steele drove straight through, and when they emerged they found one of the barricades right in front of them.

"Shit!" Steele yelled.

"Brakes!" Frost shouted. It was too late. The front of the Warthog smashed into the purple barricade. Frost was thrown against the dashboard while several of his squad mates tumbled out from the bed of the Warthog.

Frost had hit his jaw hard. Despite plasma fire streaking past him, he rubbed it in a daze. "Lou, if I lose another tooth because of this you're _never_ driving again."

Steele reached over and snatched his sniper rifle.

"Fine by me, bruvva."

Frost finally recovered.

"Alright guys, let's get to work!"

Grant began sending a barrage of bullets down range while Frost led the rest of the team. They took cover behind the barricade. Other Warthogs had come to a stop nearby and marines began filing out.

"Time to secure this line!" Frost shouted, "Maddox, get a charge on that barricade there!" He pointed towards one that no one was behind. Keeping low, the combat engineer ran over and began setting up the explosives. "Covering fire!"

Frost popped in and out of cover, squeezing three-round bursts at the second Covenant line that was slightly above them. Their high-powered plasma turrets were riddling the barricades the marines were behind.

"Rockets!" Frost yelled. "We need a rocket launcher! Knight, start targeting those Type-52's!"

Knight slid into cover beside him.

"Where are there?"

"There are three of them, one at our twelve, one at our two, and one at our ten o'clock. Take'em out."

Knight peered above the barricade for a few moments before rising to his feet and aiming his rocket launcher.

"Back-blast clear!"

Knight sent a single rocket down range and it smacked the turret straight ahead of them dead on. The turret disintegrated and the Grunt manning it was blown apart. He fired a second rocket at the turret at their ten o'clock, which was pinning down a platoon of marines that had broken through the barricade. He reloaded with Frost's help, and finished the third turret off. The plasma fire lessened; only small arms continued firing at them.

"Charge is ready!" Maddox yelled. He ran over with detonator and crouched beside Frost and Knight. "Fire in the hole! Fire in the hole! Fire in the hole!" He winked at Frost. "You may want to cover your ears, lad."

He hit the detonator and a column of fire and smoke was sent upwards. When the dust cleared, the barricade had been torn open.

"Good work. Grant, keep laying down cover fire. I want fire superiority here! Everyone else, let's go!"

With a massive war cry, Frost led a horde of marines through the breach. He was the first one through. The Covenant that had been manning the first line had retreated after the blast and were scrambling for the second line. Frost and the other marines began firing into their backs, cutting down scores of Grunts and Jackals. The Elites' shields had saved them, but a few dropped due to Steele's accurate sniper fire. Not many marines had the knack to use a sniper rifle in what was considered short range for the weapon. He could wield it like a DMR. Frost took cover to reload. Marines were rushing by him, shooting and hollering. Muzzle flashes lit up the incoming darkness, contrasting sharply with the eerie pink glow come from the Covenant base above us.

Another war cry filled the air. Frost looked to his right. The second wave had arrived and were now flowing through the gap like rushing water. Some didn't even wait to go through the gaps in the barricade; they used the dead Covenant lying around as stepping stones against the barricades, and vaulted over them like olive drab colored waves.

Someone of his fellow marines had complained five years ago of the difficulty of night fighting. Night vision goggles lose their effect when so many firing guns lit up the night. Explosions and muzzle flashes ruined one's natural night vision. Everyone was a shadowy blur, and it became next to impossible to distinguish friend from foe, at least when they had fought Innies on Skopje. Yes, it had taken some getting adjusted to, but Frost like the night fights. He felt himself move faster, like he was a shadow. It made him feel like he couldn't be shot.

His eyes caught a pair of squawking skirmishers take cover behind an overturned supply crate. Without waiting, Frost drew his knife in one hand and his pistol in the other, letting his assault rifle hang by its sling. He darted forward. In a few strides, he reached the crate and jumped on top of it. Both Skirmishers looked up in shock. Frost fired a round through one Skirmisher's skull, then delivered a kick to the other. The blow knocked the alien over; Frost pounced on him and repeatedly jammed his knife into its chest. The bird-like alien screeched and coughed up blood until it went completely limp.

Frost withdrew his knife, then heard a roar from behind him. He turned to see an Elite charging. Before he could even brace himself, however, as Bishop appeared from the darkness, charged at the Elite, and fired his shotgun and point-blank range. Shotguns were so devastating that they could take an Elite down even when its shields were at full charge. The shield winked away as the Elite crumpled over, a large portion of its torso blown open by the shotgun blast. Bishop began firing his shotgun quickly into a squad of Grunts as they retreated up the hill. As Frost holstered his sidearm, he watched as Skirmisher leaped from a barricade on the second defensive line above them, determined to land on the Scotsman. But a sniper round struck the Skirmisher midair, practically blowing its tiny head apart. The body was nothing but a lump that fell to the ground with a flesh _thud_.

Steele had been the one who fired that shot; only he could pull off a shot like that. Frost joined the advance, gathering his squad and pitching forward with the rest. They worked their way up a gradual slope, moving from cover to cover as they did. The Covenant troops manning the secondary line were better prepared, and were making it difficult to push forward like they had through the first line. Their position was difficult to maintain, though. Frost hadn't realized the Covenant had chosen a poor spot for their secondary line until he saw another squad; the squad had taken cover against the barricades of the secondary line even though the Covvies were on the other side. Having placed their defenses right on top of the ridge, they couldn't fire down at any marines taking cover within ten feet of the wall without exposing themselves.

The squad in question was led by Staff Sergeant Daniel Usher, one of the older men in the MEU with a hoarse voice.

"Grenades!" he yelled, "we need more grenades!"

"Follow me!" Frost yelled to his companions. Dodging streams of plasma rifle fire, they darted from the wreckage they were hiding behind to Usher's position. Frost slid into the cover and Usher put a hand on his shoulder.

"Jack the Ripper, just the man I wanted to see," he grinned, "how many grenades you got?"

"We've each got three. Spread them around guys."

Grenades were passed around. Usher took one and got ready to pull the pin.

"All together now," he called, "one...two...three..."

Both squads pulled the pins on their grenades and lobbed them over the barricades. The grenades went off one after the other, sending a shower of bodies and limbs into the air. The plasma fire dampened further.

Frost took a moment to look back at the first line. There weren't any Covenant left on it, save for a few Jackals. They had tried to form a phalanx but had overpowered by a throng of marines, who butchered them with their combat knives. Marines poured over Covenant bodies and the wreckage of their defenses. All the while, _Determined Guardian_ was above them, firing those heavy guns at enemy positions further up. Banshees danced around with Falcons, only to be smacked out of the sky by a heat-seeking missile launched from a Longsword.

Then he heard the rumble of tank engines. The ocean of marines parted as the Scorpions grinded their way up the hillside, slowly but surely. Their hulks were coated with Army troopers, fresh and raring for a fight. The armor Army troopers wore was far different from the marines; the latter's armor was slim slim and compact, designed for highly mobile troops. Army armor was bulky and they were laden with gear; it made them appeared much bigger than they actually were. Sometimes, Frost thought the Covenant feared the Army personnel more than the marines, just because of their apparent size.

They definitely had something to fear. The Scorpion that rolled by him was carrying that Colonel Amsterdam, who wasn't wearing a helmet. Her auburn hair fell down to her neck like a lion's mane and her face was contorted in a rage.

As the Scorpion crushed the Covenant barricade beneath its treads, she raised her fist into the air.

"Advance!" she cried, "Advance! Don't stop until they're all dead!"

A tremendous war cry swept over the attacking force. The Army troopers flowed off of the tanks and over the remnants of the barricade. Frost and his team moved alongside them, screaming like maniacs and firing at the retreating Covenant. As he charge up the rocky hill, sidestepping piles of wreckage or the bodies of fallen aliens, he watched as five marines tackled an Elite, bringing it down to its knees. Their blades glinted in the light, and all five began stabbing the Elite. Unable to move, the alien bellowed in agony for several moments, before another marine ran up and put a bullet through its head.

The tanks were moving beside them, firing those ninety millimeter cannons of theirs. Each blast practically knocked Frost off his feet. Their machine guns tore up Grunt infantry as they scrambled for cover. The shrieking of aliens mingled with the war cries of humans.

Frost emptied a clip into a team of Grunts and began to reload. They were now approaching the top of the hill, having past over the ridge below it. It was the core of the Covenant's base. It was heavily fortified, with higher barricades and Shade turrets. The AA gun had collapsed on top of it, its three legs burning on top of the fortification. Frost could see silhouettes moving behind the barricades and briefly catch a glimpse of an Elite or Skirmisher.

The tanks made short work of the Shade turrets. Each one disappeared in a fiery explosion. The marines and their Army cousins charged forth. Frost looked over his shoulder for his team; they were right in the center of the advance, lost in a horde of moving bodies. Thankfully, they were all there, except for Grant. Frost cursed himself for leaving him at the Warthog. Perhaps he had stayed, perhaps he had moved up with the Scorpions. He'd find him after this, no matter what.

"Look at that!" someone yelled.

Frost looked forward. Standing on a large rock was an Elite holding one of the Type-52 plasma turret in its hands and was firing into the soldiers below. Frost watched an entire line of Army troopers, composed of twenty men, all fall as the Elite swept his plasma machine gun back and forth. A dozen more fell as they tried to reach cover.

Everyone began dropping to the earth to avoid the incoming fire. Four other Elites appeared, each holding a Type-52.

"Knew it was too easy," Frost heard Steele say.

"Steele, slide that rifle up to me," Frost said. He was laying on his belly behind on a medium sized rock clinging to the hillside. He extended his hand and grabbed the barrel of the rifle, took it into his hands, and aimed down the scope. The Elites were still firing into the Army troopers. Another ten were blown away, then another ten. Those who survived were screaming in from the pain of the plasma burns. The Elites were sadistically smart. They knew wounded soldiers' comrades would exit cover to retrieve them. Frost felt anger growing in his chest as he watched one brave trooper after another dive out of cover to save their pals, only to get riddled with bolts of blue plasma.

Peering through the scope, he sighted the lead Elite's head. As soon as the shot was lined up, he pulled the trigger. He watched as the Elite recoiled from the impact. The others didn't seem to notice. Frost sighted another and fired, then another, and fired, and then pulled the trigger on the third.

He ejected the empty clip.

"Steele, ammo!"

A fresh clip was passed into his hands. He loaded the rifle, sighted the last Elite, and fired. The quintet of turret-toting aliens were down.

Frost passed the rifle back down. "Thank you," he grunted, than rose to his feet, "on your feet!"

Frost led the charge. Everyone began picking themselves back up from the ground as he rushed past with his squad. He kept his eyes locked on the wall, ready to blast anything that showed its face. He was the first one to the last wall and climbed up with his men in tow. But when he vaulted over the top, he found only dead Covenant there.

"What the hell?" he said out loud. He looked around, then jogged to the other side of the redoubt. The Covenant had fled from their final position and were now fleeing in three separate direction. The three columns of aliens was dotted with vehicles and aliens dragging as much supplies as they could manage.

He knew what they were going to do. Support was out of the option for the remaining Covenant. Their superiors wouldn't send a fleet to rescue them; they could afford the loss. They were going to melt into the uninhabited parts of the planet and use guerrilla warfare to harass the populace and tie up as many UNSC assets as they could.

"Not on my watch..." Frost said, "Langley, get yourself up here!"

Langley emerged from the crowd of soldiers securing the position. Frost grabbed her by the collar of her armor and pointed at the fleeing Covenant with the other. "Start coordinating gun runs. Don't bother having the Shortswords coming at those columns from the side, have them drop their payloads along the length of them. That'll maximize the damage. Get word to _Determined Guardian_ to start pounding them as well."

"Yes, sergeant," she said. Langley got on one knee and began speaking into the handheld of her radio. A few moments afterwards, formations of Shortswords roared by and all three columns were split apart into disorganized mobs by gashes of fire.

Frost bent over, holding his knees and panting. The assault had been quick, which was fine with him. It was a decisive victory and damn did it feel good to be on top of the Covvie's hill. Sure, it was just some rocky rise in the land, but it was theirs now.

"Sergeant," Frost turned to find himself looking at Colonel Amsterdam. The middle aged woman had blue alien blood coating the front of her armor and had a large cut on her temple. For some reason, she was smiling. "I was just about to make that same call. I mistook you for a Lieutenant."

"Somebody else would have made the call, ma'am."

"You handle yourself well."

"Thank you. Ma'am, I think we'll need your Falcons to stay with the enemy columns to take down any survivors from the bombings and make sure none got away."

"Agreed, Sergeant."

The Colonel walked off with an entourage of officers. Frost sat down on an tipped over supply crate. He took off his helmet, lowered the black bandanna from his face, and inhaled deeply. All he could smell was gunpowder, burning flesh, the stink of corpses, and the diesel fuel scent from the Scorpions.

His squad sat down on the crate or on the ground and leaned against it. Everyone was panting as well as shaking, as the adrenaline wore off. Steele was seated on the ground, his shoulder against Frost's right leg. Frost reached down, took off Steele's helmet, and set it down on the crate. He then took his canteen and poured some of the water onto his bandanna, then reached down and pressed it against Steele's forehead.

"Fuck, bruv, you have no idea how good that feels," he wheezed as he took the bandanna from Frost's hand and pressed it against the back of his neck.

Frost took a swig from his canteen before handing it Steele.

"Is everyone okay? Anybody hit?"

"I'm good."

"Good."

"Fuckin' fine."

" _Ja_."

"All good."

Frost pressed his finger against his earpiece.

"Grant, you there?"

"Yeah, boss man."

"What's your position?"

"I'm still with the Warthog."

Frost chuckled.

"Good boy. We're at the top of the hill. Get on up here."

The pink lights of the base had been torn down. Night had fallen and the only thing breaking the darkness were fires among the wreckage. Far off on the sandy flats, Frost watched as fire streak up and down the columns. Part of him began to worry. The assault had been easy, to easy. It hadn't been a Covenant last stand by a diversion. They left their base lightly defended while the rest fell back to fight another day. Remarkably, it was a very human thing to do, militarily at least. The Covenant were the types to retreat unless they had a backup plan, like a damned Scarab or a glassing beam from a support ship. These ones understood their predicament and were making the most of it. If they could occupy the UNSC for a time, then their deaths wouldn't be in vain.

Frost could understand that. Respect it, even. Human defensive's never fared as well. The Covenant had more troops with better gear, and more ships with better technology. The UNSC simply didn't have the manpower or the fleet to provide a robust defense for every single colony world. Their offensives against the Covenant however, always fared a bit better. The Covenant were an offensive race, and being put on the defensive put them out of their element. Their defensive strategies usually resulted in last stands that were quickly dispatch. Going on the offensive was something Frost enjoyed. His unit enjoyed a record of more offensive actions than many other units, but of course it had been caught in the miasma of last-ditch defenses of evacuation zones, military bases, government buildings, industrial complexes, ports, hospitals-hell, one time they had had to use a fast-food restaurant as a strong point against a Covenant infantry assault.

Yes, attacking was better than defending. Frost enjoyed the adrenaline rush; it helped distract him from recent events. A part of him didn't want to get back onto the ship. He didn't feel welcome anymore. Hell, he didn't even know if he was _safe_. But he put that far from his mind. He was too tired from her mind toying with him and the fight itself. He wanted to rest. Fighting was the best distraction he had at his disposal he enjoyed it, but he always welcome the chance to simply sit and rest after a fight or the ordeal Vivian had put him through. It'd probably be the last bit of rest he'd get into the next few days; they were going hunting soon, he imagined. Those air strikes weren't going to be enough, he could tell already. He looked over at Langley, still on one knee, helmet off, the handheld pressed against her ear. She was still calling in each bombing run, directing the Shortswords the entire time. Her face would glow orange with each explosion in the distance, then slowly disappear in the darkness again. He admired her tenacity and diligence. He was proud of them all. He always was.

"Good job, guys. We kicked ass today." He reached over and patted the top of Bishop's helmet. "Thanks for getting that Elite."

"Oh, I was saving it from you. You would cut him half with that thing, I made sure he didn't suffer."

The two chuckled. That was all that needed to be said. There was no need to delve into fancy words and dress everything up. They were simple soldiers who enjoyed simple words.

* * *

Data streamed across Vivian's neural interface as well as the multiple screens hanging around the _I'm Alone's_ bridge. A normal person would have gotten sick from seeing so many different screens at one time, she thought. It had taken some time to get adjusted to it all back at OCS. But Vivian understood it all perfectly. The ground operation had been a resounding success, but the Covenant were dispersing into the rocky mountain ranges of the planet. That meant they would have to remain in the system for longer than she intended. She knew she could just leave it Colonel Amsterdam to carry our search and destroy missions, but Vivian wasn't the type to leave a job half-finished.

"Koroma, send a message to Colonel Hayes and Colonel Amsterdam. I'm sending materials down for construction of a firebase at their current position outside the city. Tell them the base has to be operational by tomorrow morning. Sweep and clear operations begin at first light. Chasing the Covenant now will just cause confusion."

"Aye, aye, ma'am."

Vivian didn't want to give the Covenant a chance to breathe though.

"Inform Amsterdam to keep her Falcons running full all night. We'll need eyes on the Covenant or we'll lose them. Tsang, keep scanning the planet. Delaney, I want the intelligence team to start analyzing possible locations on the planet where the Covenant might hole up."

Both officers took their tasks quickly.

"Decatur, are there any new developments?"

"We have a Longsword down on the surface and the pilot is requesting evacuation."

Vivian turned to face the AI in surprise.

"What? Why wasn't I informed earlier?"

"The distress call was sent only moments ago. The Longsword may have been down for only a few moments or over an hour. I cannot say."

"Who's the pilot?"

"Air Force Captain Monique Alvarez."

Alvarez was one of the younger pilots on the _I'm Alone_. Vivian had spoken with her on several occasions. She was a good pilot and and quiet leader; she never gave orders to anyone but many followed her example. The crew needed her and Vivian wasn't going to leave her stranded out there.

"Have you got a lock on that distress beacon?"

"Yes, madam!"  
"Contact Hayes, tell him to ready a recovery team."

* * *

"Bravo One-One, come in, over," Hayes said over the radio. Frost was surprised to hear his voice. He had expected him deliver a net call, not contact him directly.

"One-one here, send it, over."

"A Longsword went down during the assault. It landed a good distance from here. Sending coordinates to your tac-pad."

Frost looked at the small wearable on his left wrist. He grimaced.

"That's a long ways off, sir."

"You won't be walking there, that's for sure. Gather your squad, stock up on ammunition, grab a Hog, and head out there. If the crew is in a stable condition, drive them out of there. If they're injured, call for casevac, I'll have Triple Seven on standby."

"Understood. Should we demolish the Longsword per recovery protocol?"

Standard procedure was to place an explosive charge within the remnants of the aircraft and detonate, to prevent it from falling into the hands of the enemy.

"Negative. The Covenant have no means of communication and they won't be wasting their time carrying around a wrecked Longsword. We'll send a heavy lift team from the Army there after you've evacuated the crew; the area's still hot so make it quick."

"Solid copy, out."

Frost stood up and clapped his hands together.

"Alright guys, we have a mission. Gather up weapons and ammo and head back to the Hog. Steele, grab some extra fuel cans from another truck, would you? Langley, come on, the Shortswords know how to do their job. Let's go. We're not going to be gone long so only bring the essentials."

As the squad made their way back down the hill, they ran into Grant. The young marine smiled.

"Aw, you guys didn't have to come down and meet me halfway."

Frost grinned and patted him on the shoulder as he passed by.

"We didn't. We've got a mission. Get back on that gun."

"Seriously? I walked halfway up here just to go back down!?"

Everyone laughed at him. Spirits were high. Frost smiled as they clambered into the Warthog; this rescue op was going to be a cinch.

* * *

" _All she does is kill shit_

 _From the front to the back to the front to the back to the front_

 _All she does is kill the shit_

 _From the back to the front to the back to the front to the back_

 _All she does is kill shit..."_

The I.L.Y.'s: "All She Does is Kill Shit"

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

 **Bet you didn't think there was going to be another chapter so soon, huh? Well, I was happy to see all your comments about the events in the previous chapter, so I couldn't refrain from delivering another chapter. I would have uploaded it sooner if I hadn't gotten distracted with my new computer hardware, but rest assured, I'll write another chapter tomorrow as well. I think. I hope.**

 **Let's get to the comment responses. Remember, I like to have conversations with you guys. Leave a comment or send me a PM, doesn't matter, I'll get back to you.**

 **Alpha HighBreed: Er, one-dimensionality is more of my opinion than a fact. And what I mean is that characters only have one arc, one avenue of growth, one path of change. I didn't want my characters to follow singular paths, rather an overreaching path accompanied by many smaller and shorter paths. It adds realism and depth, I believe. People are complicated, unique, and different, and not always consistent either. People change in real life, so I'm trying to capture that as best I can with this story. And thank you for the tip my friend! I'm glad you're excited by these turn of events; I was hoping to get that reaction out of you readers. Guess I did my job well! Stay tuned, brother!**

 **chase8999: YOU WANT MOAR!? HERE'S YOUR MOAR. THERE'LL BE MOAR TOMORROW, JUST YOU WAIT MY FRIEND!**

 **MightBeGone: I have this faint little hope that one day my story will be seen by someone at 343 Industries and they'll approach me with a writer's job. Alas, I doubt that'll ever happen. There's a long story behind why I'm writing this story (it's not serious or dramatic or emotional; in fact it's rather funny why I'm writing this story, I'll explain in the future). I'm using this as an opportunity to hone my skills for original work. For the past few years I've been trying to write original stuff but it just hasn't gone anywhere, so I've returned to my roots to write this and hit my stride. But a job at 343i would be pretty sweet. And you have many questions, all of which will be answered...eventually. You'll just have to wait and see my fair compatriot.**

 **Aurora Mandeville: "Mandeville...Maaaaaaaandeville..." For some reason this makes me think you're a 19th robber baroness. Anyways, I was shooting for intense and I'm glad it paid off. It's good to have your feedback on the matter. And yeah, it would be nice to see them actually talk and settle this like adults. But anger is a major theme in this story and we're going to see how it affects judgement and actions. And Jasmine will get her dues, don't worry.**

 **Again everyone, as always, thank you for reading and thank you for all your feedback. It all means a lot to me. I will get another chapter up tomorrow, and hopefully not at four in the frigging morning. Take care you lot.**


	16. Chapter 16: Blame

Chapter Sixteen: Blame

* * *

Even over the growl of the engine, Frost could hear the pounding of bombing runs and the buzz of Falcons. There was something about the sound of Falcons that made him uneasy. Hornets, the Marine Corp's VTOL gunships, didn't have the same effect. Rather than dual propellers, their propulsion system consisted turbofan engines, located on the gimbals at the end of each wing. As a result, they sounded more like jets than gunships. When Frost heard the sound of Hornets during a battle, his morale soared. An even more inviting sound came from Pelicans; those beautiful dropships had four main engines and six thrusters, and together they made a wonderful noise that said evac or reinforcements were on the way. But the _chop chop chop_ of Falcons' propeller blades drowned out the pleasant hum of its two engines, made Frost feel sick. Perhaps it came from his unpleasant experiences with a Falcon once. He hated their troop compartments, too. Pelicans were large enough for you to have leg room and a chance to move. Hornets didn't have troop bays but their landing skids could hold three or four troopers. It allowed for quick dust-offs and landings, akin to those that took place during the old wars that first used helicopters. Falcon's had cramped spaces and could only fit a few personnel besides the gunners on either side. He respected the Army, but was glad he wasn't part of their air mobile divisions.

He was standing in the passenger seat of the Warthog, instead of sitting. He rested his arms on the dividing barrier that extended from the divider in the windshield to the bed of the Warthog. Black mountains stood silently in the distance, while orange mist swirled at their feet. Plums of red and yellow slowly rose as the Shortswords continued carpeting bombing the Covenant. They were a few miles away from it now, and the noise was carrying far. Frost could even see the dark shapes of the Falcons buzzing back and forth against lights from the explosions.

Everyone else was watching too. Grant was on the gun; even though his body faced forward and his hands gripped the handles of the turret, his head was turned to the left, watching the fireworks show. The rest of the squad sat awestruck as well.

"Hey Langley," Frost said over the SQUADCOM, as he didn't feel like shouting, "you were a PJ, right?"

"I was, Sergeant."

"This was the kind of thing you trained for, right?"

"Rescuing downed pilots? That's part of what pararescuemen do, yeah."

Frost nodded towards the squad.

"We've pulled a few rescue ops in our time, but I feel pretty confident since we have a bonafide PJ in the squad."

"I didn't finish the training."

"Doesn't matter to me. You've got the skills. You may be a comms specialist but you've got a better set of first aid training here than any of us."

Frost remembered her reservations when he brought it up at the firing range when she first joined his squad. "If that Longsword crew is in a bad way and we can't administer proper first aid, I need you to be Johnny on the spot."

"But Sergeant-"

"No buts," Frost said firmly, "if I give you the order to treat wounded, you will."

Langley appeared exasperated but she didn't offer any further resistance.

Frost didn't like playing disciplinarian with his squad. It was alien to him. His friends he had known for eight years; they were trained differently from most and Frost never had to act the part of a true NCO. He never had to bark orders and force his men do anything; that was the benefit of their unique training but also the fact they were all friends. Langley had been assimilated quickly, though she didn't swear like the others did. Frost didn't see her as a stranger in his squad any longer, but the military side of him understood that she wasn't like the rest. She had proved herself on the _Best of the Best_ , fought well during the assault, and her skill with the radio and communicating with the flyboys was excellent. In his eyes, she had earned her place, though for him there hadn't been a conscious need for her to prove her worth. But he wasn't going to put up with a reluctance to utilize her talents. If there was one thing he couldn't tolerate, it was someone refusing to capitalize on their full potential as a soldier. Well, he put up with Steele. Steele was a good soldier and had a mind for strategy. He would make a good leader but he wasn't the type to be asked to do much. The only person he took orders from was Frost, even when Teo was in charge. Still, he wouldn't have any bull from Langley. If there was a wound to be treated, she would treat it, even if he had force her two.

"Frost, how am I doing?" Steele asked, "Still maintaining a good heading?  
Frost sat back down and checked his tactical pad.

"Yep, you're still on the right track," Frost pressed a button and check the blue force tracker on his tac-pad. All of the friendly markers were miles behind them.

Steele must have seen him checking the blue force tracker.

"Hayes should have sent another squad with us, methinks," he said in a posh tone, trying to dress up his concern with a bit of humor.

"Maybe but we can do this."

As the Warthog cut across the desert towards the downed Longsword, Frost noticed a change in the geography. Rocky hills and ridge lines began to appear around them. Frost removed his helmet and put on a pair of night vision goggles. He looked back and forth at the changing landscape. They were farther away from the city outskirts and the firebase than he realized.

He was distracted when his tac-pad beeped. They were getting close; there was only another three hundred meters to go.

"Where the hell is it?" Steele said, leaning forward. Frost looked around with the goggles; it was so dark now that it would be impossible for anyone without goggles to see the wreck. A smoke trail would be invisible.

Steele took them around a large rock formation and Frost spotted the Longsword. The large fighter had buried its nose into the sound and its back was broken. To his surprise, there was no smoke.

Longswords weren't mere fighter-bombers. They were large, triangular shaped craft with a great deal of space inside. Rather than simply having a pilot and co-pilot, there were also two engineers.

"Stop here," Frost ordered when they were about a hundred yards away from it. Something felt off suddenly. "Grant, stay on the gun, keep your head on a swivel. Take the goggles," he handed them over to another member of the squad who handed it over to him. "Steele, keep the engine hot. Everyone dismount."

They vaulted over the sides while Frost jumped down, putting his helmet back on. "Form up." He began leading the squad over to the downed aircraft. Everyone kept turning and turning as they moved briskly, weapons raised. "Moser, Maddox, Bishop, stay out here and keep a lookout. Langley, Knight, with me."

They entered the Longsword and picked their way through the wreckage. The inside was dark and most of the walls had broken down, exposing electrical wire that sparked from time to time.

"Captain Alvarez?" Frost said loudly. He entered the cockpit with Langley and was met with a grisly sight. No one was in their seats; there weren't even any seats left. The only cockpit was a fractured mess, with the armor shredded and the nose crushed into the sound. Wires hung from the ceiling, scraps of metal littered the floor.

The crew had been thrown forward onto what remained of the consoles. There they were in a heap, piled on one another.

"Christ," Frost murmured. "They didn't even have a chance. Ah, fuck." He knelt down, angry. He ran a hand over his face and said after a few moments, "let's get the bodies out of here, we're not leaving them like this."

But as he reached down to grab the first bloody, burned body, a hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. "Fuck!" he cried.

It was Captain Alvarez. She was under the body Frost had been about to take; she filthy and she had blood leaking from her side.

"Get that body off of her," Frost said. He and Langley peeled the body off. "Biofoam."

Langley placed the canister into his hand and he applied the foam to the wound. Alvarez's eyes popped and she hissed as the foam spread.

"Captain Alvarez, I'm Sergeant Frost, we're here to get you out. You're going home."

Alvarez seemed dazed and confused.

"What's under me?"

It was a body. Frost didn't answer. He freed her legs and pick her up. She was light enough that he could do it alone, leaving Langley and Knight to remove the dead. She reached back towards to three bodies as Frost stepped down the busted staircase that led to the exit.

"My crew..."

"They're gone Captain. We'll get them out of there but you're the priority."

Frost emerged from the wreckage.

"One survivor; the co-pilot and engineers are dead. Go help with the bodies."

"Stop, stop for a second..." Alvarez said.

While the rest of the squad entered the wreck, Frost sank to one knee, but kept the captain in his arms.

"Ma'am, we need to get you back to the ship for medical attention."

"My crew is in there."

Frost grimaced; she was still dazed.

"Captain, I'm sorry, but they're dead."

She blinked up at him, as if trying to wake up. Realization didn't cross her face for another minute or so. When it did, her expression broke Frost's heart. Her face was illuminated by his helmet light, and he watch as tears welled up in the corners of her eyes. When she closed them tight, the tears ran down the sides of her dirty face.

Alvarez had a year or two on Frost. Her hair was loose and hung from her head while Frost held her. She had a firm face with pronounced features. Everything about her face and body told him that she was strong., even though she was small. But the loss of her crew was too much. She choked back a sob.

"My fault. It's my fault. I got them killed."

"No, ma'am. There was nothing you could have done."

"I was too concerned with my kill count. I was on the tail of a Banshee; easy target for a Longsword, especially in atmosphere."

Her senses had returned and she was no longer slurring her words. "They told me we were being targeted by an AA Wraith that was escaping from their base. But I wouldn't turn away, didn't want to let that Banshee get away. Stupid, so stupid."

She gritted her teeth and winced from her wound. "Those anti-aircraft plasma bolts tore us up; they even managed to hit us with those Type-52 turrets. I splashed that Banshee but I got my team killed because of it. If I had just pulled off, we'd still be up in the air. They'd still be alive.

Frost heard the others coming out with the bodies. He didn't want Alvarez to see them. It would be too much, too much, too soon. He set her down on the ground and cupped her head in his hand, keep it close to his chest so she couldn't see her mates loaded into the Warthog. Frost was glad to see his team treating them with respect. Knight was looking for something to cover the bodies with; they had left their blankets behind, so he settled with covering their faces with some handkerchiefs that the squad had.

"Lots of Longsword crews get changed up from time to time. Some get promoted, some die, some get wounded, others get discharged. We've been together since our first deployment seven years ago. I had one of the best co-pilots in the entire UNSC and two excellent engineers. All three were good men. They had wives and kids, all three of them."

She reached up and grabbed Frost by the collar of his shirt, "And I got them killed."

"Captain Alvarez, it's not your fault."

"What's going to happen to their wives? Their kids? They live off of their back pay! What's going to happen to them without their husbands?"

"Ma'am, right now, we need to get you back to the _I'm Alone_."

"I should have been the one who died. I don't have any family. They were my family."

Survivor's guilt was a soldier's worst enemy. Frost had seen it too many times before. From squads to expeditionary force-sized units, he had met the sole survivors. Men and women with hollow, lifeless eyes, scars covering their bodies, who had fought like monsters to survive. They had survived, and yet they hadn't. Part of them had died in those battles that claimed the lives of all their friends and fellow soldiers. It was at times like these Frost realized how lucky he was. Yes, three friends were gone and they were never coming back. He had friends outside of the squad who had died too. But his squad persevered, it was still intact, and they carried on. He promised himself as held Captain Alvarez, who covered her face with her sliced up, gloved hands, that he would never let his friends die. He would take whatever bullet, whatever shred of plasma that was meant for them.

"I don't deserve to be alive," Captain Alvarez said.

"Don't say that, ma'am. You gotta keep on going, for them. That's what they'd want you to do."

He had seen people like her before. Wracked with guilt, eaten by sadness, devastated by loss, their poured their guts out to the first person who would listen. "Your buddies would want you to keep going, keep fighting, for their families' sake."

Alvarez peered up at him. Her eyes were still pained but they seemed to accept his words. But before Frost could carry her over to the Warthog, his earpiece crackled to life.

"Bravo One-One, come in. Frost, are you there, over?"

It was Hayes.

"This is Bravo One-One, over."

"Sitrep?"

Frost cursed under his breath. He sighed heavily.  
"We've arrived at the crash site. All personnel accounted for; three dead, one wounded. Over."

There was a slight pause.

"Shit. Okay, what's the status of your casualty?"

"Non-critical, biofoam holding. Over."

"What's your ETA, Bravo One-One?"

"We'll be oscar-mike in less than five; ETA to Alpha Base..."

A sound caught Frost's attention. It sounded like shifting soils and small rocks being kicked up. It hadn't come from his squad. He looked around at his surroundings. There were rock formations around them and a ridge to the west of the crash site.

"Bravo One-One, are you there?"

"Wait, one," Frost whispered. He heard another sound and locked onto a rock formation that sat at the foot of the ridge. For a split second, he spotted a blue light.

Frost's heart stopped. "There are Covenant out there."

He leaped to his feet, still holding Alvarez. "Ambush! Out of the Warthog now! Find cover!"

As he turned to run, he watched Steele scramble from the driver's seat, while Knight and Grant dove from the back. The others were already off the ground. A fuel-rod gun went off, and the large green bolt struck the Warthog. The front of the vehicle exploded, reducing the front half to a charred mess of tangled, twisted metal. The impact was so powerful that both front tires flew off. Then, the night was lit up by pink needler rounds and blue and green plasma.

Frost led the squad back into the Longsword, as it was the closest cover they could find. They took up positions inside, using gashes and holes in the hull as firing ports. He put Alvarez down and took off his helmet.

"Grant, the goggles. Bishop, cover the door, make sure they don't rush us. Conserve ammo! Only fire at Covvies you can see!"

He slipped on the goggles and peered through a hole in the hull. He could see Covenant troops darting from rock to rock, firing for a few moments before disappearing again. He counted off three races; Grunts, Elites, and complicating the situation further, Brutes. There were no Jackals; he guessed they were the ones high on the ridge, firing at them Type-50 beam rifles and those Type-31 needle rifles. The Brutes were aggressive, as per their reputation. The tall, hulking, hairy beasts were clad in different variations of silver armor with blue trimmings. They roared and fired their Spikers wildly.

"This is Bravo One-One, we're under attack. Repeat, we're being attacked. We've got Brutes, Grunts, and Elites assaulting our position inside the Longsword and we're under intense sniper fire. Our Warthog has been destroyed, requesting immediate air support!"

"One-One, you've got it. I'm detaching two Hornets to your position. I'm also sending a Pelican, but it will take a little longer to get there. Just hold on Sergeant."

"Those Brutes get in here, we're fucked," Steele grunted as he crouched beside Frost.

"Yeah, no kidding."

Frost took off the goggles and tossed them aside so he could put his helmet back on. "Steele, I want you working the Brutes. Moser! Moser, you've got the battle rifle, so you focus on Elites only. Everyone else, open fire only when they're close."

The Brutes had the benefit of being well-armored and naturally resilient. They could take dozens upon dozens of rounds to their torso and still keep coming. Elites relied on their shields and their nimbleness to survive in combat. Assault rifles weren't going to do much at the range they were at. The sniper rifle could take down either with one shot in the right spot, that spot being the head, and the battle rifle could whittle down shields with ease.

"Shouldn't I target those snipers on the ridge? If I can find a good spot in here I'll be able to fire up at them."

Frost wanted those snipers gone, but preventing the Longsword from being overrun was the main priority. Those snipers weren't going to charge down the ridge anytime soon and the hull of the Longsword offered protection against their accurate fire.

"No. The Brutes only."

"Alright bruvva."

"Sergeant," Alvarez croaked, holding out a hand.

Frost had placed Alvarez against the opposite wall. He went over to her, allowing Steele to take his spot. He took her hand and held it tight.

"I've got you, Captain."

Alvarez put her other hand on his shoulder.

"I already got my crew killed and now they won't even get to go home. You need to get your team out of here before I end up getting you killed too. Just leave me and run."

"Not a chance, Captain," Frost said with a quick smile, "we either all leave together or we all die together."

Alvarez looked frustrated and relieved all at the same time. Her head fell back against the wall, and she laughed a little. When she raised her eyes back to his, she smiled at him.

"Then give me a gun."

Frost wasn't going to refuse the help. He slung his assault rifle around her shoulder and handed her his ammunition belt. Then, he picked her up and brought her to a hole in the hull near Steele. When he set her down, adjusted herself so her back was slightly against the wall and still aim out of the hole.

"Short bursts, wait until they get close. I'm going to check on the rest of the squad."

Frost was about to turn but Alvarez grabbed his arm.

"What did you say your name was?"

"Sergeant Nate Frost, ma'am."

The captain smiled then. She had a nice smile; it was pleasant and energetic. Frost couldn't help but return it with his own toothy grin.

"When this is over, you and I are getting drinks," she said.

"Yes, ma'am," Frost said, saluting. As he passed by Steele, he heard his compatriot whisper, "Wanker."

* * *

Vivian had left Solak in charge of the bridge. She had wanted to check on the wounded arriving from planetside. When she entered the medical bay Jasmine was working in, she was met with a similar sight that had beheld her eyes when they left Ambition. Men and women, bloodied, burned, filthy, screaming, crying, moaning in pain. She was still horrified by it all, but Vivian had prepared herself for it better than before.

She spotted Jasmine further down the bay. Along with an orderly, she was cutting a marine's left pant leg with a pair of scissors. The marine's left leg was so bloody that it was practically soaking. The marine was roaring with pain and the orderly that was there was trying to hold him down. Every time he jumped up, Jasmine's hands would be knocked back and she'd drop the scissors.

Vivian raced over to the other side of the bed and helped hold him down. Jasmine's hair was falling out of her bun and her eyes were focused. Another orderly arrived and placed both hands on the trooper's legs.

"What's your name trooper?"

All he did was scream. Vivian pressed him down harder. "What's your name?"

"Private First Class Ed Watson, ma'am," he gritted.

"Listen to me Watson, you need to stay calm and still. Dr. Ebrahimi can't help you if you keep moving. Just stay still."

Watson breathed through his nose quickly, like a bull getting ready to charge. Vivian looked down at his leg. Jasmine had finished cutting the left leg of his pants all the way up his hips. She spread the flaps apart, exposing his bloodied leg. There was a medium-sized hole in side of the calf.

Jasmine produced a pair of forceps. Vivian's eyes widened with horror.

"Jesus Jasmine, aren't you going to give him meds first."

"There's a Type-51 Carbine round buried in his calf. Those rounds continue to burn after entry and are radioactive; it needs to be extracted immediately to lessen the effects of radiation poisoning and prevent it from causing further internal burning. There's no time."

"Shouldn't you be doing this in a surgery room?"

"Captain Waters, whose medical bay is this? Mine or yours?" Jasmine said with a business-like tone. Vivian didn't respond; she had gotten the point. Watson groaned and writhed as she clamped the forceps around the bullet. She slowly, carefully pulled it out. When she did, Watson exhaled loudly. Vivian did too; she had been holding her breath as she watched the extraction. The end of the forceps were bloody, and there was a little on Jasmine's gloved hand. She dropped the round into a nearby dish.

"Orderlies, get this man to Dr. Khan for further treatment."

"Yes, ma'am!" the orderlies said. Vivian, Jasmine, and the two orderlies lifted him onto a roller bed, and then the orderlies rushed him out.

"Sorry about that," Vivian said.

"You had the soldier's well-being in mind. Don't worry about it. Those carbine rounds are devastating, especially at mid-range. That man was unlucky; if the round had been fired from a farther distance, it wouldn't have penetrated his greaves."

"Will he survive?"

"I'm confident he will. He was casevaced back here quickly and the wound didn't penetrate that deeply. It hadn't finished burning, so that means that the round's radioactive properties didn't have a lengthy amount of time to seep into the tissues. But there's still a chance that the its effects will still occur. Dr. Khan specializes in such treatment; he'll remove some of the surrounding tissue and clean the wound with decontamination supplies. If it's spread too far, he'll amputate the entire calf. If all turns out well, he'll have to be out of action for a period of time while he undergoes further treatment, but he can return to service."

Vivian shook her head.

"Covenant have some sadistic weapons."

"Humans have been quite creative with their ammunition types. Shredder ammo can rip flesh apart, incendiary rounds cause extremely painful burns. Go back a few centuries and you have the expanding bullet."  
"Expanding bullets are still prohibited by the Hague Conventions of 1899 and multiple treaties after it."

"Do you think we'll start producing expanding bullets since the Covenant do not by our own international and interplanetary laws?"

"No; we have standards."

The joy of their victory over the Covenant fleet was gone now. The surface battle resulted in the casualties she had dreaded. Her reservations aside, these marines were still her responsibility, still her men. Here they were, suffering. She didn't even want to think of the dead.

Her eyes traveled around the medical bay. They searched for a familiar face, a hated face. She turned around, trying to pick him out from the struggling mass.

"What is it, Vivian?"

"Have you seen Frost."

That earned a harsh glare from Jasmine.

"Did you come here to check on the men or to see that man in pain?"

"No, I just..."

"You're hoping he's dead."

Vivian sighed and ran a hand across her forehead. Jasmine shook her head in disappointment. She was about to say something else when Koroma buzzed in her earpiece.

"Captain, update to the rescue op from Hayes The team sent to retrieve Captain Alvarez has been ambushed. They're pinned down at the crash site."

Vivian exchanged a quick look with Jasmine and hurriedly left the pay.

"Is anyone sending support there way?"

"Yes, ma'am. Two Hornets and a Pelican have been scrambled."

"Can you patch me into their comms?"

"Right away...you're patched in."

"This is Captain Waters, what's your situation?"

There was a long pause. She could hear gunfire and the sizzle of plasma.

"This is Sergeant Frost. We're under heavy fire. We're holding but the Brutes are closing in."

Vivian felt her teeth clench. She should have known that Hayes sent Frost. Frost was his favorite soldier-his favorite son more like it.

"How many survivors are with you?"

"Only Captain Alvarez survived the crash."

Vivian almost threw her fist against the bulkhead. Those were her people and they had died. Had they died on impact, or did they die from their wounds? If Frost had gotten there earlier, he could have saved them, maybe even avoided the ambush altogether.

"You listen to me, you get Alvarez back her in one piece," she ordered menacingly, "or you'll find yourself-"

"Watch out!" came a cry over the comms.

* * *

Frost turned to face the only entrance to the Longsword. Bishop had just taken down a Brute with his shotgun but a second and run up and smacked his weapon from his hands.

"Bishop, get back!" Frost yelled, firing his pistol as fast as he could. He emptied the clip into the roaring creature, covering Bishop as he doubled back to find another weapon.

The beat didn't even care as rounds slammed into its hide. All it did was roar. Frost kept firing and advancing until his pistol was emptied. He didn't bother reload; he dropped the pistol and drew his knife. The Brute didn't have its Spiker, which was lucky for Frost. The alien swung at him with a massive fist, but Frost sidestepped the blow and socked it right in the nose with his free hand. Frost regretted the punch instantly as it served to only piss the monster off even more. It swung at him again and Frost only dodged it by an inch. But the Brute had left itself open. He rushed forward and jammed the knife into the beast's gut several times. The Brute howled but responded quickly. Frost wasn't fast enough and soon found himself in a bone-crunching bear hug. He groaned in pain as the Brute raised him up and squeezed him harder. Frost struggled to slip his arm out. He swore the Brute was grinning at him. It was an ugly alien, with a wet snout like a dog's, an under-bite that made it appear unintelligent accompanied by protruding, yellow teeth, and beady orange-yellow eyes. And it stunk worse than a cesspool.

Just as Frost couldn't breathe any longer, he freed his arm and brought the knife down onto the Brute's muscular shoulder, but before he could wrench it free and drive into it's neck, the Brute dropped him. He fell to the floor of the Longsword and looked up. The Brute tore the knife from its shoulder and then roared. Frost struggle to get to his feet before he was killed with his own knife.

A burst of assault rifle hit the Brute directly in the face. Sixty rounds caved in its face and it dropped to its knees, finally dead. It slumped over to the side.

Frost rose to his feet and looked behind him. Alvarez had risen to her feet and emptied the entire clip of Frost's assault rifle. She lowered the weapon as smoke rose from the barrel.

Grabbing his knife and Bishop's shotgun, he went over and supported her back to the spot she was in.

"Now you have to buy me dinner," Alvarez joked as she sat back down.

"Ma'am, for that, you can choose the most expensive restaurant the next time we to go on leave," Frost said back.

"I'll remember that, Sergeant."

Bishop ran back up at that moment. Frost threw his shotgun to him.

"Where the fuck were you?"

"I left my pistol with Moser, I ran back to get it."

"Next time, keep it on you. Get back into position."

A few moments of fighting later, Frost heard a familiar sound. A reassuring sound, one that he loved to ear; the sound of Hornets.

"Bravo One-One, this is Sparrow Three, we're inbound hot."

"Glad you could make it Sparrow Three. They're dug-in along the rock formations surrounding the crash site and on the top of the ridge. Marking the crash site with an IR beacon; repeat, IR beacon marking friendly position."

Frost grabbed the device from his belt and tossed outside. It rolled to a stop a few feet from the crash.

"Solid copy. Evac is five mikes out."

The Hornets began strafing the enemy positions. Scores of Grunts and Brutes fell as the Hornets' autocannons raked the rock formations. One of the VTOLs broke off and pounded the top of the ridge with missiles. Still, the Covenant kept coming and kept firing heavily on the Longsword. Frost watched in anticipation, hoping that the enemy fire would subside. How many of them were there? After all those air strikes they hadn't been obliterated from the face of the planet?

A large, green bolt of plasma shot into the air. Frost watched as it glided towards one of the Hornets; the gunship moved but not fast enough. The fuel rod burst caught its right skid and blew it off. As the bird recoiled, another huge bolt rocketed skyward and slammed into the cockpit. Frost closed his eyes as he heard a scream and then the comm link end. The Hornet spiraled downwards and exploded when it made impact.

"We have a Hornet down, I repeat, a Hornet is down, over..." Frost said into the comms.

"Fire is too heavy, I'm taking too much damage, I've got to bug out. I'm sorry boys," the other pilot said, and turned his Hornet around. Before it finished it's turn, a third bolt of plasma flew upwards and struck its undercarriage. The Hornet fell towards the earth, its bottom a melted, flaming mess of metal. It skidded to a halt in front of of their view, obstructing their field of fire. As the dust settled, Frost spotted movement in the cockpit.

"Shit!" Frost yelled. Without thinking, he ran out of the Longsword. He ignored Steele and the others shouting his name. Dodging plasma and needler rounds, he made it to the cockpit and opened it up. "Come on!" Frost said, helping the pilot out. The pilot was for the most part uninjured, and was able to move on its own. They ran from the Hornet just in time, as the wielder of the fuel rod gun fired another plasma missile into it, totally destroying it.

Frost slid back into the Longsword and immediately got back onto the comms. "Both Hornets are down, I repeat, both Hornets have been splashed. One pilot is KIA, one unwounded."

He shook his head. A minute hadn't even passed since the Hornets arrived.

"What in the hell are you doing down there, Sergeant!?" Captain Waters belted over the comms.

"Get off of this channel, Captain Waters!" Hayes bellowed, "Unless you have any tactical advice to offer, reserve this channel for combat comms only. Frost, I'm sending Shortswords your way. Keep holding on, the Pelican is on its way.

Frost didn't bother responding. If the Pelican showed up before the Shortswords, it would get chewed to pieces. The Covenant were getting ready for a charge; if they came at them full force, then they would be overrun. They needed an edge to hold out for the next few minutes. Frost looked around the Longsword, trying to find a game changing weapon. But his mind fell back to the Warthog. He went back to the mouth of the exit of the Longsword and looked at what was left of it. Nothing. As he continued the search for options, his mind recalled the Warthog. Going back to the Longsword's exit, he sat that the M41 MG turret was still intact. If he could get to that, he'd be able to suppress the advance and hopefully gun enough of them down to make the EZ safer for the Pelican.

"Okay, on my go, lay down covering fire. I'm going to make a run for the Warthog."

"Why!?" Steele called, "It can't drive; it got blown up!"  
"The gun! The gun will give us the advantage!"

"You'll be nothing but food for those snipers."

"Not if you have anything to say about it; shift to counter-sniping Steele, target any targets left on the top of the ridge! Covering fire!"

Frost burst from the exit and sprinted for the Warthog. Immediately, he felt the enemy fire shift focus onto him. Bolts of plasma crackled by him, needler rounds kicked up clouds of sound, and Spiker rounds landed in neat lines inches from his feet, glowing hot for a moment before darkening to a cool gray.

The Warthog wasn't far so Frost reached in a few seconds. He raced to the other end, climbed into the bed, and manned the turret. It was still fully loaded. He began firing in long bursts, moving the gun back and forth in a semicircle against the enemy positions. Brutes caught out in the open were riddled with hundreds of rounds, squads of Grunts were razed, and Elites fell as they charged. Enemy fire was still heavy, and Frost had to duck a few times as plasma flew by his head. Even a few Spiker rounds embedded themselves into the shield of the M41.

Eventually, the Covenant were forced back into their cover. Their fire began to whither. Frost kept firing, confident that his gamble had paid off, until he spotted a Chieftain in full armor appear. In its clutches was the fuel rod gun that had wrecked their Warthog and downed the Hornets. Frost could see it roar and begin to line up the shot. He turned the gun to fire back, cursing loudly. If they lost the gun, they would lose the Pelican, they would lose Alvarez and the Hornet pilot, and lose themselves.

The Chieftain suddenly recoiled, thrown off the boulder it had been standing on.

"Got the fucker. You owe me for that one, bruv," Steele said over the comms.

"Focus on those snipers, Steele."

Frost kept firing. Streams of hot lead poured down range. He kept his fingers on the triggers for so long that his arms started to get numb. But he didn't stop. He was getting everyone out of there alive.

"Hey, Frosty the Snowman," came Jasper's familiar voice, "Triple Seven here, we're coming in to save your hiney. Is that you on the Warthog?"

"Affirmative," Frost said. He had paused momentarily to look at the gorgeous dropship approaching his position.

"You're one crazy bastard. We're going to land behind you."

"Roger that! Steele, round everyone up and get to the Warthog, evac's here!"

As he jumped down from the Warthog, the Shortswords arrived, carpet bombing the rock formations. The formations and the Covenant on them disappeared in a wall of flames, and Frost could feel the wave of heat hit him. It was the nicest thing he felt all night.

The Pelican landed and the rear door opened. Frost jumped up and turned around.

"Alvarez first!" He called.

Bishop and Knight each had an arm around Alvarez as the squad moved towards the Pelican. The rest of the squad were keeping their weapons trained back towards where the Covenant had been, just to be sure. Even the Hornet pilot was.

Frost knelt at the edge of Pelican's rear hatch. Alvarez looked up at him as Bishop and Knight brought her over.

"How about that dinner, Sergeant Frost?"

Frost smiled back at her as he hooked his hands under her arms and pulled her up. But as he did, he heard a far off shot. A fizzling pink beam of plasma shot into Alvarez's back as Frost pulled her in. She gasped for a moment, and then her eyes rolled back and her entire body went limp. Frost fell back into the Pelican with, her legs still hanging over the edge.

"Aw, fuck," someone swore.

"Ridge! Sniper on the ridge!" another called.

Frost looked up and watch Steele raise his rifle. He was standing straight and tall; it was no small feat to hold such a heavy rifle with such stability. Steele raised the rifle, aimed, and fired.

"Sniper down," Steele said, his tone cool.

Frost dragged Alvarez's body into the Pelican, making room for the rest to climb on board. No one said a word. Frost held the body, eyes wide, mouth open in shock. He remained seat on the deck.

Langley knelt beside him and placed two fingers on Alvarez's neck. Frost looked over at her sadly.

"Please tell me there's a pulse," he said quietly. He already knew the answer, though. Langley shook her head slowly and returned to her seat.

With a heavy sigh, Frost wiped his forehead of soot and sweat, tipping his helmet further back on his head. He reluctantly put a finger to his earpiece.

"Bravo One-One, we're on board the Pelican. One KIA...repeat, one KIA. Alvarez is down."

Frost let his hand drop. If anybody responded over the comms, he didn't hear them. He looked around at the faces of his squad. They were solemn, sullen, filthy, and exhausted. All of them stared into nothingness, panting, shivering as the adrenaline seeped away.

The mission was a failure.

* * *

Jasmine stood with a seething Vivian in the hangar. Colonel Hayes had also returned to the ship. He was standing near them, but not with them. When he had arrived, he had left the hangar for a few moments, then returned with a small box in his hand. Jasmine kept peering over at it, wondering what was inside. With her she had brought a pair of orderlies with a roller bed and a cover for the body of Captain Monique Alvarez.

Triple Seven slowly entered the hangar. As it landed, it turned so that the rear of the craft was facing them. It wasn't far from where they stood, but a distance from them nonetheless.

She spied that war correspondent Katz standing close to the Pelican, camera ready. Jasmine frowned; she had half a mind to go over and snatch the camera from his hands. First he replaced her as the resident photographer, and now he was going to try and get a picture famous by snapping of it of marines fresh from battle? Her dislike had grown for the man tenfold.

The rear door open and first one out was the crew chief, followed by the Hornet pilot. Next were Frost's marines, who were covered in grime. Their heads hung low and they held their arms limply at their sides. If they noticed Katz snapping photographs of them, they didn't care.

Finally, Frost emerged. He was holding Alvarez's body in his arms. One of her arms hung downwards as did her too legs. She looked small in his arms, like she was sleeping.

Frost stood in the door for a few moments, his face sad and solemn. Katz took the opportunity to snap another photo. Carefully, he hopped down and slowly walked towards her, Vivian, and Hayes. As he got closer, Jasmine could see that his gray eyes were glimmering.

He went over to the roller bed and carefully set Alvarez down. Delicately, he straightened her legs out as well as arms, laying her right arm by her side and gently placing her left hand on the center of her chest. For a few moments, he looked down at Alvarez mournfully, and Jasmine heard him whisper, "I'm sorry."

The orderlies covered Alvarez and took her away. Jasmine watched.

 _That's your lot, Captain Alvarez. For your exemplary duty in the face of overwhelming odds and fighting on the behalf of humanity, you get to reside in an icebox until we arrange for your transportation back to your home planet._

It was a thought that had surfaced every time Jasmine had transferred someone to the ship's morgue. He remembered her encounter with Frost in the morgue a month ago and was beginning to share his sentiments. It was a harsh place that offered no respect to the valiant dead. They deserved better than a cold box. Sadly, it was all they could do.

Frost was about to walk away when Vivian raised a hand.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"To the armory."

"No, you're not. You're going to explain how you got my pilot killed and how you let two Hornets get downed."

Frost's face filled with fury.

"If you're trying to make me feel like it's my fault that we brought back a body and left another four in the field, don't bother. I accept full responsibility for what happened."

"I knew Alvarez; she was a good pilot and a good woman, and now she's dead."

"She was hit by a sniper," Steele said. He had walked up behind Frost, and the rest of the squad was behind him. "By all accounts, the Covenant had been eliminated. It's not his fault. One sniper survived and was able to pull off that shot. That's war, Captain Waters. Get used to it."

Vivian glared at the marksman.

"What thinks you have the authority to speak to me like that, Corporal?"

"You can't talk to my men like that," Frost said, raising a finger, "my squad fought as best they could down there like they have for years. You don't get to reprimand them when you haven't had to fight on the ground yourself." Frost turned to Steele. "I don't need your help right now. Squad, head to the barracks and dump your gear and then get cleaned up and get a meal. We're going back down there in an hour."

Frost's squad began to fall out. Vivian was about to say something else but Jasmine put a hand on her arm.

Hayes then approached.

"Frost, Jasper filled me in on what happened while you were inbound. You did the best you could out there and you were still able to rescue one life. You put yourself at great risk."

He opened the small, white box and retrieved a Bronze Star.

"Travers gave me a supply of medals to hand out, seeing as we wouldn't be able to have proper ceremonies for some time. For your actions, I'm awarding you the Bronze Star."

Frost's face filled with rage. He smacked the Bronze Star from the colonel's hand so hard that it fell on the deck at Jasmine's feet.

"I don't want a _fucking_ medal, sir!" He yelled, "People died on my watch! The mission was a complete failure. I led my team right into a trap and Alvarez paid the prize. I don't deserve a goddamn medal!"

Hayes only sighed as the sergeant yelled in his face. Obviously, this was something that had occurred before between the two.

"I don't fuckn' want it, I don't fuckin' need it!" Frost cried and began to storm off.

Jasmine wanted to hold him then. It took a lot of self-restraint to prevent herself from doing that. She didn't want to anger Vivian further, nor break frat regs in front of the hangar personnel, even though at a time like this no one would have cared.

She scooped up the medal and walked over to Frost.

"It's not your fault, don't blame yourself."

He whirled around and got right in her face.

"Not my fault!? Whose fault is it then!? It's mine; I'm the squad leader and Alvarez died in my arms! I did everything I could and it wasn't enough! She died right there, right inside the Pelican, right in my arms, Jasmine! It's my fault, I couldn't save her! She's dead!"

Jasmine's felt a pit grow in her stomach as he shouted. His squad had stopped where they were. Everyone was watching.

"Sergeant Frost, there was nothing you could have done. The situation didn't allow for it."

"Bullshit, Jasmine!" He hollered, "I could have done a thousand things differently! I should have gotten on that turret sooner, I should have had my people focus their fire on the snipers and weed them out, but I didn't! Now Alvarez is dead and two Hornets are burning on the ground, and one of them has a dead pilot in there who tried to save our lives! I got people killed! It's my fault so why don't you just fucking _leave me alone_!"

He turned, kicked a nearby crate, and with an enraged cry, took off his helmet and pitched it across the deck. It landed with a clatter some feet away from them. Jasmine stood, hurt and speechless.

"Nate..." Corporal Steele said, holding a hand out to him, "Come on, Nate, let's go."

Frost slapped his hand away and stormed off.

Jasmine watched him go. She cleared her throat and slowly made her way over to where his helmet was. She picked it up carefully and wiped off some of the sand that was caked onto it. Steele came over and she handed it to him.

Steele held it with both hands, holding it by the rim and turning it in his hands. He wore a sad smile on his face as he stared down at it.

"Always been hard on himself, that one. Always been hard. Carries all the burdens so we don't have to."

"I understand."

"He didn't mean to..."

"I know."

Steele nodded. Jasmine held out the Bronze Star but he shook his head.

"You ought to hang onto that, Doc. Give it to him when you think the time is right. He won't take it from me."

Steele left after that. Jasmine stood there for a while, alone on the hangar deck. What a poor man, she thought, to live his life with so much self-pressure. She had understood the weight he had taken upon himself long ago but this far surpassed what she had originally imagined. A man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders was going to break eventually. They were their own worst enemies. They would never succeed, never be proud of their actions; everything they did was never enough. Everything would always be a failure to them. Frost was one of those men. Nothing would ever be good enough and it would be his fault. That mindset would rip him apart.

"I should have him kicked off this mission," Jasmine heard Vivian mutter as the latter approached her from behind. Jasmine felt her lips curl into a snarl.

"Are you that heartless? That mean is in pieces because of what happened down there, and yet all you do is treat him like he's a monster."

"He is a monster!" Vivian hissed, "What do you want me to do? Give him a hug and a big warm kiss? The man who killed my friends? Now he's gotten two pilots killed and lost two birds. He wasn't even able to retrieve the bodies. This mission was a failure."

"You act like he has control over what happens in a battle! He can't control who gets shot and who doesn't. He can't determine when and how the Covenant attack. He doesn't have the clairvoyance to know if a Hornet will get shot down or not."

Vivian shook her head.

"He's a squad leader, a commander of troops. He needs to be able to adapt to a situation, overcome any obstacles, and outt-hink the enemy. All he did was box them inside that Longsword and failed to clear the area."

"He didn't have any choice!"

"How do you know? You weren't down there."

"Neither were you."

Jasmine didn't want to partake in the conversation any longer. She walked away, intent on following Frost. She wasn't going to let him wallow in self-hatred like he was. Briskly, she walked through the facilities towards the armory. She marched by every single sailor and soldier, holding the Bronze Star in her hand. She was going to pin it in his shirt, even if he was going to scream in her face. He deserved it, for his bravery and his efforts to save as many lives as possible.

When she got to the armory she had to search for a few minutes. Eventually, she spotted him in one of the locker rooms. But she didn't go over to him. He was seated on one of the benches, hunched over with his hands over his eyes. He remained completely still. Steele, who had taken off his own helmet, was standing over him, with a hand on the back of Frost's head.

"It's okay, bruv, it's okay. It's okay to cry."

"I'm not crying," Frost said. His voice was thick. He wasn't sobbing but he was getting close to it.

"I know, I'm just letting you know it's okay to."

"I'm not going to cry."

"I'm just letting you know it's okay, bruv."

"I fucked it up down there."

"No you didn't, bruv. You got us outta there."

"Not Alvarez."

"You got that other pilot. You got us out of that mess."

"She was the mission."

"It's not your fault."

Jasmine couldn't bring herself to go over to them. She watched them for a time, sadly. Her eyes drifted down to the Bronze Star in her hand every so often. Everything told her to go over to him and pin it on his shirt, but she simply couldn't, even if he deserved it. All she did was watch Steele comfort his friend.

"It's not your fault, bruv. It's okay to cry."

"I'm not crying..."

"I know," Steele said quietly, "just letting you know it's okay."

* * *

" _Sometimes I wonder what things be like if Alvarez survived that night. Maybe she and Nathan would have gone on that dinner date of theirs. Maybe they would have forgotten about it. I like to think they would have though."_

 _-Louis-Henry Steele, speaking of Sergeant Nathaniel Frost and Captain Alvarez, date unknown_

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **It's short. Bite me. Just kidding, don't. It's 4:22AM (as I write this) again. No matter when I start writing it just seems I'll be up all night typing. Ah well, my suffering makes you all happy I suppose. I know some of you like lengthier chapters but I'm honestly starting to enjoy reaching sixteen pages in Google Docs. I never really wanted these to be typical chapters, rather to be episodes by nature, with enough content to sate the readers' appetites but not overload them with too much. I'll keep playing around with length though. Length shouldn't be a problem if I can update the story regularly, but once I'm back in school chapters will be fewer but probably longer.**

 **Comment responses. You know my spiel and I'm too tired to type it so let's cut to the chase.**

 **MightBeGone: MBG! I feel like those are initials I would chant at a sports game. Anyways, I appreciate your offer but I'm putting my original stuff on hold for a while. I'm also extremely shy with it...I'm uh, I'm nervous about sharing original work to be honest. But I'll keep your offer in mind, and if I do something original (and grow a pair) I'll definitely send something your way. And a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you as well, my dear friend.**

 **Josef772: Thank you kindly sir. To answer your question on Spartans: seeing as the story is currently taking place in the year 2541, the Spartan II program has officially been disclosed. It makes incorporating a Spartan character difficult. As well, many Spartans are named, so I've been toying with the idea of utilizing one of the Spartans from the Halo canon or coming up with an original one. But that said, I've already planned out my cast of characters long ago, so I won't confirm or deny the entry of a Spartan character into the story. Your second question: I've gotten question about romances from other readers before. Romance is a tricky thing and I'm still in the development stage with it. Often I've found that romance subplots become the sole focus of the story once they're introduced; I've seen many fanfics lose their serious tones and themes and become romantic stories. It's not a bad thing, but there needs to be balance. My story is going to explore complicated ideals and perceptions of right and wrong, humanity, and decision making and choices, and I don't want a romance subplot to detract from any of those. I would like there to be some manner of romance in the story, but I'm not sure if Vivian will end up being paired with someone else. If you have any ideas to share, lemme know via comment or PM.**

 **Alpha HighBreed: *checks previous chapter* Huh, you're right. Well, I'll fix that shit tomorrow because it's 4:34AM right now and I'm ready to hit the hay and it's going to take a long time to rewrite that battle sequence. Thanks for pointing that out. Seeing this is why I'd love for you to be my beta! And yes, deadlines and time tend to hamper writers abilities. That's why I stick to people who don't publish their stuff. You get finer, more interesting products in the end. And yeah, some fanfic authors have pressures. More often than not, fanfiction writers just have normal life to deal with. I mean myself, I'm a junior in college going into second semester, which means I'll have to start my senior thesis soon too. I've also got a chronically ill fiancee that I need to take care of. I also have my own needs and issues that I need to devote time to, you know? Fanfic writers have many complex circumstances that keep them from writing but 9 times out of 10, you will always ALWAYS see better work from them than many published authors. There's a lot of surplus, derivative garbage out there on book shelves while you'll find golden apples here on the web. And I see you noticed how I've carefully left Batavia's class unmentioned. You've seen through my master ploy (or laziness, or forgetfulness, you can pick one). Back in the development stage I was deciding which class for Batavia to be and I couldn't decide; I was leaning more towards Orion because of its self-sufficient capabilities, but the Epoch has a design I find more pleasing to the eye. I couldn't decide so I skipped it and forgot to decide basically. I'll decide once I fix Ch. 15. Again, thank you for sorting that out. (I really need a beta, don't I?"**

 **The Rookie Author: Well, kind of depends on what qualifies as late and early. It's currently 4:50AM EST as I type this, and seeing how this is AM, it qualifies as being extremely early. But because it's still dark outside, it qualifies as nighttime, and nighttime is general considered to be late. But then again, it can still be dark when it's morning. Does that make morning night, or night morning? Can the two blend? GAH! It's too late/early to have this philosophical discussion Rook, another time when I'm not half-dead from exhaustion! Goodnight/good morning!**

 **It's 4:56AM now. Right. I'm all done. I'm going to sleep in like five minutes. Peace.**


	17. Chapter 17: Designs

Chapter Seventeen: Designs

* * *

After three days, mopping up operations had finally come to a close. Repeated long range reconnaissance flights conducted by the army combined with the fleet's scanners showed that there were zero Covenant left on the colony. There was a great deal of celebrating planetside; the Army garrison was especially rowdy. Colonel Amsterdam offered her sincerest thinks to Captain Waters and her task force. She also praised the battle prowess of the 89th MEU.

The marines weren't so jovial. By all accounts, they had a tremendous success in terms of casualties. Over one hundred men had been wounded, and fifty-seven had died. As most units were often reduced to a few soldiers or lone survivors after most battles, Part of the 89th MEU's reputation was coming out with light casualty figures. Steele found the word 'light,' to be an improper term to use. One death was heavy on all of them. Everyone knew each other in their unit. He didn't like every single one of his fellow marines, especially the ones who took their soldiering business a little too seriously-although, he excluded Frost from that latter category. But that didn't mean he didn't feel sorrow when they died.

The 89th celebrated in its own way, mainly at the squad level. When they had returned to the _I'm Alone_ and cleaned up, they grabbed a meal and played poker, betting with cigarettes and chocolate. It was fun when they played card games, and it didn't matter who got the most cigarettes or chocolate; they shared just about everything and more often than not, they were returned to their respective owners at the game's conclusion.

Seated in a circle on the floor of the barracks, Steele dealt another hand. A lit cigarette dangled from his lips and his hair was still wet from the shower. He could hear other squads partying; some blasted music, others sung together. There were a few, he knew, that just went about their daily duties. Some men didn't need to celebrate a victory.

Victory was something that all soldiers longed for and the civilian population loved to hear about it. The fact that they had saved the colony from total annihilation and destroyed an enemy fleet in the process was going to be a massive morale boost back home. According to Hayes, at least, and Steele didn't take much stock in what that chest-thumper had to say.

Home. He didn't even remember what London looked like. He couldn't imagine his workaholic family taking the time to pick up the paper and read about how their son had taken part in a great victory against the aggressing, genocidal Covenant. Civilians on Earth and the Inner Colonies were so detached from the war, he was positive they had stopped caring. It didn't bother him like some of the other marines. Others whinged and whined that nobody cared, especially their families, who wrote them about topics unrelated to the war. Steele laughed at those guys; he never wrote his family and they hadn't written him a single letter ever since he took off. That was fine.

What bothered him was that Frost had stopped writing. He looked over at the NCO, who was sitting on his bed with a book. Frost never joined in card games. Steele had given up on getting him to join three years ago. His friend never really explained why. Maybe he wasn't too good at cards and didn't want to make a fool of himself in front of his friends, which was a foolish notion in itself seeing as they were all, in Steele's eyes, utterly crazy. Maybe he didn't like gambling, whether it was fake or not. Steele thought using cigs and chocolate bars nullified the apparent sins that some people placed on gambling, but maybe Frost's holier-than-thou complex was just too powerful. Perhaps, he just didn't like card games. That was his loss.

All the same, Steele decided to try one more time.

"Last chance Nate. Want me to deal you a hand?"

"No thanks," Frost said. He looked up from his book and smiled. "Appreciate the offer."

Steele was just glad to see his mate smile. It was the first time in the past three days. Alvarez's death had hit the squad like a sledgehammer, but it had affected Frost the most. He blamed himself for every little thing that happened to them. Even when he was thirteen, he'd own up to any problem the squad was suffering as his fault.

When he was wrong, Steele admitted it. Most of the time, at least. He wasn't the type to grovel and apologize for hurting someone's feelings. A simple sorry did the job; there was no need to act like every breath you took had a negative effect on someone else's life. Frost did that and all it did was hurt him.

Losing Alvarez that way still bothered him. Steele didn't need a degree in psychology to guess that. In his opinion, Frost had a right to be pissed off. They had gotten through that ambush, by some miracle that came in the shape of a suicidal Frost running to a half-destroyed Warthog. He had her in his hands, right there in the Pelican, just about to pull her in. And the Jackal, with one shot, ended their mission. When he had turned and fired that shot, Steele made sure that the bullet wouldn't cause death. The round had taken a chunk out of the Jackal's side and it tumbled out of sight. Steele hoped the alien bastard had died slowly in the sand, alone, unmourned.

She had been brave and she had fought alongside them despite that gash in her side. And she still died. That was the way it went. Not every mission ended in success. He had accepted that when he had seen a colony world get glassed for the first time. Frost still hadn't come to accept it.

But at least he was smiling again. Frost had a slow mourning process that caused him to become more reserved than usual. He craved solitude in the armory, working over his weapon again and again. Sometimes he'd find a spot and read for hours; he ready poetry books that his sister had send him a long time ago; on other occasions, he'd read something by Shakespeare. _Macbeth_ was his favorite. Other times he read books written by generals and warriors from bygone ages. When he read poetry, he'd read it out loud. Steele had heard him recite so many different poems he was sure he could memorize them.

 _Bugger allocates forty-five percent of the space in his brain to memorize poems, songs, and passages from books, forty-five percent for strategy and combat skills, five percent for social skills, and the other five percent for self-loathing_.

Steele made himself chuckle. He had only told that joke to Frost once, and it damn-near got him a punch to the gut. He was too harsh on his friend, but friends were supposed to be that way. Frost's charm was better than his own, as much as he hated to admit it. He had heard the exchanges between Alvarez and Frost; if she had survived, she would have dragged his ass to the priciest restaurant as soon as she could just so she could make googly-eyes at him from across the table.

His mind departed from the subject. Steele's standards were loose but the little voice in the back of his head told him that it was wrong to think so lightly of the dead and the suffering.

"Want to hit the gym later?" Steele asked Frost. The latter shook his head.

"No. I think we should all rest for at least a full day. We earned it."

"Damn right," Maddox muttered, who kept nodding off onto Bishop's shoulder. Bishop didn't mind; they were thick as thieves.

Steele considered pressing the matter. Maybe Frost needed to blow off some steam. Letting him loose on a punching bag would probably do the trick to finally get him over this emotional hurdle and it was always fun for Steele to watch him go berserk. But Frost would only hit a punching to hone that martial arts style of his.

All of his aggression, all of his frustration, all of his internal agony was saved for the Covenant. On the battlefield, he would give orders and appear as a figure of authority. When he wasn't handing out the orders, he was fighting, and he was more of monster than a man. He would roar like a beast and charge at aliens twice his size and could crush him a second. Somehow, he would always win. Steele had watched him dive into a pack of Grunts with just a knife and in less than a minute he was standing in a pile of corpses covered in blue blood. Not many men had the guts to leap onto an Elite and grapple with it. Steele had witnessed him do it many a time, and Frost always won. When they were firing at hostiles at mid-range, his companion was Sergeant Frost the squad leader. When he held that knife and closed in for hand-to-hand combat, he truly became Jack the Ripper. He would snarl and roar like an animal, his eyes would grow wide. Hell, Steele had seen him run up a hill on all fours just to catch a fleeing Jackal. His war name had been well-earned.

"Do you think I should go apologize to Dr. Jasmine?" Frost asked suddenly. Steele and the others were halfway through the game and looked up at him. He shrugged at his friend.

"You did get in her face."

Frost nodded.

"Yeah, I did. I'll go say something later."

Steele had only seen Frost erupt like that a few times. He never usually took his anger on other people. The poor doctor was just trying to help him and he screamed right at her. She had taken it like a champ, but she had looked more surprised than actually hurt, at least in Steele's perspective on the matter.

He didn't know Dr. Jasmine too well. She seemed to be of a good sort. During his physical she had been very funny. Steele had been a tad nervous but would never admit that to anybody. Her humor helped detract from the awkwardness of standing naked in a cold room. She was the type of doctor who had people's best interests at heart. Many military surgeons and doctors Steele had met in his time just saw them as machines that needed maintenance. Like drones, they would operate on the wounded, hollow-eyed and without any hint of emotion. Doc Jasmine was a serious sort with a good head her shoulders, everyone knew that, but Steele had a feeling she was all heart. An apology was necessary, and would end up doing more for Frost. Some time ago he had heard she was some kind of psychologist or therapist on top of being a medical chief, so he was sure she had found a way to deal with it. Though, Steele wouldn't know anything about therapists or the like. "They're a bunch of hippy-dippy freakazoids, and they're probably Communists," his father had said once. Steele had concluded long ago that his father was full of shit, but still had never visited one. Didn't need to. He had found a way to put everything in it's place a long time ago.

Captain Waters was a more puzzling individual. He had never seen such a professional break like she did, first over the radio and then accusing Frost in the hangar. An impression instilled since his first day in the UNSCMC was that officers of all branches were in control of themselves and the situation. But she had gone off on him like rank didn't exist. It was odd. If he hadn't cut in between the two like he had, he was sure a shouting match would have ensued. The way they had talked to one another was strange, still. Steele, suspicious of everyone who wasn't wearing their uniform, decided that something had occurred between the two. What, he couldn't be sure of. Was he going to find out? Maybe, but after he finished the card game.

* * *

Overlooking the hangar were some offices allocated to the Air Force and Navy officers tasked with its operations, personnel, and the aircraft it held. There was also an air traffic control room. There were six officers on either side. The most spacious one was occupied by Commander Dennis Ngouabi. He was a stout man who hailed from Republic of the Congo; he had served in the UNSC Navy since he was sixteen. Now at forty, he was a decorated officer who had taken part many of the larger engagements of the war. Most of his career had been spent captaining carriers, which had given him an excellent mind for fleet and starcraft coordination. It seemed that while he was a proficient naval captain, his true passions leaned towards commanding the air components of a carrier. As such, he stepped down six years ago as CO of his ship, UNSC _Insightful_ , and began serving as the CAG on another ship.

For his experience and talents as serving as a CAG, or Commander Air Group, he had been selected as the _I'm Alone's_ aircraft component. Under normal circumstances, he would be found solely on a carrier. But as the _I'm Alone_ also had the ability to maintain and deploy starcraft, the ship required the presence of a CAG. The usual rank of the CAG was also Captain, but Ngouabi had requested a demotion after Vivian's ascension to the task force commander. Although he was the rank of Captain as well, he was not the senior officer on the ship. That fell to Vivian. She was the supreme commander of the task force and the master of the _I'm Alone_. Ngouabi, as the CAG, was to act as a co-commander, not as a subordinate, though his responsibility was for the Air Force and Navy personnel who operated the various air and starcraft, as well as the operations in the hangar.

Vivian stood at the window in his office, overlooking the hangar. Damaged Pelicans, Longswords, and Shortswords were being repaired. Alvarez's Longsword had been recovered but had been transferred to the _Batavia_. The carrier had better equipment to repair such a heavily damaged craft than the _I'm Alone_. It didn't feel right letting another ship carry a starcraft that had been deployed from her ship, but Vivian's feelings on the matter were secondary to military practicality.

"Haven't gotten the chance to tell you that you did a hell of a job on the Covenant fleet. I've been doing this for most of my life and that was one of the most creative uses of emergency thrusters I've ever seen," Ngouabi said. Vivian turned to face him. He was seated at his desk, brown eyes focused on the screen of his terminal as he tapped away at the keyboard. He was bald and wore a thick gray beard. His features were very pronounced and strong, but he had had a big smile.

"Thank you. That means alot coming from you, Captain Ngouabi."

"It's good to see the next generations of officers come in. We need some fresh minds, some new energy. Many of the officer I served with are gone, but those that remain are stuck in their ways. Flexible officers who think outside the box, like yourself, are going to win this war."

He paused from his work and folded his hands on his desk. His desk was bare save for the computer, his data pad, some forms, and a small model of the UNSC _Insightful_. "I suppose you're here to speak to me about Captain Alvarez."

"Yes. I felt the need to apologize for the the failure of the rescue operation. I know Alvarez was one of your best."

Ngouabi sighed heavily and rose from his seat. He folded his hands behind his back and joined Vivian at the window. They stared out at the hangar, watching the crew wearing different colored vests carry out their duties.

"I met Monique three years ago when I served on the _Ten Fathoms_. It was the ship I transferred to once I stepped down from being the master of the _Insightful_. She was a good pilot, quick to laughter, full of energy. People gravitated to her; she was easy to like."

He chuckled. "I remember one man was so taken with her he proposed marriage. Made a great big fool of himself, getting down on one knee with no ring. She let him down easy though. That was the way she was with people."

His expression grew a bit sadder. "She loved to fly. That Longsword was her baby. And she was so determined to win every engagement. She racked up a higher splash count that many others. It's why when Rear Admiral Travers assigned me to the _I'm Alone_ , I asked Alvarez and her crew to come with me. I knew she would do well, though I was hoping she would improve."

"Improve? She was an ace pilot."

"Yes, but she was prone to tunnel-vision. She would only focus on downing as many targets as she could. The tactical playing field would disappear from her mind. It would be just her and the enemy craft. More than once she sustained damage from bogies on her tail or Covenant anti-aircraft fire. I kept trying to tell her that but it just never stuck. It caught up to her. I knew it would, one day or another."

Vivian sighed deeply.

"The rescue operation was a failure. The team sent in to extract her failed to arrive before the Covenant did, and walked straight into an ambush."

Ngouabi shook his head.

"That team got in there as best they could, Captain Waters. If it weren't for the sniper, they would have gotten her out safely. You and I have never had to fight on the ground. Those men have for years."

He went back to his desk and leaned against it. "Heard the boy who led the team took it very hard."

"He should. He was responsible."

"I understand you were acquainted with Alvarez, but you can't blame the boy."

Vivian hated that he called him a boy. Frost wasn't a boy, nor was he a man. He wasn't human in her eyes. Alvarez was. The few times she had met the Air Force pilot, she had roughhousing with her crew mates. She had a big smile and spoke very forwardly. She was by no means shy. Vivian trust individuals who put everything forward. Even when she didn't know he was the one, she had gathered that he wasn't that type. For all his smiles, tales, and quips of humor, he kept almost everything on lockdown. Even his emotions were kept on lockdown, except for his outburst. Vivian hated to admit it but he probably wouldn't have yelled like he did if she had kept her mouth shut. But she couldn't. Alvarez was good, she deserved to come back to the ship and fight another day. Who didn't have that right? She had her dispositions against the marines but she couldn't bring herself to despise them just because they wore the same uniform as Frost. She pictured Watson on the writing and bleeding on that bed, in so much pain that he couldn't make any noise, just fast, animal-like gasps. He deserved to go on; she was glad that he would. Jasmine relayed to her the other that Dr. Khan's efforts had succeeded, and Watson would return to duty sooner than expected.

"What's his name?" Ngouabi asked.

"Whose?"

"The marine who led the rescue op?"

"Frost. Sergeant Frost."

"Ah, that's right. That living legend," Ngouabi chuckled, "I've met many legends. Some legends are simply that, tales that spread through rumor and hearsay. Others, well...they're more well-founded."

"Trust me, his are well-founded."

"You sound like you don't like the boy very much."

"He and I have some history I'm unwilling to divulge."

Ngouabi grunted curiously. He nodded his head to the side, accepting the answer.

"I don't blame him for what happened. There's only two factors that caused that incident: the Covenant, and Alvarez."

"How can you say that, Captain? She was your friend."

"Yes, she was. But lost her situational awareness and she was shot down. She was too focus on the fighting. You lose sight of your surroundings, of what's on either side of you, behind you, above you, you're going to get yourself killed. If you just keep charging, barreling forward, locked onto the goal, you'll end up failing some other way. Even if you reach your goal, splash that fighter, destroy that target, you can still end up dead."

Vivian didn't respond. Silence enveloped them for a few moments. Ngouabi stroke his beard a few times, "Don't be angry at the boy. It wasn't his fault. He was just there trying to do what was right."

An irrational part of Vivian felt that he was speaking not of the rescue operation but of something else entirely. Ngouabi did have a sage-like persona around him, and he had the years of experience to back up that wisdom. Either that, or somebody had gone wagging their tongues about the confrontation in the armory.

Thankfully, her data pad chimed with a message. It was from Jasmine.

 _Viv,_

 _You've skipped your physical twice already. Get to the medical bay before I send someone to drag you here._

 _-Jas_

Vivian chuckled.

"Sorry, Captain, I have to go. I've got to appease the good doctor."

Ngouabi smiled and gave her a heavy pat on the back.

"Good luck."

* * *

Jasmine finished making some notes on her data pad while she waited for Vivian to get dressed in the examination room. She waited another minute and knocked on the door before coming in. Vivian was already back into her gray officer's attire.

She smiled.

"So, am I healthy or what?"

Jasmine chuckled.

"The short answer is yes."

Vivian had always been healthy. She stayed in shape and she led a clean lifestyle. Jasmine knew about that bottle of scotch that Travers had gifted to her, but Vivian was old enough and responsible enough to drink moderately. As her friend, Jasmine hadn't felt the need to tell her to drink moderately, but as her doctor she had mentioned it during the exam. Besides that, she didn't smoke. That was a big one. A fairly small portion of the ship's crew smoked, but a majority of the ODSTs and marines did. Cigarettes had effectively become a military tradition rather than a staple. It seemed to be one of the few things a soldier needed to get by every day. She had heard someone say that if you give give a marine an MRE, a full canteen, a pack of cigarettes, his rifle and some ammo, you had a happy marine. Back in the early 20th Century there had even been an alcoholic ration for soldiers in many militaries. She was glad that got thrown out the window. The last thing they needed was a cask of grog on the ship; alcohol was worse than the cigarettes in her opinion. A part of her was baffled that people still smoked in the 26th Century. The risks were well-known, they had been for centuries, and yet the marines puffed away like smoke stacks on the top of a factory. Why would men who had to be athletic partake in an addictive substance that would slowly destroy their lungs? The marines were very odd to her, still.

Jasmine scrolled down her datapad. "There is one thing I wanted to talk to you about. You mentioned that your last few periods have been heavier; it was more thick and congealed?"

As the chief medical officer, Jasmine had to be well-versed in multiple fields of medicine, including gynecology. She had conducted a basic exam and hadn't found anything physically wrong with Vivian. She hadn't complained of excessive pains or anything out of the ordinary, so Jasmine didn't feel the need to pursue further examinations or testing. Vivian hadn't also wanted to go through the rigmarole of it either; Vivian could be a bad patient from time to time. She would get impatient easily and would try to get Jasmine to move faster. Jasmine never gave in; she remained slow and methodical. Medicine was a practice that she never rushed.

"Yeah, they've been pretty heavy."

"Heavy periods aren't uncommon."

A few other women on the ship were also complaining of heavy periods. It was normal, especially for the younger women who were still in their teens.

Jasmine tucked her data pad under one arm. "The cause is most likely stemming from a hormone imbalance, seeing as you're not showing symptoms of other causes for heavy periods. I can put you on birth control."

"Birth control? Why?"

"Do you want the short answer or the long answer?"

"Short answer please, I've got things to do."

Jasmine relented with a sigh.

"Basically, they'll help level your hormones. Do you want to or not?"

"Might as well. One less thing to deal with."

"Alright, I'll write you a prescription for NuvaRing and send it to the pharmacy techs."

"Why the ring?"

"It'll be easier for you to manage in comparison to the pill. It's not like you can step off the bridge and go take the pill during a battle."

Vivian shrugged.

"Point taken. But can't I just get here?"

"Vivian, you have to go to the counter like everyone else."

"But you're a ship's doctor. Aren't things a little different?"

"We had a pharmacy installed to facilitate administration of handing out prescribed medicine; leaving the task to just the medical chief or any of the doctors would be counter-productive. So you're going to the counter, you're going to give them your name, and they're going to hand it to you."

"Come on, I don't want to give them an impression that I'm fooling around with someone."

"You've never been concerned with your image, Viv."

"I'm the Captain, I have to be now. They trust in me and look up to me. I have to set an example."

"The entire staff must abide by the rules on confidentiality just like I have too."

"You know they'll end up gabbing about it with their buddies when no one's listening, and then those buddies will talk to their buddies and gab even more. Before you know, there'll be a big rumor about me."

"Do you want the ring or not?"

"Yeah, yeah, give me the friggin' slip," Vivian said with a laugh, snatching the piece of paper from Jasmine's outstretched hand, "we don't have the typical doctor-patient relationship, do we?"

Jasmine laughed.

"No, we don't. I've been your doctor since we became friends."

"Do you remember that one time I got real sick on Luna? When that stomach bug was going around? I was so miserable."

"It was your fault; you wouldn't go see the doctor."

"Yeah, because he was a prick. Plus, I didn't want to report in sick."

"I had to smuggle medicine out of the infirmary for you. You could have gotten me in trouble."

"You love taking care of people, just admit it. You were happy to do it."

She had gotten her there. Jasmine enjoyed taking care of people. Ending suffering, curing ailments, helping people become their normal selves again, that was what she lived for. Or perhaps she didn't know anything else. Her father and mother were both doctors. Her entire childhood had consisted of listening to the two talk about medicine and...not much else. They enjoyed their professions. It made sense to her, even when she was very young. If they were happy doing it, then why _not_ pursue medicine? Yet, all through her childhood, they had told her she didn't have to become a doctor. Jasmine didn't know what else she wanted to do though. When she turned fifteen, she had decided to become a doctor. But she wasn't going to sit in a fancy hospital on Earth while so many others enlisted. Here, she could do her bit for humanity while doing what she loved, helping folks out. Most people would pretty happy with that; Jasmine decided she'd be happy once the war was won.

"I was," Jasmine said, remembering. She and Vivian smiled at each other for a moment.

"Will you still be my doctor once the war is over?"

"Sure."

There was a long pause. Jasmine looked up from her data pad. Vivian was still standing next to the small examination table. The small room was entirely still and quiet.

Jasmine blinked.

"You're free to go, Viv."

Vivian rubbed the back of her head.

"Are you okay, Jas? You've seemed down the past couple of days. I've been meaning to ask but, you know, I had to stay on the bridge because of the mop up ops."

"There are more important things for you to worry about, Viv. You're the battle group commander, you've got a hundred duties and thousands of lives to care for. I'm good."

"You're my friend and you're not good. Come on, talk to me."

Jasmine didn't say anything for a few minutes. She was afraid this would open up a can of worms. Vivian was her best friend and she cared about her, but these back-and-forth arguments over Frost were starting to get tiresome. Not in annoyingly tiresome, but a sad tiresome. Vivian was better than that, the person she became when she spoke about him. She was a good person, valiant, brave, moral, smart. Her obsession dashed all of those traits to bits. Reason was crushed by anger, interaction pushed aside by hurt indignation, and lawfulness was replaced by a vigilante desire for revenge. Frost would be her undoing, and he wouldn't even have to lift a finger. All he had to do was exist. As long as he exited, Vivian would unravel. Jasmine was determined not to let her friend fall.

But Vivian spoke first.

"Is it about...Frost? What happened in...the hangar?"

She spoke slowly, like the words pained her. The usual rage that accompanied his name was absent. In its stead was an awkward, concerned tone.

Vivian shrugged. "I know you guys are friends. I mean, you've got to be if he's going to use your first name. It...uh...sucks when your friend gets pissed at you when it wasn't your fault."

"Yes...it does."

"Have you guys talked at all? I mean, I know it's not like you chat all the time..."

"No, not since that night."

"Are you going to say something to him?"

"I'm not sure."

"Are you...I dunno, upset with him?"

"I don't know if that's the right word to use. Just, shocked I guess. I never expected it from him. He's become a friend very quickly and I admire him, in a way." She didn't want to say she admired him for the same reasons she admired Vivian.

A few moments of silence shrouded them once more.

"It...it bothers me that you're friends with him," Vivian finally said, tracing a circle on the nearby counter with her index finger.

"I know."

"I've told you about what happened and you two are friends; how do you think that makes me feel? I hope I'm not appearing petty. I'm not jealous, it's just that you're my friend. My best friend. We're supposed to have each other's backs, but it doesn't feel like you have my back even though I have yours. It takes a lot out of me."

Jasmine took a step closer and put a hand on Vivian's arm.

"I understand, Vivian. But the reason I'm not supportive of the way you treat Frost is because it's unbecoming of you. We're stuck in a god-awful...shitty war, but this is a time for you to make things right."

"I'm trying to do make things right but you haven't agreed with anything I've done."

"Because that's not the right way to do it. Have you thought about talking to the man? Settle your differences like adults?"

"This isn't some little argument or disagreement, Jas. People died because of him."

"I know, but you have to try to talk to him. Promise me you're going to try."

Vivian shook her head.

"I'm sorry, but I can't. Just thinking about him pisses me off. It's like I go back there and see it all again. Just saying his name gets me..."

She seethed for a moment and took a deep breath. "I just wish you were more understanding. You're my friend."

"The only reason I don't support your actions is because you're going to end up causing more trouble for yourself. You're going to end up hurting yourself or someone else. I want to prevent that from happening because we're friends. I'm trying to help you, not hinder you."

Vivian sighed unhappily.

"I know..."

She started heading for the door, but before she exited the room she turned around. "I know you won't pick sides. I won't force you too. Just...I just..."

"If you need a shoulder, I'm always here for you."

"The same goes to you," Vivian looked down at the floor for a moment, and then she looked back up, her emerald colored eyes looking into Jasmine's amber-studded brown ones. "And patch things between you and Frost, if there needs to be a patch."

* * *

Frost knocked on the door to Vivian's office. There was no response. He knocked again and still nothing.

Another medical officer was passing by. Frost walked over to him.

"Lieutenant, excuse me, but is Dr. Jasmine busy?"

"She's in her office."

"Is she busy?"

"She's always busy, trooper."

The officer departed. Frost felt stupid standing outside the door like he was. His mind wanted to guide him back to the barracks to wait and try again another day. But his legs remained stiff and defiant of that wish. And his hand had a mind of his own as he pressed the button on the side of the door frame. The door slid open, allowing him to step inside, and then it slid shut behind him.

Jasmine was at her bookcase, organizing her books. Her hair was out of its bun and was cascading past her shoulders. He had no idea how she fit all that hair into a bun or a ponytail. Her hair was thick and dark, but at the ends it was dirty blonde color. It all shone in the light. She had taken off her white lab coat, which left her in an olive drab turtleneck sweater with the UNSC logo on the left part of front. Her glasses were resting on her forehead, and she had a pair of earphones plugged into a datapad that was holding in one hand. She was humming along to music, tapping her foot, and nodding her head along with the beat.

Frost found himself watching her for a few moments. She seemed happy. Often she seemed preoccupied with something else. Even when she smiled or laugh or spoke lightly, there seemed to be a weight inside of her holding her back. Over the course of coming onto the ship, they had spoken quite a few times and had found themselves walking side by side more than once, and this was the first time she seemed completely relaxed.

Jasmine turned slightly and gasped at the sight of him. Frost jumped a little himself and held up a hand.

"Sorry!"

"No, it's alright," Jasmine said, removing the earphones. "Just wasn't expecting anyone."

"Is this a bad time?"

"No, no it's fine. I was actually able to get ahead of my work so I thought I'd just, you know, tidy up my office. My work piles up."

Frost understood what she meant. There were multiple data pads on her desk and stacks of papers. A few folders were even on the floor.

What caught his attention were the pillow and blanket on the couch. Frost stared at his for a few moments, then cracked a confused smile and pointed at it. Jasmine laughed.

"I'm barely ever in my quarters anymore. That photojournalist or war correspondent or whatever he needed a room and none of the marines were willing to give him a space, so I gave him my quarters and moved everything in here."

"Sleeping on the couch must get uncomfortable."

"It's more comfortable than it looks," Jasmine said. She seemed to regret those words because her cheeks turned a little red. Frost laughed politely.

"There was one time we were in the field for thirty or so hours. We were on this agricultural colony, very underdeveloped. Covvies had landed and we were actually able to repel the invasion. But we were so tired and they couldn't get Pelicans to our location. We didn't have our vehicles either. I remember the entire MEU was just wandering across this long stretch of farmland. We just trudged through all of these fields of crops. I remember they were flowers everywhere too. Strangest thing; white flowers all along the grass. And the sun was rising and it made the sky turn pink, so the white petals of the flowers turned pink too. It was beautiful. And then we reached this huge cornfield and when started moving through the stalks we just dropped and fell asleep."

Jasmine was listening intently, an awed smile on her face.

"You've got a knack for telling stories."

"Oh, I'm just telling it just how I saw it."

"You've got a good memory."

"Don't give me too much credit," Frost said, shifting on his feet. Jasmine ran a hand through her hair.

"Would you like to sit down?"

"Sure."

Frost sat down in one of the armchairs. It was more comfortable than he expected. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"You've got a coffee maker in here?"

"Like I said, I moved my entire room in here."

"I'm jealous; we're not allowed to have coffee makers in our barracks."

"Why's that?"

"We're enlisted men."

"Ah, right. How do you take yours?"

"Lots of sugar."

Frost was sitting in the chair with its back to Jasmine's desk. He peered around the side. She was hunched over a small table next to the bookcase, preparing the brew. Her hair had fallen around her face.

He turned back around and face forward, drumming his fingers on the arms of the chair. Try as he might, he couldn't find something to say. But before he knew it, Jasmine was handing him a mug. She had one herself.

"Thanks," Frost said and blew on it for a few moments. Jasmine sat down in the armchair across from him. He took a sip and was surprised by the taste. "This...tastes like chocolate."

Jasmine smiled softly, "Can you keep a secret?"

"Sure."

"I always sneak a few chocolate bars from the mess. I always let a few pieces melt in my coffee."

"Not allowed to take food from the mess."

"I know, but I really love chocolate," she said before taking a sip. "Do you like it?"

"Chocolate sure is a nice touch."

They sat there quietly for a while, sipping their coffee. Their eyes didn't really meet. Frost kept his eyes on the far wall while Jasmine kept hers towards the floor. It was awkward and pleasant all at the same time.

"I'm sorry," Frost finally managed to say. There was no other way to say it. He had been searching for a more graceful or elegant way to say, but his mind failed him.

"It's alright."

"Didn't mean to holler at you like that."

"I know. It's okay. I appreciate your apology."

Frost scratched his beard and shook his head.

"Just seemed...wrong. It was wrong, the way she died, seconds from getting away. She was there, I mean _right_ there. I had her in my hands, Jasmine, in my hands. And she still died."

"You got her there. If you hadn't fought the way you did, she wouldn't have made it that for."

"It doesn't matter. The point was to get her out of there."

"In a way, you did. The last thing anyone wants is for the Covenant to trample of their body."

Frost nodded slowly. He had seen what they did the dead. It was terrifying. Jasmine leaned forward in her seat and looked him in the eyes, "You know better than anyone that a battle is always changing, fluctuating. There are variables and prevailing factors. It can go sideways in a minute. You can't control that. You've got to accept that it's out of your hands sometimes."

Frost sighed.

"It's not like I can flip a switch, Jasmine."

The doctor sighed too.

"Nate, can I call you Nate?"

"Yes."

"Nate, you've got to let it go. I know that's easier said than done, but give yourself some time. Take a step back and look at the situation from the outside, not the inside."

Frost ran a hand down his face.

"I'll try."

Jasmine stood up, having finished her cup of coffee. Frost had too, so she took his mug and put it back on the small table. She started to go back to her seat, but instead she turned around faced Frost.

"I'd like you to come here once a week."

"What?"

"Doctor's orders."

"Why?"

"To talk."

"Talk? About what?"

"Anything."

Frost stood up, waving his hand.

"I dunno, Doc. I'm not sure about the whole therapy thing."

"We can talk as Nate and Jasmine, not Dr. Ebrahimi and Sergeant Frost. Just come here to talk and get stuff off your chest. I think it would do you some good."

"I have seven pals to talk to if I'm down."

Jasmine scoffed at him with a playful smile.

"You don't think I remember our first conversation? You'll never bring your troubles to the squad. Can't carry around your troubles forever. Bring them here. Think about it."

This was a little more than he expected. But he nodded all the same.

"Okay. I'll think about it."

"Good."

They stared at one another for a moment.

"Well, I guess I'll be off then."

"Oh, alright. Well, I'll see you around."

"I'm sure you will, it's a small ship."

"This ship is over fifteen-hundred meters long!"  
"Ever had to run thirty-two kilometers without stopping?"

"That sounds like a story."

The door slid open, revealing Captain Waters. Frost braced for the worst. She eyed both of them for a few moments.

"Am I interrupting something?"

"No, Captain Waters. I was just leaving."

He gave a curt nod towards Jasmine and began walking out. He stopped when he was right beside her and leaned towards her. He whispered, "You won't get a fucking apology from me," and left. He felt her eyes follow him all the way down the hall.

* * *

Vivian let the door close before she spoke. Jasmine raised her hands.

"He came by to apologize."

"Good," Vivian said quickly. Jasmine sensed that she had something on her mind.

"Why don't you sit down and I make you a cup?"

"Sure."

Jasmine grabbed a fresh mug and went work. Vivian sat down in the chair Frost had been in. Jasmine found that surprising, or perhaps she simply didn't know. She decided to keep it that way, fearing that her friend would light the armchair on fire or toss it out one of the airlocks.

"Have you started sleeping in here?"

"I gave my room up to that Katz fellow."

"That annoying journalist?"

"Yeah. No one in the main barracks was going to take him so I gave him my room. I've been sleeping in here most of the time anyways." She couldn't count how many times she had fallen asleep at her desk, or the amount of times she woke up with a saliva-soaked piece of paper stuck to her face.

"I...see. I wanted to let you know, I did some thinking about what you said earlier. I've got an idea."

"Wow, it's only been a couple of hours," Jasmine said, "wait until I sit down."

It was ready in a few minutes. She handed the mug to Vivian as she passed by and dropped into her chair. Vivian blew on it and began drinking it quickly. Jasmine winced. "Aren't you burning your whole mouth right now?"

"I'm fine," Vivian assured her, "I'm going to talk with one of his squad members."

"Why would you do that? Getting more people involved seems like a bad idea."

"They don't know what happened."

"So, what're you going to gain from speaking with one of them?"

"I need to know more about him, what's done, find out more about what happened on Skopje. I need to know what he said, what he did, everything."

"Why don't you just talk to him yourself?"

"He won't talk to me. I pulled a gun on him. He's got no reason to listen to me. Did you see him whisper to me on the way out? He taunted to me. He's not willing to talk."

Jasmine shifted uneasily in her seat.

"So, you're trying to find out if he actually committed another crime you can investigate him for?"

"No. What's the one thing you should do before you enter a battle?"

"What?"

"Study your enemy before you act. Frost won't divulge anything. His companion, Corporal Steele might, though."

Jasmine could see her logic. She wanted to offer her criticism for the idea, though that was going to be useless. Vivian had her own way of doing things, but at least this route of approach would keep her and Frost out of each other's way for a time. That was safer for both of them, and probably the entire ship. As well, it might dissuade her from pursuing action if nothing informative turned up from the conversation.

"I think it's a good idea," Jasmine said.

"You think so?"

"Yeah. You'll probably get some real info. It's good to be informed before you go ahead and make decisions."

"Right."

Vivian finished her cup of coffee. Jasmine got up and took it from her.

"Are you going to stay a little longer? I can brew you another."

"No, I've got other duties to attend to. I just wanted to come here and let you know that I'm...trying. Trying to do this right."

She sounded solemn as she said this. Jasmine smiled.

"Thank you, Viv."

Vivian nodded and left. Jasmine went over to set the cup down. It would be easier to clean than the others; she hadn't put any chocolate in it.

* * *

Some time had passed since the card game had ended, and Steele was sitting in the mess hall alone. The rest of the squad had already finished eating. Moser and Grant had gone to the armory for target practice; Maddox went with them to tinker some more in the workshops. Bishop and Knight went back to the barracks to write letters home, and Langley had gone to visit some of her friends who were comms specialists in other squads. Frost had left to see if Dr. Jasmine was available. He had been gone for a while, and Steele wasn't sure if he had finished his visit with her yet, but it didn't matter how long it took. Steele was glad he was going to say something to her. It would help him a lot more than it would her.

He would have gone back to the barracks to nap but he was waiting for someone. His eyes scoped the mess hall, looking for a particular face. The target was anywhere among the horde of soldiers and sailors lining the tables. Steele sipped his tea, waiting patiently.

Patience was something that many didn't think he possessed. In fact, Steele like to believe he was just as patient as Frost. Well, Frost probably had him beat, but he was close enough. It came with being a sniper. Marksman training had involved a lot of techniques to stabilize the body and the mind, to quell one's thoughts, control their breathing, and of course to learn targets. Now, fighting the Covenant wasn't always a sit and wait business. It was very rare that Steele found himself fighting from a prepared position. More often, he was dropped into a hot zone and had to scramble for some kind of vantage point to take his shots. Much to his annoyance, he had to treat his sniper rifle like a DMR. The damned thing was heavy and unwieldy when trying to turn his body around and quickly take down targets. On the plus side, it made for a good club. He had bashed dozens of Covvie heads in over the years, and it never stopped being fun. The look on a Grunt's face when they saw a screaming Brit holding his rifle by the barrel like a baseball bat was priceless.

Steele finished his cup, so he got up and put it away. As he walked back to his seat, hands in his pocket, he finally spotted his target: the war correspondent.

The young, thick haired man was in civilian clothes and had sat down by himself at the end of a long table. He had the straps of two cameras around his neck and he was just about to dig into his meal. What was his name? Kat? Katz, that was it. What kind of parent named their kid after half of a chocolate bar, he wondered.

Steele made his way over to him and pulled out a cigarette.

"Got a light?" he asked.

"Huh? No. Sorry."

"Enh, that's alright. Ain't you a famous photographer or something?"

"Well, I'm not famous, but yeah, I'm the war correspondent."

"Ah, bet you'll rise to fame one day."

"Yeah, hopefully."

"You want to take a picture of me?"

"What?"

Steele grabbed Katz by the back of his head and pushed his face down into his tray of food, hard. He pushed his face into the mashed potatoes on his tray for good measure. Then, he grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him roughly from his seat and onto the floor.

"What the hell are you doing man!?" Katz cried.

Steele took both cameras from his person. Katz tried to hang onto them but Steele delivered a solid kick into his side.

"Which one of these has the picture you took on it?"

"What picture!?"

"The one you snapped of my pal, holding the dead girl, remember, ya fuckin' vulture, you!"

"It's not on either of those ones, I used a different camera."

"Ah, and here I was hoping I could smash the fuckin' thing over your head."

"Those cameras cost a lot of money!"

"Like I give a shit."

Steele threw one of the cameras against the deck with all his might. It smashed into a hundred pieces that scattered all over the place. He took the second and smashed it as well.

"What the fuck man!?"

Steele dropped down, placing all of his weight on his right knee which he pressed into Katz' chest. He grabbed the photographer by his jaw, tightly.

"Shut up and listen to me, you son of a bitch. If I ever see or even _hear_ about you taking a picture of dead bodies again, I'm not going to break your cameras, I'm going to bust your hands so bad you'll have to drink everything through a metal straw for the rest of your miserable fucking life! You don't get to take pictures of the dead and use them to make a name for yourself! You want to get pictures? You want to get famous? Then you're gonna have to get into the shit like the rest of us. If you ain't got the fucking stones to do that, then get the fuck outta here!"

Steele stood up, but before he left, he clamped a foot down on Katz' chest. "And if you send that picture to your fancy-ass magazine, I won't break your hands. I'll fucking kill ya. Got me?"

"Yeah, yeah, I got you!" Katz said quickly, nodding his head. Steele smiled then and removed his friend.

"Good. Enjoy your meal. Tell me about the mashed potatoes, I didn't have any but I heard they were alright."

Steele wiped his hands and started heading back to the barracks. The mess hall had grown completely silent for the duration of the little episode. He didn't care. His point had been made. As he began walking back to the barracks, he spotted Dr. Jasmine coming down the hall.

"Corporal Steele," she said, urgently. But she paused as she looked over his shoulder, spotting Katz getting up from the deck. "...what happen to him?"

"Oh, he tripped or something. Broke both his cameras. Spectacular really. Is there something wrong?"

"No. Well, maybe. I need to talk to you in private."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Alright, I'm done staying up until 4:00 in the goddamn morning. I swear the lack of sleep is starting to make me paranoid. I love you guys and I love getting a chapter out a day, but I think that might have to stop here. Unless I can allocate my time better and get up earlier in the day to write, there'll probably one or two days between chapter updates. Sorry everyone, I don't like doing that to you but I need to catch up my rest. :(**

 **Two things: one I still haven't updated chapter 15. I'll get around to that, never. (Probably tomorrow). Secondly, there was not outro quote or song lyric on this one. Sorry but I'm too tired to find one or make something up right now. There'll be one next time. Always keep an eye out for those, they reveal things about the chapter.**

 **Comment responses, everybody's favorite, yaaaay (I love comment responses, they're my favorite part honestly). I love writing this part because I have to open another tab on my computer to check and see who commented and I'm always like, "Alright who the hell commented this time? Bet Alpha did."**

 **MightBeGone: Bruh, I've said it before, I'll say it again, you comment on my story, you get a response. It's a conversation, my man. And I promise it's not forever. My main problem is getting all the ideas for original work down on paper. They're all up floating my fat head. But some time in the future, when I've got my head frigging straightened out, I'll send you some of my ideas. Probably nothing written in my prose fashion but original ideas all the same, definitely would love your feedback on my future projects. And yeah, tensions are high and throwing that little Katz in there might prove to be a monkeywrench...or a spark that sets off the powder keg. We shall see...we shall see...**

 **Alpha HighBreed: Whaddya know, it's everyone's favorite neighborhood-friendly Alpha HighBreed! How you doing tonight!? Ah yes, the big exam. I hate'em, but you'll do just fine brother; go and kick ass. I appreciate your well-wishes and so does my wife-to-be; part of her medical condition is in remission so that's a good sign. And yeah, I was cruel with that ending. I wanted to have everyone think something bad would happen, then give them a false sense of security, and then betray all of my readers' trust with just one shot. Who knows what'll happen next; maybe I'll George R.R. Martine this story up! MWHAHAHA!**

 **beastlynerd: Glad that you're getting hooked, bro, glad you're enjoying the story so far. Next chapter may take a little longer than the last few but I'll do my best to crank out some more before winter break ends, you have my word!**

 **Qrs-jg: I swear I used a sniper rifle with a QRS designation in a video game once...but anways. Thank you for your kind words my friend. To address your advice, these are things I have taken under consideration. I wanted there to be a robust cast of characters in the story to make it feel like a rich, populated story, even if character appearances can be fleeting. But I don't want to add too many; I want to avoid getting readers caught up in miasma of ranks and names. But I've decided to experiment and as you can say we have our CAG. I actually liked the way I painted him so we might see him a bit more than I originally intended. As for the dropship crew, I'm planning on exploring Triple Seven and its trio of crew members further; they're going to appear often. There might be some other dropship related characters named but not too many. Gotta find the balance. As for the armor, I found it difficult to describe the marine's armor; this was back when I first started writing the story. The Halo marine BDU is actually very detailed and complex, and although I do go into detail about how things work or designs for weapons or ships etc., I felt that the majority of readers had a pretty good idea of what the marine's armor looks like from their experiences in the game. But you're right, I should detail it a bit more, and add some unique styles to each of the marine squad members to further characterize them. As for the Spartan...thing...uh...I'll PM you later, okay? Kay.**

 **chase8999: I've always wanted to become a writer, publish entertaining stories and all that. It's going to be a long road and unfortunately I'm going to college to become a historian, not a writer. I still plan on writing original stories and hopefully getting them published; in fact I just might just be a scholar until I can afford to write full time. It's a long, long, LONG road until that happens though. And I'm glad you're into the story, I love your energy brother!**

 **Alright, that's it for me. Goodnight, good luck everybody.**


	18. Chapter 18: Babes in the Wood

Chapter Eighteen: Babes in the Wood

* * *

Vivian waited patiently at her desk. She had been sitting there for the past ten minutes doing absolutely nothing. At times like these, when she wasn't in the military, she would have whipped out her phone and read some articles or played a few games. It was a nervous habit that she had developed around people. Everybody knew who she was back on Skopje; the girl with no friends. More accurately, the girl with five dead friends who happened to be traitors. Staring eyes and whispering voices followed her wherever she went. Vivian had just pulled out her phone or a book to look busy, hoping that she'd appear normal in everyone else's eyes. All she wanted to do was go through life like everyone else, unnoticed and happy. That had all been dashed away in about a minute late at night at the age of fifteen. Part of her slowly began to understand that enlisting wasn't just about adhering to her purported beliefs; it was to get away from all those prying eyes and judgmental murmurings. That part of her had hoped she would be able to fit in, find camaraderie, and she had. There was Jasmine, of course; their friendship went without saying. But now she was idolized by the entire crew. Now that was something she had _never_ expected. Being unnoticed was going to be impossible now, especially with that war correspondent on board. What was his name? Katz. What a strange name. Was it his surname or first name, she couldn't remember. It didn't matter; he could write all the articles he wanted, all Vivian needed was her crew.

She smiled at the thought of her bridge staff. Bassot was a man full of life. Koroma was a chatterbox whose role fit her like a glove, and she never became annoying. Sosa was very withdrawn but Vivian knew she was utterly loyal. Tsang was a debbie-downer every once in awhile but his dry humor and sarcasm always brought a smile to someone's face. Delaney was a workaholic and took his job very seriously, but he was one of the most reliable people there. Solak never let any emotion appear on his face, yet he did a superb job of running the bridge when Vivian wasn't present. Word got around that anyone could sling any amount of insults or wisecracks at him and he wouldn't give in to any of them. They were the best officers she could ever ask for. That victory against the fleet was theirs, not hers. Thinking about them at that moment, Vivian wanted to go back onto the bridge. She hadn't even left that long ago for her meeting but she missed them. Their conversations and exchanges always delighted her, even if she had to cut them short. The bridge was where she belonged. Maybe she was born for it. Either way, she longed to be back there.

A knock against the door made her look up.

"Enter."

Corporal Steele, clad in his fatigues, stepped in. He gave a salute that Vivian found sloppy, but she let it slide. "Have a seat, corporal."

The door slid shut but Steele didn't move. He eyed her suspiciously for a few moments before walking slowly to the chair on the other side of her desk. Slowly, he sat down.

Steele was tall and somewhat lanky. He had a long face and a mustache that appeared well groomed. Unlike many of the marines, who let their beards grow thick, Steele was one of the few who kept his face completely shaved, save for that mustache. Others who shaved somewhat regularly often had a thick coating of stubble for a few days before they actually got around to it. He had blonde hair that had grown somewhat lighter in color, and he kept it thick and combed to the right side, where it was almost curly.

"Do you know why I asked you to have this meeting, corporal?"

"Probably something to do with my squad leader."

"Correct."

"We gonna talk about how you pulled a gun on him?"

Vivian closed her eyes for a moment, seething.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Steele snickered, leaned back his chair and propped his feet up on the desk, much to Vivian's aggravation.

"Don't try that with me. I've made it a habit to spot when officers are bullshitting. You pulled a gun on my mate. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't thrash you right now."

Vivian's eyes traveled to the holstered pistol on Steele's hip. Under normal circumstances, enlisted men would have had to stow all of their weapons in the armory after returning from an engagement. Vivian had allowed all personnel to carry a sidearm. She wanted everyone to be ready for any possible developments; boarding, evacuation, even mutiny but that would never occur. She didn't feel threatened at that moment. Steele obviously had no respect for the upper echelon but he wasn't stupid either. For a moment, though, she considered instituting normal regulations. The idea left her quickly; she remembered from history class how edicts in 19th Century Japan abolished the carrying of swords among the average citizen, which contributed to numerous insurrections by the samurai. The last thing she wanted was to snub a bunch of battle-hardened marines who had grown accustomed to wearing their sidearms. Her disdain was overshadowed by her need for a peaceful vessel, devoid of angry marines.

Smiling, Vivian said, "Because you'll end up in the brig if you attack a senior officer. You'd probably end up getting pegged for mutiny and either get life or the death penalty."

Steele chuckled.

"You think I care about that?"

"Yes. Otherwise, you wouldn't be able to fight alongside your friends."

That got him. Steele frowned but said nothing further. Vivian reached into the draw of her desk. "Would you like a drink?"

"Of what?"

"Scotch."

"Don't like scotch much, but I haven't had a drop of booze for a year. Sure."

Vivian filled two glasses halfway. She downed hers quickly-she coughed a little, still unused to it. Steele drank his just as fast and sighed contentedly. "Better than nothing."

He set the glass down and grinned at her. "So, what do you want from me, Cap'?"

"First, I want you to tell me how you found out about what happened in the armory. Did Frost tell you?"

"Nope."

"How long have you known for?"

"Long enough."

Vivian grimaced. He wasn't going to give her a straight answer. Part of her worried that it was Jasmine who had told him. The thought festered; Jasmine was the only person she told about her plan to learn more about Frost through his friends. She specifically selected Steele due to his close bond with the sergeant. It was just too convenient.

"I take it that Dr. Ebrahimi told you?"

"No. She and I ain't pals like she is with Frost."

"Then how did you find out?"

"I was there."

"What? The only other people there were..." Vivian stopped herself, unwilling to cough up more names just in case. "Everyone who was present was informed of the matter and told to keep quiet."

"Oh boy, and you think they'd send my ass to prison? If word gets out that you pulled a gun on a war hero..." Steele whistled and shook his head. "You'll be fresh out of friends right quick."

"I beg to differ. Frost committed murder five years on Skopje."

That got his attention.

"What the hell would you know about what happened on Skopje?"

"I saw him kill those five girls in the apartment. You were there too. I remember your voice and what you said."

Steele looked confused. He scratched the side of his head and then shrugged.

"What did I say, then?"

"You called him Jack the Ripper. You cracked numerous jokes related to the real murderer."

Steele took a moment to recalled. Then he chuckled.

"I did, didn't I? So how do you know about that?"

"I was there. Those girls were my friends."

"Where were you? I didn't see you."

"I was hiding in the pantry. I saw it happen through the slats in the door."

"Ah..." Steele said. He was quiet for a few moments. "So...what do you want? An apology?"

It took a lot of self-restraint not to smash the bottle of scotch over his head. He didn't look guilty or remorseful, just surprised. It infuriated Vivian to no end. Why didn't anybody feel the same way about her friends' deaths? Murder was murder, no matter how you painted it. Even the fact that it was five teenage girls didn't seem to tug any emotional response out of him. Did the rules of engagement really clear one's conscious?

"You and Sergeant Frost are close friends, yes?"

"Yeah. We are. So?"

"You saw what he did that night. As well, you fought beside him during the campaigns against Insurrectionists on Skopje, I'm sure. I've heard great things about him. But he told me his kill count; I want to know what really happened. How many people did he kill, unjustly? Did he enjoy killing; does he enjoy killing at all? How brutal was he? I want to know everything."

Steele chuckled and shook his head. When he finished a few moments later, he looked at her with a bemused smile.

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"And why's that?"

"Two reasons. One, you've already got this predetermined picture of how acted and boy are you wrong. And two, you won't understand what happened on that planet."

He took his feet off the desk and leaned forward then. His eyes looked off somewhere distant as he remembered. His voice became a little quieter. "Things happened out there that I wish never saw. I don't want to remember it, nor do I want to forget."

He glared at her then. "You don't deserve to know."

"I take it you're all very tight-lipped about what happened on that planet."

"You could say that, yeah."

"What you all did must have been pretty horrendous."

His face grew angrier.

"Lady, I'm two seconds from getting up and walking through that door."

Vivian groaned.

"Why are you friends with him, huh? He brutally killed five girls! Why would you be loyal to a man like that?"

"He's my friend. And he saved my life." Steele stroked his chin and smiled slyly. "I ain't going to tell you what happened when we first came to your shitty little planet. But I'll tell you another story."

"What story?"

"The second time we went to Skopje."

It was all she was going to get.

"Fine," she accepted.

"What I'm about tell you is a highly classified op that came down from ONI. So if I tell you, you can't ever tell anyone else."

"We're not pals, I'm not making any promises."

"You tell anyone about it, I tell them how you pulled a gun on Frost."

Vivian sighed. She had been out-maneuvered and it made her angry.

"Fine then. Go ahead."

Vivian poured them another glass of scotch each. She sipped her's slowly but her counterpart refrained for the moment. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it with his lighter. After taking a long drag, he began.

"Frost and I are the bests shots in the 89th. We were selected due to our experience with the terrain of the planet and our skills with rifles to assassinate the leader of the local Insurrection on Skopje. We had missed him when we fist arrived. This was a couple years after the first time. We were both eighteen at the time, I think. The target was a fella by the name of Herbert Parks."

"Herbert Parks?" Vivian asked in surprise. "He was my third grade teacher. He was considered one of the best primary school teachers in Lionel City."

"Was he? Not the man I knew," Steele chuckled, "I say _knew_ , but rather I'm the one who killed him."

Vivian felt her rage bubbling over.

"He was a good man."

"Good man? Pah! What a man he was!" Steele growled. He snatched up his glass and raised it up, "Here's to the bullet I fired through his head."

He drained the glass and set it down hard. "Man was a sadist who tortured people, blew up trains and stole material for the war effort. The reason your crummy city suffered a food shortage back then was because he was blowing up all the goddamn trains that were bringing crops back from the farmsteads."

Steele sighed, shaking his head. Vivian stared at him, trying to keep her anger in check. If she lost it, she'd lose whatever potential information the story had to offer her. Her fingers drummed on the top of the desk, while the other gripped the glass so tightly that it could break. Containing that rage was more difficult than anything else. It was harder than combat. What made it worse is that he was right, at least about the food shortages that had gotten everyone require ration cards for a whole year.

The marksman continued, "We had to perform a traditional HALO jump to avoid any radar capabilities they had. Dropping in HEV's would be too loud and deploying from Army Falcons would get us spotted like that," he said, snapping his fingers. "We dropped in from thirty thousand feet, landed in the woods on the hills three klicks away from the Insurrectionist base, buried the parachutes, and headed off."

* * *

 _Three years earlier..._

The air was cold. Even though he was wearing a thermal layer and extra clothes, Steele felt the chill in his bones.

It was a few minutes after midnight on Skopje. The wind whistled through the trees, which stood tall and ghostly in the darkness. Their trunks groaned as they swayed in the strong gusts. A layer of snow coated the ground, and his boots crunched in the snow. Snow clung to the branches of the evergreens, weighing them down. Every so often, a stronger gust gave the branches a good shake. Chunks of snow would fall from them and a white mist would swirl around the trees for a few moments. It was still snowing lightly.

Steele scanned the area. He had night vision goggles attached to his helmet. His face was clad in a balaclava, which didn't help fight off the cold at all. He walked slowly, making sure to walk in Frost's bootprints.

Frost was a few feet ahead of him, holding an assault rifle with a scope attachment as well as a suppressor. Steele held a DMR, also equipped with a scope and a suppressor. On his back, partially concealed in a fabric rifle case slung over his shoulder, was an M99 Special Applications Scoped Rifle. It was a heavy weapon; it was over five feet long like majority of rifle systems in the UNSC and it weighed forty-four pounds. The extra weight came from its gauss-rifle like design. Electromagnetic coils gave the rather small 5.4mm rounds extra stopping power and greater penetration. They would need it for the range they would be firing at. Steele had argued that he would be able to pull off the shot with a series two, B-variant SRC 9CC anti-matériel rifle. It was what he had trained with and what he was used to; a little customization of scopes, barrels, and ammunition would do the job. But the ONI spooks had disagreed and forced him to acquaint himself with the new rifle. New wasn't the proper word; production had ceased almost two decades ago. It had been around for a good period of time and had been used for similar reasons during the early years of the Insurrection.

The target had once been a teacher. He was an anti-UNSC advocate and a leader of peaceful protests against their rule in the city of Lionel. In reality, he was the leader of the local Insurrection on the planet. He would appear in the city to give grand speeches, but then he would slip away to their stronghold located in an old, deep mine high up in the mountains. The mine had originally been a large, open pit mine with tiered roads down the sloped sides, down to the bottom. After the mine had been exploited of resources it was abandoned. Insurrectionist sympathizers from the Outer Colonies, escaping the war, steadily fled to Skopje. Due to the pro-UNSC nature of the planet's populace, many found themselves ostracized and mistreated by society due to their views. Eventually, some actual, hardcore Insurrectionists found their way to the planet and led a clandestine exodus from the cities. Over the years, they had built a crude fortress in the pit mine, complete with defensive towers, turrets, and living spaces.

How they had built the base so quickly was a mystery. Its existence was no real secret. However, ONI investigations had revealed that Parks had ties to the mining companies, and with a few bribes, secured construction materials and equipment. ONI had sent their own operatives to take care of those who had accepted the bribes. Steele was glad he wasn't in their shoes; for all the taunting and humiliating remarks everyone about the Office of Naval Intelligence, nobody crossed their path and got away with it for long.

All the same, what had originally been a bastion for anti-UNSC citizens became a militarized community: a new Insurrection. But because of the nature of the war with the Covenant, it was ignored for some time while humanity struggled to stem the alien threat. Parks had conducted numerous raids with his Insurrectionist followers, derailing trains and stealing goods. What was more, they targeted the youth of the colony in the hopes of recruiting them to their cause. Some refused, but many joined them.

Steele remembered the fighting on Skopje two years prior. It had been rough, and he had seen a great deal of terrible things. Those Insurrectionists were monsters. He had no qualms about putting a bullet in their leader; they had missed the chance to capture him last time. They had ransacked the base, destroying many key installations. It was remarkably self-sufficient. A good portion of the rebels had been killed, and the non-combatants either detained or driven out. Two years ago, they had hoped to capture Parks in the assault. This time, they wanted him dead. Cut off the head of the snake and the body would die; that was ONI's philosophy. Steele simply saw an opportunity for payback.

"Do you remember all these trees?" Frost whispered over the comms. He was still just a few feet ahead, but they were walking without lights and didn't want to raise their voices. Their motion trackers hadn't revealed any enemy patrols, but sound traveled, even with the harsh wind.

"I remember the tree bursts, if that's what you mean."

During their previous visit to the planet and the subsequent campaign against the Insurrectionists, there had been heavy fighting on the wooded hillsides. The Insurrectionist had stolen a great deal of firearms, including some old mortars from the 25th Century. Those mortars still packed a punch and when they had hit a tree, it would create a massive burst that sent splinters flying like shrapnel. Steele had seen a single burst take out the eyes of three men.

"Think we'll see any of the stumps?"

"Probably buried by the snow."

"Yeah, probably."

They kept walking. It was quiet, and pretty in a way. Steele had grown up in the slums that made up some of the older parts of London. Newer areas were cleaner but by no means cheaper. Poverty-ridden areas had sprung up due to all of the new developments taking place in the city. He never had a chance to go visit the countryside. Frost had; he had gotten the best of both worlds, dividing his time between Halifax, camping trips, and that ranch he sometimes talked about. This was nothing new to him. The wonder of it all still got to Steele, though.

Frost made a noise and all of a sudden fell forward onto his hands knees. Steele ran over to him.

"What's the matter?!" He asked urgently.

"I tripped!" Frost said, laughing quietly. Steele snickered.

"What'd you trip on?"

"I dunno, maybe logs."

When Frost stood up and cleared some snow, both of them recoiled from what was underneath. Laying side by side were two boys, who couldn't have been much younger than they were, perhaps sixteen or fifteen. Maybe they were even younger. Their faces were blue and gray, and they both had a single gunshot wound in their foreheads. That told the pair of marines that they had been killed execution-style. Their clothes were practically frozen to their bodies and the pockets were difficult to open. When they were able to pry them open, they found that the deceased had no identification on them. Why would they have been shot? Was it the Insurrectionist or some maniac roaming the woods? No, it was Innies. A maniac wouldn't have killed them with a clean shot to the head. What kind of person would _execute_ two boys? Why was the better question? They were just boys with nothing but the clothes on their back.

* * *

Steele seemed to stop them, nibbling his bottom lip and his eyes falling to the floor. Vivian had bowed her head a little.

"Kids sometimes liked to go out there and explore the woods." She said. "Daredevils and kids who wanted to spite their parents. Other saw it as a rite of passage sort of thing. At some point, every kid went up there into the mountains for a few days. They never really had permission. I almost went by myself but my friends talked me out of it. Most of the kids who went up there came back, all dirty and with scraped knees, They got into a lot of trouble. But every once in awhile, a few wouldn't come back. The police never went up there because of the rebels."

Steele nodded, then looked puzzled.

"Frost said something as we stood over those boys. I can't remember what it was...blimey, I can't remember for the life of me. Huh. He only said one thing that just freaked the hell out of me."

He shook his head. "I don't know why but we stood over those dead boys for a while. It seemed like a while, at least. Then we set off again."

* * *

Steele walked a little closer to Frost now. His friend wore a UGPS on his left wrist. Frost, being the ranking corporal, had to wear one, while Teo had a tactical pad instead.

There was a vantage point that the ONI planners of the operation had picked out for them. It was a small ridge line near the edge of the very top of the pit mine where the stronghold was located. It was rocky and mossy, and combined with the snow, would make an excellent sniper's nest. Though, Steele hoped he didn't trip off the damn thing.

According to their informant, Parks was out on a raid, but would be returning at 0500. Once he returned and they had eyes on him, they were to take the shot and exfiltrate. The exfil point was a cliff; a Falcon would hover and they would simply step in and fly back to the base at Lionel City. Quick and easy. Pull the trigger and run like hell. To the ONI spooks running the mission, it was a perfect plan. Steele thought it'd be easier just to nuke the base from orbit. But that didn't look good on papers and there were still non-combatants inside the base still. That pissed him off to no end; after they had cleared and destroyed the base, the 89th had left to go fight the Covenant. Parks simply led the survivors back to their base and built it up again. The brass, like always, had their heads up their asses. Razing that entire base to the ground would have been the best option, instead of just taking away its critical infrastructure and defensive hardware.

The wind whipped snow against him. It was long before both he and Froster were wearing a layer of white over their uniforms.

"It's bloody cold."

"Not so bad."

"This shit doesn't bother you?"

"I like the cold."

"Bruv, I'll take Hawaii over this any day of the week."

"You ain't ever been to Hawaii."

"One day, mate, one day."

"Maybe we'll go together after the war."

"Sure, I'm down for that. Maybe we can settle for California since Grant is always going on about it."

"After the war, we'll all go on a nice, long vacation."

"Fuck me, mate, after this mission we're going to need a vacation. I'm already beat."

Walking uphill in the snow was no picnic. Steele was doing his best to move at a steady pace and not over-exert himself, but the right of the M99 and the computer that came with it was wearing him down. He fell back a little behind Frost, who took notice and trudged back. Frost didn't say anything, just walked behind Steele, who had stopped, and took the bundle off his back. He slung it over his shoulder and resumed walking. Steele, glad that the burden had been lifted, followed suit.

The climb became more difficult and the trees started to become more separated than they were lower down. They were on the actual mountain now; it was surrounded by wooded hills and varied sizes. Those had been easier to traverse.

The wind and snow picked up. Eventually, all he could see was an immense white mist around him. Frost stopped and displayed a small cord. He tied it around one of his belt loops, came to Steele, and tied the other end around one of his.

"So we don't get separated," He explained

Slowly, they trudged upwards. The forecast had been predicted as light snow accompanied by slight breezes. What bullshit.

"Hey, Nate?"

"Yeah?"

"You wanna kick that ONI meteorologist's ass when we get back to base?"

"Yeah."

"Cool."

After what seemed like hours, Frost stopped suddenly.

"What is it?" Steele asked.

"GPS says we've arrived at the vantage point."

"I can't see any-fucking-thing, bruv," Steele complained as he walked up next to his compatriot.

"GPS doesn't lie."

Just then, the wind died down and the snow settled. The white mist cleared, though it still continued to snow lightly. It was as if some higher deity just snapped their fingers and dissipated the inclimate weather. Frost and Steele both looked down. They were definitely in the right spot, with their boots about three inches from the edge of a small cliff on the ridge. Both of them stood there for a few moments, staring over the edge at the rocks below

"Huh..." Steele finally said with a shrug, "...that was lucky."

"Check that out," Frost said, pointing slightly downwards.

A few hundred meters ahead of them was the pit mine. Inside it were numerous structures with smoke stacks protruding from the roofs, belching dark smoke into the air. Stolen and repurposed Warthogs and other vehicles drove up and down the winding roadways that lined the walls of the pit. In the center was a large pool of industrial-tainted green and brown water. Nearby, to the pool's west, was an artillery battery consisting of four big guns. Groups of workers and armed personnel drifted across the grounds, carrying out unspecific duties. Towers had been reestablished and searchlights scanned the environment. Luckily,they were far enough back from the rim of the pit mine that they wouldn't be caught by the lights. Automated turrets slowly turned back and forth, searching for targets.

Steele dropped down with Frost. They set about setting up the rifle, loading a clip and propping up the bipod. Frost took the computer that was attached to the rifle by a wire and activated it. He placed a cover over it so that the light couldn't be seen from a distance. Steele through a white sheet they had brought over both of them after he positioned the rifle. Frost produced a long range scope as well, and lifted his goggles as he began to scan the facility.

It took them only a few minutes to set up. Once Steele adjusted the rifle scope and Frost determined the range, they were ready. Now, they would have to wait.

* * *

"Strange thing it is," Steele said, "to wait for a man to arrive so you can kill him. It's almost like...like...hosting a surprise birthday party and you're waiting for the person to come so you can jump out and shout 'happy birthday!'"

He held up his hands and waved them a bit, and snickered. Vivian remained emotionless in her expression, unamused by his joke.

The sniper sighed, "We waited there for a few hours. We got up to the position faster than I thought. Still took some time. We just had to wait until oh-five-hundred. Waiting for him to show his face so we could give him his _extra_ special birthday present."

"To be frank, the way you casually talk about taking a man's life disturbs me, Corporal Steele."

"Well, I've had the benefit of having killed a few more people than you have."

"You say that like it's something to be proud of."

He grimaced.

"If you saw the shit they did when we fought them, you'd find some satisfaction in it too."

Vivian's curiosity was piqued. She had never heard anything about the anti-Insurrection campaigns that had taken place. It was partially due to the fact that she was out of school for a few days and locked herself in her room, dealing with the shock of watching people close to her die for the first time. News media had also been extremely tight-lipped. Reporting was very ambiguous; most often, they would just say that there had been another engagement and the UNSC had driven the Insurrectionists back again. This lasted until the base was finally assaulted and a large portion of the inhabitants were killed, captured, or simply disappeared. But she knew Steele wouldn't tell her anything, he had stated his position on the matter quite clearly.

He continued. "We had to study his face, memorize it completely. I can still remember his face; brown mustache with hints of gray, acne scars in the center of each cheek, deep horizontal lines on his forehead, receding hairline, brown hair that was becoming gray on the sides, brown eyes, large, crooked nose, bookish brow, thin mouth."

She could remember him too. There was an image fastened in her mind of Mr. Parks at the front of the classroom with a piece of chalk. Chalk! He was the only teacher she had ever known who used a blackboard. All the other teachers resorted to large touch-screens the length and height of the average chalkboard. And he'd be in front of it every day, writing equations or vocabulary words, jotting down questions and answers, and drawing pictures.

Eager. Eager and excited, that was what described Herbert Parks. Every day he would practically jog into class with his suitcase, throw his jacket onto his chair, and turned excitedly to the glass with a revelation. "You won't guess what I found out today class!" was how he always started his lecture. Lecture was too harsh of a word. Classes consisted of numerous, hands-on activities and projects. Vivian couldn't recollect ever taking a quiz in his class. "Quizzes are for boring students! Are you guys boring or what?" He would ask, and everyone would shout back in unison, "No, Mr. Parks!" And he would laugh heartily, saying, "That's what I like to hear!"

Vivian almost found herself smiling.

"With those glasses of his he almost looked like a pedophile," Steele said. Vivian glared at him with fiery green eyes.

"Watch what you say, I knew him."

"I knew him too. In my own way," Steele said. "All the things his rebels did on that planet came from his sick, twisted mind. What he did to..." Steele stopped short, shaking his head. "I did the world a favor putting a hole in his head. He had it coming."

* * *

Steele found himself shaken awake by Frost.

"What time is it?" He mumbled.

"It'll be oh-five-hundred in less than ten."

"You were supposed to wake me up at oh-four-hundred."

They had been sleeping in one hour shifts. One would observe the base while the other slept. It was still dark and the snow had stopped.

"I decided to take your watch," Frost said. Steele knew that the Canuck was grinning under his balaclava.

"Next time, wake my ass up."

"Sure, sure..." Frost was too busy scanning the base with his scope. Steele didn't say anything else, he simply wrapped his hand around the grip of his rifle, keeping his finger off the trigger, and peered through the scope.

The rebels in the base seemed to be assembling. Noncombatants wearing working attire also stood with the armed individuals. They had a few trucks nearby and had opened up a nearby warehouse.

"We have any intel on those civvies down there?" Steele asked.

"ONI handler said that they're noncombatants for sure, but they're not slaves or anything like that. They're completely devoted to the Innie cause."

"They ought to carpet bomb this place."

"There are kids in there. Families. Remember what happened during the siege?"

That was a grim reminder. What the Army had done to some of the fleeing residents of the base was too far. They had seen it as justified. Steele wasn't a paragon of virtue, but he agreed with Frost, who had said at that time that crime doesn't justify crime. Of course, the Army garrison had gotten away with it. After what had happened to their buddies, they weren't going to be investigated.

 _Crime doesn't justify crime? Bloody hell, bruv, we were just as hypocritical as they were._

"Did you already set up the booby trap?" Steele asked.

"Yep. Just have to hook it up."

Their position was already rigged with an explosive trap. Lugging the rifle during the exfil would only slow them down. At the same time, they didn't want the rifle falling into the hands of enemy techs. When they had seized the fortress factory, they had discovered a productions and repurposing facility. It was a weapon engineer's heaven; any weapon could be disassembled and reproduced. If you brought them the schematics, they could build it. It was why when they had rounded up the prisoners, the weapon techs didn't go to prison. They were given a choice: life imprisonment, or join ONI scientist in their efforts to reverse-engineer Covenant equipment. All of the techs had chosen the latter. Steele was sure that they hadn't been able to acquire anybody as skilled as the last set of weapon techs, but ONI didn't want to risk their fancy rifle getting stolen and being produced _en masse_.

The booby trap was very simple. A small explosive charge with a grenade strapped to it was wedged into a crevice in the rocks they were on. A wire was tied to the pin, and was to be tied onto the barrel of the rifle. When someone came to pick up the rifle, it would pull the pin, detonating the grenade, which in turn would set off the explosive charge. The blast would be powerful enough to completely decimate the rifle and whoever picked it up. Frost and Steele had come up with the idea when fighting the Covenant. They found that the average frag grenade, although good for clusters of unshielded enemies, they sometimes weren't enough to take down an Elite. An Elite had to be extremely close to the grenade in order for the shield to receive the full amount of damage that frag grenades possessed. Even with a little distance between themselves and the grenade, however, their shields could absorb most if not all of the damage from it, including the shrapnel. Frag grenades were designed to incapacitate groups, so while they lacked explosive power when compared to other types of grenades, their shrapnel output was excellent. Using a grenade specifically for a trip wire trap often didn't work, as Elites could easily dart away when they felt their foot catch the wire.

As well, explosives charges packed a punch but on numerous occasions the marine holding the detonator had gotten killed. As well, there was a short delay between pressing the button on the detonator and the charge going off. It was only a few seconds, but a few seconds was something that retreating marines didn't have. So, Frost and Steele had begun taping frags to charges and using both for tripwire traps. The grenade would serve as the trigger for the explosive charge, eliminating the need for a detonator. As well, the charge had a large blast radius, allowing the resulting explosion to catch even the most nimble of enemies. Combined with the shrapnel characteristic of the frag grenade, it made for a crude yet highly effective trap.

Of course, they hadn't attached the wire to the rifle yet. Steele needed to be able to adjust the position of the rifle quickly in case he missed, and the wrong kind of tug would set of the trap if the wire was attached. Steele knew he wouldn't miss though, but still didn't want to get blown up, so they would take the few moments it took to tie it to the rifle before they beat feet.

"Convoy," Frost whispered suddenly, "I count five M12 Warthogs; two gauss cannons, two chainguns, one troop transport. Escorting three civilian cargo trucks. This has to be the raiding party returning."

"Do you have eyes on the HVT?"

"Negative."

Steele shifted the rifle scope onto the convoy. They were running without their lights on, and the backs of the Warthogs seemed to be stuffed with supply crates of varying sizes. He guessed they had made off like bandits with goods from whatever facility they had broken into.

He followed the convoy with his scope all the way down into the center of the mine. The cargo trucks, which were box trucks, were painted in the grayish-green hue that man Innies wore. Rebels didn't have a set uniform; some of their leaders masqueraded in military costumes of their own making and went by their own ranks. Like many rebels in the past two centuries, their structure was based heavily on the oppressor they wished to defy. It made Steele chuckle. They pretended to have authority but they had none. Just because they had been labeled as Insurrectionists and had taken the name didn't make them an official political entity recognized by the UEG and the UNSC. Credibility wasn't something the rebels could gain anyways, not after years of terrorism. Bombings and assassinations didn't win hearts and minds.

Steele lowered the scope for a moment, contemplating. _We're here to assassinate someone. What's gained when assassins hunt the assassins?_

He shook himself from his thoughts and resumed looking down the scope. The Warthogs pulled up to the armed individuals, while the civilian workers attended to the trucks after they had parked inside the warehouse. The men in the Warthogs were beginning to dismount.

"Troop transport, passenger side, possible HVT."

Steele trained the scope to the spot Frost had pointed. A man wearing body armor over civilian clothes, with a mustache and a receding hair line came into view.

"That's him. That's Parks."

"Confirming..." Frost had been given a data pad with a file on him. He pulled up the picture of him. "Confirmed, that's our boy." Frost raised his finger to his earpiece. "Fortress, this is Archer One. We have eyes on the HVT and have confirmed identity. Permission to fire."

"Archer One, granted. Dispatching Falcon to exfil."

"Solid copy, out. Ready to take the shot?"

Steele had kept the reticle of the scope on Parks' head ever since he had spotted him. The rebel leader was talking with some of the armed personnel, smiling and joking.

"Ready."

Frost put a hand on Steele's back. Steele breathed slowly and carefully; he braced his finger on the trigger. " _Send it_."

Steele squeezed the trigger. The bullet struck Parks in the head. Red blood burst from his head as the bullet crashed into it. The impact was so strong and the bullet hole so large that it a seemed that the top of his head and been unseamed at the level of his brow. Pieces of skull, scalp, and brain tumbled downwards. The body was blown back from the force of the hit and fell into a muddy puddle. The men and women around him scrambled for cover. A few ran to the corpse.

Steele set the rifle down.

"Target down," he said.

"Good shot buddy. Let's head to extract, double-time."

Hastily, Frost reached over with the wire and attached it to the bipod of the rifle instead of the barrel. They threw off the white tarp that was covering them, also tossing a blanket of snow into the air. Steele hadn't realized there had been snow on top of them; he thought it had stopped. Maybe a short flurry had come and gone while he had been asleep. It didn't matter, though. He and Frost were outlined in a cloud of white.

Bullets immediately flew past them and they dropped back down. But just as they were about to slither down the slope, they heard a speaker system being activated.

"This is Brendan Hunt," said a loud voice over the base's booming intercom. Even from their position, they could hear the speaker loud and clear. Steele and Frost exchanged a confused glance. The voice continued, "That was a nice shot. But I can assure you that this isn't the end of us. You try to stamp us out, we'll grow back two times stronger."

Steele rolled his eyes. "This fucker took acting classes taught by a hunk of wood. Let's get moving mate."

The speaker went on, "We know where you are. I'm bringing all of our patrols in on your position. If you stand up with your hands raised, I promise no harm will come to you. Try to escape, my patrols will throw you from the highest peak on this mountain. I'll give you ten seconds to stand up."

Steele and Frost looked at one another for a few moments, then shook their heads together. Steele screwed the suppressor off of his DMR and fired three defiant shots into the air. The speaker, who had been counting slowly, stopped.

"Have it your way," the speaker said.

Frost and Steele didn't wait to hear what he said next. They took off sprinting. The trees, caked in snow, were nothing by white blurs. The pair thundered along, avoiding deeper drifts of snow and other obstacles. They weaved around trees and boulders and vaulted over fallen trunks.

A machine gun opened fire from behind them. Bullets sliced through the air, nicking tree trunks and bouncing off rocks. Frost and Steele jumped down to their knees.

"Christ, those patrols must have been closer than we thought!" Steele yelled over to Frost. The latter had scrambled over behind a tree trunk, while the former had found cover behind a boulder.

Bullets whizzed by. Steele looked around the side of the boulder. He could see the gray-green snow-camo uniforms of the rebel soldiers coming at them. They would move quickly for a few paces, then drop to one knee to fire. They were spraying rounds all over, trying to fill the air with so many bullets that it would feel impossible to move. Forces in pursuit just wanted to get the rounds down range so they could pin down the fleeing enemy and close in on the kill. Steele knew that strategy wouldn't work on him or his companion.

Artillery from the rebel base opened up. Shells fell all around them. Columns of black soil were flung in the air and snow rained down from the trees above.

"Wasting a lot of ordinance on on just the two of us!" Steele cried. "Makes me feel kinda special!"

Frost raised his rifle and prepared to fire.

"When I open up, run for fifty yards, then drop and cover me. We'll keep doubling back fifty yards at a time, one of us covering the other, copy?"

"Copy."

"Go!" Frost leaned around the trunk of his tree and pulled the trigger, sending accurate bursts of fire down range towards the enemy. Frost was one hell of a marksman; he dropped half a dozen pursuing rebels in less than thirty seconds.

Steele pounded along, gauging the distance he was covering. He slid into cover behind a fallen trunk.

"Fall back!" he said over the comms. He raised his DMR, peered through the scope, found a rebel, and fired. The bullet struck center mass, and the rebel dropped out of sight. Steele found another and fired on him. The round struck him in the belly and the man was thrown off his feet.

A machine gun burst peppered the tree trunk he was behind. Steele ducked down for a moment and then got back up to fire back. A few seconds, Frost appeared and jumped over the trunk, then sidled up to it.

"Go, go!" he yelled.

Steele emptied his clip as he stood up, then turned and bolted. He reloaded as he ran to the next piece of cover. They kept covering one another, stopping every fifty yards to switch roles, one firing, one running. Rebels kept coming at them, appearing out of nowhere. For every Innie they dropped, two more took their place. The volume of enemy fire was increasing with every fifty yard hurdle they covered. Clips were spent faster and soon Steele found himself running out of ammo. He and Frost had been issued SOCOM variants of the M6C, which were usually carried by Orbital Drop Shock Troopers. These internally suppressed pistols used the same semi-armor piercing ammunition that normal M6C's used, but they were more accurate and had a longer range.

The next time he got into cover, Steele drew the pistol and began firing. The body armor rebels wore was tin foil compared to modern UNSC armor. The bullets penetrated easily, and he only needed to fire one bullet to down a target.

As Frost came closer, they heard a distinct explosion in the distance.

"Must have been the charge we set!" Steele said.

Frost didn't respond; he moved into the position Steele was in, drew his pistol, and started firing. Steele got up and began sprinting, keeping his head low. A stream of machine gun rounds hit nearby, and he turned to fire back with his DMR. As he did, he suddenly felt a heavy impact on his left thigh and an incredible heat. Steele was thrown off his feet and landed in the snow.

"Fuck..." he said through gritted teeth. He pushed himself into a sitting position and looked down at his leg. Blood began to seep from a hole a half inch wide. " _Fuck fuck fuck fuck_!" Steele shouted angrily, pounding his fist again the ground.

"Lou, you okay!?" Frost shouted.

"I'm hit!"

He dragged himself over to a tree trunk and took cover. A few moments later, Frost ran over.

"C'mon Lou, give me your arm. We're almost to the exfil point," he pointed to a thicket of trees, "we get through there and we're in the clear."

Steele threw an arm around Frost and they began hobbling towards the extraction point. They didn't bother to fight back now. Every little movement caused pain to shoot up and down his leg. Steele was doing his best not to slow them down.

Bullets filled the air around them. They chewed into tree bark and cut up branches. Pieces of branches and chunks of snow fell down on the two marines. There were so many rounds coming at them that Steele could feel bullets tearing through his pant legs and the pouches on his belt.

He looked over at Frost, who was on his left. His companion was holding his rifle by the grip in his left hand. His arm was red with blood, which was leaking from a hole in his bicep.

"Nate, you're hit," Steele said.

"I know."

"You're bleeding."

" _I know_."

That's when Steele heard the sound of a rocket launcher being fired. He looked over his shoulder and saw the rocket barreling towards them. Without a word, he pulled Frost to the ground. The rocket exploded among the thicket that had been in front of them, obliterating the thin trees to splinters. Snow melted, exposing charred earth. Funnily enough, it had made their job of getting through the thicket easier, as it had left a hole where the trees had been.

Frost yanked Steele to his feet and they made their way through the breach, bullets following them the entire way. They were at the cliff now, with the edge about a hundred meters from where the tree line ended. It was nothing but exposed rock with ice on it. The only cover was a large boulder about sixty-five meters ahead of them.

They tried to make their way across the slippery rock, but Steele's balancing on one foot kept causing him to fall. Eventually, Frost sat him down and pulled him by the straps on the back of his vest. He pulled him across the rocky ground while Steele fired his pistol at the first few men who tried to burst through the thicket.

When they reached the rock, which was about five feet high and six feet across, they practically fell behind it. Both of them were panting. Frost handed Steele all his frag grenades except one. Steele held out his hand, waiting for it, but Frost simply looked at it for a few moments. He then looked over at him, his gray eyes sad.

"Just in case," he said. Steele frowned and snatched it from his head.

"Not happening," he remarked gruffly, and started to toss the frags one by one. The grenades detonated along the tree line, taking out several men at a time. It kept their pursuers stuck at the tree line, unable to advance without falling to accurate pistol fire on the two marines' part.

"Sparrow Two-Four, this is Archer one, we are engaged and heavily outnumbered. Where are you?" Frost said over the comms.

"Archer One, we are inbound. Will be at EZ in less than one mike."

"There it is," Steele said pointing. They could see the Falcon coming out of the clouds, making a bee-line for them. Over the noise, Steele could hear the _chop chop chop_ of its dual propeller blades. He could see the door gunners getting their guns ready. Steele grinned; he couldn't wait to see those chainguns rip up the tree line.

The Falcon approached and soon arrived at the edge of the cliff. It turned as it hovered, letting its right side face the tree line. The gunner opened up, raking the gun back and forth.

"Let's get out of here!" Frost said, helping Steele to his feet. They hobbled towards the Falcon. The other door gunner was beside the one who was firing, waving them over and holding out his arms to help them in. Bullets pinged off the hull.

Frost was about to help Steele get in when he stopped. Steele noticed he had stopped moving and turned. He heard it again, the sound of the rocket launcher.

"Incoming!" Frost cried and tackled Steele to the ground. As they fell, the Falcon, trying to pull away, was struck by the rocket. The rocket hit it right in the center of its tail, severing it from the body of the chopper. Debris tumbled away and the body of the aircraft plummeted downwards. After a few moments, they heard the terrible crashing sound of metal on rock, followed by an explosion and an orange glow from below them.

As they stood up, Steele threw the last of their grenades, forcing the rebels back again. He and Frost went over to the edge and looked down. Steele noticed Frost's back was cut in a few places from shrapnel, but he didn't seem to notice. They were both wounded heavily now; even though they had been low on the ground the blast had washed over them. Their uniforms were blackened with soot and torn up. Steele could feel tiny fragments of metal in his side, but they didn't seem to hurt. Adrenaline made the body numb to pain. The Falcon was a burning, broken piece of metal sitting upon some rocks at the bottom of the cliff. The snow in its immediate vicinity had melted from the heat of the explosion.

"What the hell do we do now!?" Steele yelled. Frost remained silent for a few moments, then turned to face him.

"Jump."

"Jump? That fall is a few hundred meters, no way we can survive!"  
"Look, see that snowdrift?" Frost pointed to the drift in question. It was about fifteen feet away from the wrecked Falcon. "That may be deep enough to break our fall."

"Bruv, that little layer of snow ain't going to do jack shit to break our fall!"

"It's either break some bones or get captured, tortured, and executed," Frost said, in a calm tone that Steele found aggravating at that moment. He reached over and put a hand on Steele's shoulder. "Trust me, alright?"

Steele ran a hand down his face but eventually nodded.

"We go together, on three."

Frost clung onto Steele's shoulder left shoulder, and Steele had a grip on Frost's right.

"One..." Frost counted. Steele looked over his shoulder. The rebels had stopped firing and were now approaching slowly with their weapons raised. "...two..." He looked back down. If they missed that drift they would end up as red splatters on the rocks down there. Even if they made the drift, there were probably rocks concealed by the snow, and they would end up being splatters anyway. Finally, he looked over at Frost, who was looking at him. His gray eyes, sprinkled with shards of blue, were terrified. "Three." And they both jumped.

* * *

Vivian stared across the desk at Steele, who was silent for a few moments. He didn't move, didn't even seem to breathe. His eyes bore a haunted look. He started to speak, slowly.

"We landed in that drift. It was actually a little deeper than I thought it was. No rocks either. Frigging miracle, that is, seeing as how they were piles of rocks all around. Still, we were hurt bad. When I landed, I broke both my legs. I broke four ribs, my left hand, a bunch of toes, I think maybe all of them. I dislocated my right shoulder and messed up my back really bad. I was concussed too; if I hadn't been wearing a helmet I think I would have bashed my head open. I think we would have been injured worse if we weren't wearing so much armor. It turned out I had also been shot just before we jumped. I had two bullets in my lower back that just missed my spine. But I was knocked out. I mean I hit the ground, and for this split second I felt all this pain shoot through my body, and everything went black. I was really out."

"What of Frost?"

"Frost must have landed in a deep part of the drift because he didn't get as hurt as me. But his ankles and feet got messed up bad. I mean, really bad. I can't even begin to tell you what was wrong with them. He was concussed too, and had broken his left shoulder shoulder blade and his collar bone. He broke three ribs on his right side and two on his left. Frost also had that shrapnel in his back and he had gotten some burns on his back too when he pushed me down. His entire left arm, the one that was shot, was burned; the entire sleeve had been burned away. I had gotten burned on my front. Thanks to the balaclavas we were wearing, our faces didn't get scorched."

"What happened then?"

"We were both out for a while. That cliff was a sheer drop off, so the rebs had to find another way down I think. I don't even know if they came after us, they probably thought we were dead. I didn't see them again after that."

"Who woke up first?"  
"Frost."

* * *

Frost awoke with a gasp. His entire body felt like it was on fire. The slightest movement sent shockwaves of pain all along his frame. His ankles were in an especially bad way; he didn't even have to look at them to know that. His right one was broken, that was for sure. The left felt more strange than painful though; he wasn't sure what had happened to it. His feet must have been screwed up as well, but he couldn't tell how bad. His collarbone and left shoulder hurt terribly. He lay there for a while, breathing and willing himself to move. He was in the snow bank, with a good amount of fluffy white snow covering him. It was cold and his left arm was exposed.

"Lou?" he called quietly. "Louie?"

There was no response. "Louis?"

Frost dragged himself from the snow bank. He realized that a lot of his gear was missing. He had dumped a lot of it while he was running. More must have been lost when he plummeted into the snowdrift. It didn't matter; he wasn't about to crawl back in there to find it all. All he had was his pistol in his holster and a few extra clips, along with his knife.

Steele was a few feet away from him; he had landed in a shallower part of the drift, and was half in it. He was laying back in the snow, while his legs rested on the uncovered ground. He wasn't moving.

Frost clawed his way over to him, grabbed him by his shirt, and pulled him out of the snow. He was bloody and burned. After laying him out flat on the ground, Frost began to shake him. "Come on Lou, wake up. Wake up."

There was no response. Frost shook him more frantically, "Come on, come on, Louie. Don't go, please. Please don't go. Not right now. Please, don't go."

He felt tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. "We gotta get back to the base, Louie. Come on. We gotta get back to the guys. Please wake up. Please..."

He gave him one more violent shaking and then Steele coughed and let out a pained groan. Frost gasped in relief, putting a hand on his heart.

"Fuck," he said, panting heavily, "I thought you were gone, man. You fuckin' asshole."

Steele coughed as he laugh. He smiled a little. Frost took his hand. They sat there, both of them panting and looking at one another.

"Nate, my back hurts really bad."

Frost reached down and squeezed Steele's leg. Steele swore in pain and smacked Frost a few times in the chest.

"Fuck, mate, why the fuck did you do that?"

"Just checking to see if you're paralyzed. You're not if you can feel pain down there." Frost took off Steele's helmet and balaclava, and then took off his own. I'm calling for secondary extract." Frost took a breath as he put a finger to his earpiece. "Fortress, come in. Fortress, this is Archer One. Repeat, this is Archer One. Bird is down. We are at the current exfil point...correction, we are _below_ the current exil point. Requesting evac."

There was no response, just static. Frost tried again but there was no response.

"I can't raise them."

"Bugger."

Frost shook his head.

"We need to get out of here. Need to get back to the base."

"The base is located the dockyards all the way in Lionel City. That's twenty miles from here."

Steele was speaking slowly and groggily. He was pale. Frost looked down at his still bleeding leg. He reached down instinctively for the biofoam canister he carried, but it was missing. He checked Steele, but Steele's gear had been thrown off as well.

The sniper reached up with his other hand and grabbed Frost by the arm. "You gotta go mate, you got a better shot at this than me."

"I'm not going to leave you here."

"I'm dying, Nate. I can feel it. I'm not going to make it."

"You're going to make. You're not going to die. Don't say that!" Frost said angrily, pushing his hand away. "You're coming with me."

"I'll slow you down, bruvva. It's okay Nathan, it's _okay_. Just get out of here, alright?"

"No. We either live or we both die."

"Thicked-headed nonce...I'll probably bleed out."

"No, you won't. I'm getting you out of here. We're going home, I promise. Trust me, Lou. We're getting out of here."

Frost scooped up a handful of dirt and packed it into the bullet wound in Steele's leg. He pushed it in deep, made sure it was tight, then rolled Steele over and packed in the other two gunshot wounds with dirt as well. Steele groaned through gritted teeth and shook terribly from the pain. Frost then packed in his own open wounds with dirt. It was painful and he knew that it was going to cause problems for the surgeons when they got back to base. If they got back. He quashed that thought: they were getting base.

He felt his broken ankle. It hurt horribly, but he tied his boot laces extra tight, wincing as he did. It was so tight that it would have been uncomfortable even if his foot wasn't uninjured. He tied the other boot tight and slowly stood up. Frost fell over the first time, the pain was so great. His adrenaline began to pump, however, and the second time he was able to shakily get onto his feet.

His entire body was in immense pain, and he was just making it worse. It was like a thousand needles were piercing his body, a thousand knives being slowly pushed into his brain. His vision began to blacken as he bent over to pick up Steele. For a few moments, he couldn't even see, the pain was so bad. But when it cleared and he could see again, he was on his hands and knees, carrying Steele piggyback-style. Frost couldn't remember how he had gotten his friend onto his back.

"Okay Louie, just hold on tight. Don't fall asleep okay?"

"Okay..." Steele had his arms wrapped around Frost's upper chest. The pain in Frost's rib cage, shoulder, and collarbone was especially bad from having the weight of Steele's body pressed against him. He stood there for a few moments, his legs spread and his feet placed awkwardly on the ground, burning from the pain. He took one step and fiery pain gripped his foot, ankle, his entire body. He groaned quietly, shaking, closing his eyes tightly as waves of pain resounded within him. But he opened them again soon after, "Come on Lou, let's go."

He took one painful step after the other. He had to keep his feet spread wide as he hobbled along; trying to walk normally was out of the question. The pain was too much; everything from the ankle down was messed up. Frost kept going though, staggering along, bleeding, burning, broken. Every few moments he would speak to Steele, who would mumble in response. Steele had just gone numb from the pain. He could hardly move his lips to speak. Frost kept speaking to him, even as his throat dried and his body begged for water. Eventually, he reached the dirt path that cut through the plains. It was a trail that campers used to take from the city outskirts into the mountains. Ever since the rebels had come, it was rarely used. It would take them right to the outer limits of the city.

It was cold. Terribly cold. Frost's breath came out in white clouds in front of him, and his exposed left arm felt as though it were being stung by a swarm bees. A few times he dropped to his knees, crying from pain. Tears burned their way down his cheeks, and with every ragged, exerted breath he took came a spray of saliva. But he would get back up and continue staggering.

At one point, when he dropped, Frost thought he heard voices behind him. He knew there weren't any friendlies this far out. They had to be rebels. He summoned his strength, and started to hobble along faster. It caused him more paine but he kept fighting his instincts to just fall down. Every time he stopped or wanted to stop, he remembered who he was carrying. He wasn't going to let them die out here like this, not a pitiful, torn up mess, desperate and clinging to life. Not out there, not in the snow and the cold, not like animals. Frost managed to reach a slow jog. He knew what he was doing to his ankles, to his feet, but he kept going. He couldn't feel them anymore. He couldn't feel anything.

The sun began to rise in earnest. Slowly, above the distant mountains, it appeared, turning the sky to an orange-pink. Fields of clouds began to glow warmly, and the snow covered plans were tinted by the sun's color. Frost looked around him as he jogged along the trail. It seemed to him that the earth and sky had met. The snow sparkled in the sunlight, and the mountains disappeared in the clouds. Frost thought for a time that the sky had simply fallen on top of him, or that it had taken him upwards and he was running among the clouds. Frost wondered if he was dead, if this was his ascension. He felt sad suddenly. He hadn't gotten the chance to say goodbye to his friends or his family. His mind tried to understand the enormity of what had happened; he had died. He was gone. It was frightening. But at least he had Steele with him, someone to enter whatever came after death with. But he had failed him, let him die out there with him. He had promised him to get back and he had let him down. Frost closed his eyes, letting the light and the cloud surround him.

Frost opened his eyes as a car screeched past, honking its horn. He was still moving, back to a dreadfully slow stagger. But his feet were now on pavement, which had been plowed of the snow. He looked around. People, clad in heavy jackets and hates, were staring at him. He realized that he wasn't at the city limits, he was actually _in_ the city proper.

People were taking pictures on their phones. Frost stopped next to the nearest person.

"Excuse me," he rasped, "which way is it to the Army base?"

"Uh...don't you want to know where the hospital is?"

"No, the base."

"The base is a quarter of a mile that way, at the docks. It's a straight shot there. Can I call you an ambulance?"

Frost didn't answer. He moved as fast he could down the street. People stopped and pointed and took pictures and yelled and made phone calls. It was all a blur to Frost, who only one idea planted in his mind: return to the base and get Steele to the infirmary.

When he was getting close an ambulance came to a halt nearby. Two EMTs came barreling over to them.

"Here, let me take him," one said, reaching for Steele.

Frost biffed him away with his good shoulder.

"No!" he roared, "He's mine! Gotta get him back to base!"

The other EMT tried stop Frost but he shouldered him away as well. "Get away! Gotta get Lou back to base. Lou, wake up, we're almost there."

"You need medical attention," the first one pleaded, "please get in, we'll take you to the base."

Frost took one hand from Steele and put it on his holstered pistol. "Get away from us or I'll put a round in both of you," he said in a low growl. The EMTs stepped back. "If I let go of him he'll die. Promised to get him back. Come on Lou, almost there. Wake up Louie." Frost, breathing raggedly, continued on. The EMTs followed behind, communicating on their radios. Groups of people were also following, spectating the event. People ran up, offering food and water. Frost told them to give it Steele; he slowed down while they helped his compatriot drink, tilting his head back and gently pressing a bottle of water to his lips.

Eventually, Frost spotted the gates to the base. The eyes of the men at the checkpoint grew as wide as saucers as soon they spotted him. They ran over, but Frost rebuked their help too. The soldiers formed an escort and led him to the infirmary. Workers and soldiers ran from all over the base to see them walk in.

The doors to the infirmary were thrown open and Frost stumbled in. The medical staff led him to a surgery room and then and only then, did Frost let go of Steele and let staff put him on the table. As soon as Steele was on the table, Frost fell to the floor and passed out.

When he opened his eyes again, the room was filled with light. It had been difficult to open them; his eyelids felt heavier than cement. Frost felt exhausted but he couldn't feel any pain. That was it, it was the medicine. He looked around. The room was white and there was medical equipment all around him. Monitors displayed vitals and beeped every so often. A tube was connected to his right arm. He felt extremely groggy and stiff. He looked down at his feet and saw they were in casts. He was covered in braces and bandages. Only his left arm was free.

When he looked at it, he realized his hospital bed was right next to Steele's. Steele was asleep and hooked to equipment as well. He was bandaged, braced, and his legs were wrapped in casts. Frost's bed had been pushed close to Steele's, close enough that he could almost reach over and touch him.

Just before he did, he heard a familiar voice.

"You're awake."

Steele turned to his right and was met with the towering Colonel Hayes. Hayes was wearing his fatigues and looked tired. He leaned down with a big smile. "How are you son?"

"Is Louie okay?"

"Steele is fine. Both of you are fine."

Frost let his head drop onto the pillow, breathing a sigh of relief. But nervousness gripped him again. He asked the important question.

"Are we out of commission? Will we be discharged?"

"No. You're both going to need a lot of rest and time to heal. You'll probably need to have a follow-up operation to correct the damage done to your ankles and feet. Both of you will have to go through some physical therapy too. But the docs said that with the right procedures and time, you'll be able to rejoin the unit and get back on the frontline."

"Really? That's...oh man, that's good news. I was worried we'd have to sit the rest of the war out."

"You two are tough sons a bitches, I'll give you that. Just what in the hell happened out there? We lose contact with you for hours and then you come waltzing through the streets of the city. I heard you threatened some people with your sidearm, what happened there?"

"I don't know. I can't really remember. They wanted to take Steele away, I think."

"They were trying to help."

"I was half-dead and all I could think about was getting back to the base. I must have been delirious or something. I didn't hurt anybody, did I?"

"No, no, son. I don't think you were in any condition to hurt anyone. But what happened to you? How did this happen?"

Frost explained how they had been pursued after taking the shot, how the Falcon went down, and how they jumped from the cliff to avoid capture. He then explained how he carried Steele across the plains back to the city. Hayes listened, stupefied.

"That was a twenty mile hike. How did you manage to do that on busted feet and ankles?"

"I don't know," Frost said bluntly. Hayes shook his head, amazed. He then put a hand on Frost's chest.

"Son, do you have any idea what you've done?"

"Yes sir," Frost said. He looked over at Steele, "I kept my promise. I got him home."

Hayes chuckled and stood up.

"You're going to get a big one for this, Corporal Frost. Rest up. Your buddies will be here soon."

Steele was alive. That was all that mattered to him. Frost lay in bed, exhausted and groggy from the pain medication. He slipped in and out of sleep a few times as he stared at the wall, thinking about nothing. It was nice to think about nothing. His mind was completely silent. Nothing stirred. It was peaceful. Frost promised himself, there and then, that after the war he wouldn't live in Halifax. He would find somewhere more remote, not too far away from civilization, but just far enough that he couldn't hear the noise. Maybe somewhere in the States or another part of Canada. Perhaps he'd move to England. Maybe he wouldn't go back to Earth after the war. Find a nice plot of land in the Inner Colonies, or the Outer Colonies when they were rebuilt, and start a farm or some kind of ranch. He didn't want to make too many plans, however. The war needed to be won first. He laughed at himself; there had gone his mental peace and quiet.

He broke from his trance when he heard Steele coughing. Frost sat up as best he could and turned to look at him.

"Nathan," Steele croaked, his eyes still closed. "Nate, brother, are you here?"

"I'm right here, Lou, I'm here."

Steele held his right arm out blindly, and Frost reached over and took his hand.

"Nate, that you?"

"It's me Lou, I've got you."

It took a few moments but Steele finally managed to open his eyes. He turned his head and looked over at Frost. Frost smiled, his eyes glistening with tears.

"Hey brother," he said, laughing a little, happy to see Steele awake. Tears began to run down Steele's face and they squeezed each other's' hands. They stayed that way, their hands and eyes locked, crying silent, joyful tears.

* * *

Steele wiped his eyes. It was hard remembering that story, that ordeal. He wasn't about to cry in front of Captain Waters, though.

"And that's why I follow him. Why I'd do anything for him. Because I woke up and he was _there_. I woke up and said his name, and he was _there_."

He stood up then, finding himself angry. "That answer your bloody question?"

Captain Waters nodded, tapping her finger on the desk.

"It's certainly provided some insight," she said, appearing unmoved, "I would have done anything for my friends. They were to me what Frost is to you. Surely, you can understand what I've been through as well and why Frost should be held accountable for his-"

"No, you don't get it," Steele said with a dry smile. He shook his head. "That man, my friend, he didn't die for me. No. He _suffered_ for me. Willingly. He _suffered_ to save my life when he could have just cut and run. He _suffered_ so that I could live. You have no idea what that's like, to be alive because of another person."

"I think I have some idea."

"Because you were stuffed into a pantry?" Steele laughed cynically, "No. Until you get put in my shoes, you won't understand it. Because if and when that happens, whatever that person did, whoever they are, you owe them. Never had anyone who cared about me, never saw anyone do any fucking good in the world. Until Nathan. That was the first time in my life I saw true and utter selflessness. Not until him."

Steele finished his cigarette and grinded in Vivian's ashtray. He stood, staring at her for a few moments. "You'll never get to him. If you try to investigate him, get him court martialed, it won't work. He's a hero. And if you try to kill him, you'll lose. He's the best damn soldier I know and he'd be able to take you down in five seconds. And if somehow, by some stretch of the imagination, you do manage to kill him, imprison him, whatever, you won't live long enough to enjoy your revenge."

Captain Waters smiled. It was a shit-eating grin that said she wasn't deterred or frightened.

"And why's that, corporal? Will you you shoot me? Put a knife in my heart?"

"No," Steele said with a grin. He leaned down a little and said, "if you put a hand on him, I'll put a bullet in your head. Know why?"  
"Why?"

"Because you don't have a heart." Steele stood up and turned to leave, "Shit, you probably don't have any brains either."

"That's some threat, Corporal. Or is it a promise?"

"Oh, it's a threat alright."

With that, Steele left the captain. He knew he was going to catch some major flak if anybody found out about that. If Frost found out he'd probably be pissed. But Steele didn't care. Frost could be mad at him all he wanted. As long as Frost lived, that was all that mattered.

He entered the elevator and being riding it back down. He started to cry, then, covering his eyes with one hand. He cried all the way down to the main deck.

* * *

Frost was in the _I'm Alone's_ armory, looking over his weapon. He had been using a different rifle ever since Alvarez died. His own assault rifle had remained untouched. For some reason, it didn't feel like it belonged to him anymore. Alvarez had earned it. She had saved his life with it. He wondered what to do with it. Perhaps he could disassemble and send a piece with her body before they left the system. Colonel Amsterdam was going to see to the bodies shipment back to her home planet, which Frost had forgotten the name of, much to his chagrin. Jasmine probably wouldn't let him do that. Perhaps he'd go down with the detail carrying the bodies and bury the rifle. It would be a strange sight to anyone who saw it, but it felt right. That's what he would do.

He heard someone coming up behind him. He turned and found that it was Steele, whose eyes were somewhat puffy. His expression was somber.

"Hey Lou."

"Hey."

"You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm good."

Steele went over to another of the workbenches perpendicular to the one that Frost was. The latter watched his friend for a few moments as he began to tinker with a sniper rifle. Eventually, he set the tools down and braced his hands on the table.

"Nate," Steele said, "can I ask you a favor?"

"Sure."

"Promise you won't find it weird?"

Frost chuckled.

"Sure, promise."

"Could you give me a hug, bruv?"

Frost was surprised. But he didn't hesitate.

"Sure man."

He stepped away from his bench, as did Steele, and the two embraced for a long moment, patting each other on the back. Frost was confused but he didn't mind.

"Thanks, brother," Steele finally said, his voice muffled in Frost's shoulder.

"Don't mention it."

"No really, thank you."

"You're...welcome..." Frost said as they parted. "...are you sure you're okay? You seem down?"

"Nah, nah," Steele said, waving his hand. His familiar smile returned and his face brightened. "I'm good bruv, thanks."

"Sure. You want to go get something to eat?"

"Nah, I'll stay here with you for a while. Work on my rifle."

"Just us hanging out? Cool. Sounds good to me."

Frost returned to his workbench while Steele carried the sniper rifle over to a bench sitting besides Frost. He tinkered for a few moments, when he stopped again.

"Nate, you remember that special op we pulled on Skopje a few years back?"

"Of course," Frost said, focused on his weapon.

"Remember those two kids we found in the snow?"

"Yep."

"You said something while we were looking at them. I just can't remember what you said, it's been bugging me all day."

"Why?" Frost said, setting down his cleaning tool.

"I was just thinking about it. Do you remember what you said?"

"Yep," Frost said, returning to his work, "Babes in the Wood."

"That was it, yeah. I remember now. Babes in the Wood. What does that mean?"

Frost sighed.

"It's a name given to some unsolved child murders back in the 20th Century. The one I was reminded of when I said that was the one that took place in Stanley Park in Vancouver in the 1950s. Two boys, never identified, who never got a chance to grow up."

* * *

" _There's a room where the light won't find you_

 _Holding hands while the walls come tumbling down_

 _When they do, I'll be right behind you_

 _So glad we've almost made it_

 _So sad they had to fade it_

 _Ev'rybody wants to rule the world,"_

Tears for Fears; "Everybody Wants to Rule the World,"

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Out of all the chapters I've written so far, this one had been my favorite. It's close to home for me in its themes and its content. I don't want to say too much or have too light a voice. But I thank you all for reading, I hope you enjoyed it, and I have caught up on my sleep. Expect a new chapter in 1-2 days. I'm also going to reupload Chapter 15 with the corrected space battle either later tonight or tomorrow afternoon, just if you're interested. Thank you to Alpha HighBreed for spotting that continuity error.**

 **Comment responses:**

 **Alpha HighBreed: We have Qrs-jg to thank for the addition for his character. His head and my research into the role revealed that there is in fact in carrier groups a CAG, who isn't subordinate but rather a co-commander of sorts. His duties are solely to the operations of the air component on the** _ **I'm Alone**_ **, while Vivian is the master of the ship. ONI will make their appearance soon enough, trust me. Yes, I do enjoy our conversations very much and your feedback helps me do my work. I'm flattered and honored that you think my work deserves reviews, although I don't think it's underappreciated. I have you and many other readers leaving me comments and giving feedback because you're enjoying the story and you're invested in it. I think it's very much appreciated by those that read; I daresay I might have the most wonderful fans in the world. But I'm sure the story will attract more readers soon with more chapters being uploaded more frequently. I just hope it stays entertaining for readers, because that's what I really want to do; I want to give you guys something entertaining to read,**

 **MightBeGone: Yes, Katz does seem to be insensitive, doesn't he? Actually, in the original planning stage for my story I wasn't going to include a Press-related character. I thought that it wouldn't add too much to the story overall. But I thought about some future scenes and scenarios that could only occur if there was a correspondent present, so I decided to add Katz. I think he'll be an interesting recurring character. And you're asking some very pertinent questions my good man, although I don't wish to spoil anything for you, so you'll just have to read on my friend.**

 **Qrs-jg: Of course, I'm trying to make up for my long absence. And I'm glad you like him. I saw an opportunity to add another authority role and thought the contrast would work well and be interesting. Thank you very much for getting the idea into my head. And don't be sorry my friend, I understand what you mean now, just a simple misread, no harm no foul. We'll see some mechanized characters in the future, though Emery will probably be the one we see most often. The extra sleep I got did help out quite a bit; it means a lot to me that you and many others are understanding of things going on my end. Means a lot to me.**


	19. Chapter 19: Promises

Chapter Nineteen: Promises

* * *

"It's strange that those injuries don't appear in his medical records," Jasmine said, her eyes canning Frost's CSV, "it just says that he was wounded in 2538. Still, the amount of corrective surgery required for such injuries would have been extensive. With every step he took, he damaged his feet further."

Jasmine simply couldn't wrap her head around it. The fact that he had practically jogged on, essentially, broken ankles and broken feet, was an inhuman feat.

Her finger glided up on her data pad, back to the top of his CSV. She looked at his picture. He wore that grin of his and wore his helmet somewhat cocked to the side; he looked more like a boy than a man sometimes. She wondered how a man who had endured such pain could still manage to smile. Many personnel in the branches of the UNSC suffered from depression and post-traumatic stress disorder. Both were common results of war. It was rare to see a serviceman walk away with either. But this was a war different from all the rest. The amount of suffering and death any member of the UNSC witnessed was far greater than any war that had come before. Sometimes they forgot, but millions, billions perhaps, were dying by the day. Humanity had access to devastating nuclear weapons and other weapons of mass destruction, but none of them had ever seen a planet burned to a husk by shipborne energy beams. Troops hadn't ever had to fight enemies that were not afraid to get hurt or killed before. The military had never had to fight a technologically superior foe. Every single day was an uphill enemy against a more united, much larger theocratic, militarized race. With every victory came ten defeats. Victories were seldom decisive. More often, they were pyrrhic. In many cases, it was a victory gained by mutually assured destruction. Entire garrisons had set off devastating nuclear weapons that destroyed the attacking Covenant as well as themselves.

Painful as it was to admit, however, all of those sacrifices were in vain. Every death, every loss, was in vain, because the Covenant hadn't been slowed down. All of the UNSC's efforts were simply a delaying action. No one would dare say those two words; soldiers had to believe that victory was achievable. But the men and women who fought planetside knew more about that than anybody else. They were the ones who went down there every day, the ones who saw the Covenant at their fiercest. For them, victory was seldom. Combined with seeing scores of civilians die and watching their friends perish, the inability to obtain victory _obliterated_ morale. Suicide rates were up in the military than they had ever been for. Many were taking to desertion, spiriting away their families to live out their last days in relative peace before the Covenant arrived. Of course PTSD and depression cases were going to skyrocket. The only ones who didn't fall into categories were soldiers and sailors who had been fighting for so long they didn't possess any emotion anymore, who became husks, shells of human beings who only fought. And men like Frost, who somehow had the capacity to smile. Jasmine couldn't help but admire that. She couldn't help but be jealous that his birthday was December 25th either, the lucky bastard.

She looked over at Vivian, who had turned one of the armchairs around so she could face the desk while she sat. Vivian peering intently at a data pad, trying to come up with different fleet configurations. For the past hour or so, as they had speaking of her conversation with Corporal Steele two days ago, she had been trying to figure out more ways to maximize their damage output while minimizing enemy threats to themselves. Out of an hour's worth of work, Vivian had only found about three, maybe four worthwhile configurations. When she found even the slightest flaw in one, she'd growl and clear the fleet projection tool on her data pad. Jasmine smiled. Vivian was a good tactician and strategist, she had shown that during OCS. But Jasmine considered her one of the best. She had full faith in her even before their engagement with the Covenant fleet, and afterwards, she was positive that Vivian would never let a plasma bolt even scrape their armor.

To boot, she displayed a remarkable knack for multitasking, as she still spoke of Steele and Frost.

"I remember those news reports. All over the television were these shaky videos taken on mobile phone, showing a man carrying another man. They didn't look like men. They were covered in black soot and were soaked with blood. Their uniforms were so torn up and blackened that you couldn't even see the camouflage on their pants. Nobody knew what they did and their names were never disclosed. To think, that was them, all this time."

Vivian sat up a little. "To think I was inspired by them."

"What do you mean?"

"That was around the time I was getting close to finishing high school. I knew I wasn't going to go to college, but I wanted to go _somewhere_ with my life. I wanted to do something that made a difference, and I was thinking of joining the UNSC."

"Ah, right."

Jasmine remembered that Vivian, even then, was both a critic and a defender of the UNSC. She approved of the people and the actions they took to serve humanity, but vivified them for their policy pertaining to the Outer Colony, and of course, their 'sweep and clear' operations against Insurrectionists. She was uncertain, but after seeing two soldiers like that, one so injured yet trying to save his buddy, she made her decision to enlist in the OCS program.

Vivian went on, "I've barely seen those two together, since I don't particularly like taking strolls down the barracks, but just from that I can say that I've never seen two people more devoted and attuned to the other."

"I don't know about that," Jasmine said, "I've look at us a couple times and seen something pretty rare."

That was enough to make Vivian smile a little, even though her emerald eyes were still focused on her data pad. Jasmine closed Frost's CSV, "Will you be speaking to any other of his squad members."

"I don't think so. Steele is a loud-mouthed, disrespectful, un-soldierly bastard, but if he's loyal to Frost,who is the polar opposite, than it goes without saying the rest have nothing poor to say about him."

"What about Nora Langley? I thought she was your little insider?"

"I'm surprised you never gave me a ration of shit for having her in on this."

"Manipulation is a cruel thing," Jasmine said coolly, "but in the end, you didn't hurt her by what you were having her do. I can't get too angry at you about it."

Jasmine wasn't about to say it out loud, but Vivian was indeed crafty. When they had made their deal some time ago, Jasmine had been confident that she wouldn't have been able to get information on Frost's past. She couldn't just waltz in there and barrage him with questions. But she had seen someone who could get in there, make observations and listen to conversations, and report back. That was sly, that was really sly. In fact, it was quite military. Vivian had seen an asset, acquired it, and put it to work for her own interests, thereby limiting exposure to herself and keep her intentions hidden: basic espionage and spying techniques. Jasmine, as her friend, was worried and ashamed. As her doctor and by extension therapist, even though Vivian had never sat down for a therapeutic chat, she was concerned Vivian was burn herself out mentally during her quest for vengeance. As an officer, she couldn't help but marvel at Vivian's mind for strategy.

Jasmine took off her glasses then and rubbed her eyes. She hadn't gotten much sleep the previous night. Sleep was something that all military personnel dreamed of and required, and yet they got so little of it. Being put to sleep the in cryo-bay for slipspace travel didn't exactly result in a restful slumber either. Still, her lack of rest had more to do with worries and questions that were plaguing her mind, ranging from the longer treatment of wounded personnel to what the hell Vivian was going to do next.

Another thought had been festering in her mind as well. She had decided it was time to ask it, plain and simple.

"Vivian, are you going to kill Frost?"

Vivian looked up. Jasmine did her best to maintain a straight face, but the fact that Vivian had the nerve to look surprised by her question, annoyed her greatly.

Jasmine continued, "You're my friend. My best, true friend. The first one I ever really had. Never got a chance to make long-standing friendships and relationships because we moved so often. And I'm going to say this, because you're my friend and I love you. If you're planning to kill him, I'm going to have to contact the military authorities."

Vivian didn't looked surprised or saddened. Her face became still as stone, frozen in an emotionless expression. She looked away and didn't say much for a while.

"I know you would," Vivian said after a time. Jasmine sighed.

"Can I explain?"

"Go ahead," Vivian said, her voice flat.

"To speak technically, what you would be doing is a crime. You know that and I shouldn't have to say that, but I am, because your actions in the armory have shown me that you have forgotten that. You would be committing an illegal, extrajudicial killing, uncleared by the laws of war. I know that look. You want to defend yourself by saying that that's what happened to your friends. I'm sorry Viv, but you have to accept that what Frost did fell within the rules of engagement. It's...it's a shitty thing to have to accept but that's the way it turned out. They were armed, they didn't drop their weapons. He had every right as a soldier to open fire. He's innocent in terms of the law and I will not allow a crime to take place, even if you are my friend."

Jasmine folded her hands together on her desk, "Secondly, we're friends. I admire you, I trust you, and I look up to you."

"Really?" Vivian scoffed, finally betraying a hint of emotion. Jasmine frowned.

"Of course I do. What you've done for this task force, for these _people_ , is astounding. I've known you for a few years now. I know who you are. I know _what_ you are. You're a good person. You're moral, you're honorable, and you've displayed selflessness on many occasions. You didn't have to go over to the _Best of the Best_ but you did. You removed Oswald from command to save lives. Because it was _right_. You do things because they're right. The way you've gone after Frost...that's not right. That's not _you_. Sometimes when you talk about him, these schemes you devise, that's not you. That's not the woman I've come to know and trust. I won't let you descend like that. I won't let you lose yourself, even if I have to strap you in a straitjacket."

Jasmine stood up and went over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Your feelings aren't wrong. It's not wrong to have them. You lost five people you cared about. Losing one is hard enough. You want to do right by them. Do right then, by continuing to be who you are."

She knelt down in front of Vivian then, putting her hands on her knees, "Be selfless, be honorable, be moral. Be a leader. In the end, that's what they would have wanted, for you to be you. That's what any friends would want."

She paused for a few moments. There was one more thing she had wanted to say and it irked her to say it. She was unsure of the reaction she would receive. But this was the time to put her foot down, the put the last nail in the coffin, to keep Vivian from doing the wrong thing and to keep Frost alive. "You despise him for killing humans. You call him a murderer. What would you be if you killed him, then?"

Vivian blinked at her, then slowly looked down. She looked ashamed. Jasmine nodded, "That's right. So please, don't do it. It's not wrong to have those feelings, that pain, that anger...but killing him is wrong."

There was a long silence between the two. Vivian's head hung low, and Jasmine remained crouched on the floor in front of her. Nothing was said for so long that Jasmine's knees began to hurt. Eventually, Vivian looked up, her eyes glossy with tears.

"Okay, Jas, okay. I...I won't. I promise."

"I know it's rough. You don't have to like him, you don't have to speak with him. You're making the right decision."

She and Jasmine embraced for a time. Vivian sniffled quietly.

"I'm okay. I'm okay," she said eventually.

"Okay. You can stay as long as you want."

The way the watches and shifts were set up allowed Vivian and Jasmine to be on duty at the same time, so then they could be off-duty together. Seeing and speaking with another did a great deal of good for both of them.

Jasmine started going back over to her desk. As she moved some papers around, Vivian cleared her throat.

"Do you have feelings for him?"

Jasmine stopped. That was a question she hadn't expected at all. But she turned around all the same.

"No," she answered, honestly and truthfully, "I don't. Not in the way you mean."

"In what way, then?" Vivian asked. Her tone was venomous. Rather, it was curious tone, which sounded almost sweet as she tried to regain her voice after her silent crying.

"He's a good man and a good marine."

She didn't want to say that he reminded her of Vivian. That would be too much, especially since she seemed fragile at that moment.

Jasmine sighed, "I do consider him a friend. I know that bothers you."

"It does." But what Vivian said next caught Jasmine by surprise. "When I really think about it, though, I don't think it bothers me that much."

Jasmine nodded slowly.

"If it's any consolation, he's kind to me. Not a lot of people were kind to me when I was a kid."

One would have that with as far as humanity had come that being introverted and bookish didn't portray someone as a target. Centuries of progression still hadn't ended bullying. Jasmine decided not to be too surprised. As much change as there was, there was also stagnation. Just because they could enter slipspace didn't mean that morality and common sense became universal. Spousal and child abuse, robbery, larceny, murder, rape, political corruption, fraud, assault, even schoolground bullying, and more, still existed. They weren't going anywhere anytime soon, either. Their civilization stretched among the stars but they were far from reaching some kind of moral utopia. Jasmine had hopes for humanity but she wasn't one of those starry-eyed dreamers who thought that just because it was the 26th Century meant that every single person was good. She had learned that from her experiences during primary and secondary school; part of what made making friendships difficult was that some people didn't want a friend, they wanted somebody to dominate. Now as an adult, she understood the complex issues that brought out the worst in kids and had made her peace with it. In fact, she had come so far and those experiences were so far behind her it had been an afterthought when she moved on from that part of her past. It only came to mind when she looked at who her friends were now. A starship captain with emotional scars and a marine who was grounded in his role that he talked about being wounded as lightly as one did about their average trip to the doctor's office.

That probably stemmed from his less than usual enlistment and training. Vivian had told her what Colonel Hayes had explained to her and Jasmine had found it quite disturbing. She couldn't begin to imagine how military training at such an age had affected their emotional and mental growth. Under no circumstances would this had ever been allowed, but somehow the brass had approved some officer's idea to recruit children? Some of them had been nearing adulthood and the majority were in their teens, but to Jasmine they were children. It unsettled her to imagine teenagers wearing armor and toting automatic weapons around.

Jasmine shunted her thoughts to the back of her mind. There was no use getting more upset over a matter that was quite over and done with.

"He's understanding as well," she said.

Vivian nodded slowly but said nothing. Jasmine frowned, "I don't mean to sound snarky but I thought you were about to nail with me another lecture on fraternization."

"I'm not. You're a grown-up and I'm not your mom. You can be friends with whoever you want. You don't need permission from me."

"You're my friend too. What you say matters to me."

Vivian chuckled.

"What do you want me to say, that I _consent_ to your friendship? Christ, Jas, it's not like you're asking for permission to marry the guy."

Jasmine laughed.

"Just to hear you say that you don't mind would be helpful."

"I don't mind. Just try to maintain a certain amount of professionalism around the crew." Vivian said with a smile.

"Thank you, Vivian."

"Sure, Jas."

"And thank you for promising that you won't harm him."

"Yeah."

* * *

Langley was sitting on the floor in the squad's barracks, reading a _STARS_ magazine. It was an older issue but she didn't mind. Anything to pass the time was welcome. The _I'm Alone_ and the rest of the task force had remained at the system instead of departing immediately; a supply shipment had arrived at the colony. Rear Admiral Travers had apparently requisitioned some more ammunition for the ships, to replenish the ordinance that had been expended during their engagement with the Covenant. As well, the ship included replacements for the emergency thrusters that had been used during the battle. Emergency thruster tanks were usually replaced while a ship was in a dock, due to the difficult procedure of fitting them onto the hull. Thankfully, the colony did have docks for ships, so the engineers were out there installing them on the ships while other supplies such as rations flowed in.

She was about to turn the page when she heard quiet cursing in the corridor. The door was open; Frost liked to keep it open in case some of their friends from other squads wanted to visit. But when she looked up, she saw another of the special radio operators that had been assigned to the marines walk by. It was a young man by the name of Sánchez. His hair and uniform were wet. He looked angry.

Langley grabbed her overshirt and put it on over her tank top, and jogged after him.

"Hey, wait up a sec," she said, slowing down beside him. "What's wrong? Why are you all wet? Were you in the armory?"

"No," Sánchez grumbled, "I was in the mess hall eating with the marines I was attached to. They were making fun of me and when I tried to make fun of them back, they got pissed at me and said I wasn't a real soldier. They said that an pansy Air Force radio op doesn't have any business fighting on the ground like they do. And when I tried to say something again, they threw their drinks in my face. Can't believe they assigned us to a bunch of asshole jocks instead of real soldiers."

Sánchez continued on while Langley slowed down.

 _Pansy Air Force radio op, huh?_

* * *

"You want to tell me what was bugging you the other day?" Frost asked Steele. They were sitting at the end of the long table they usually sat at in the mess hall. The others were either getting their meals, although Langley had hung back at the barracks. Normally, they would get their meals together but she said she wanted a little alone time. Frost, having four sisters, understood what that was like. Turn around a corner and you'd find one standing there. Try to turn around, and there would be another. Go to take a shower, one of them is already in the bathroom. Hungry and want to munch on your favorite snack, go to get it but you find _another one_ of them eating it. He imagined that that was it was like for her, being the only woman in the squad, so if she needed some space from them, he didn't mind.

Steele shrugged.

"It was nothing."

"I don't think it was nothing. You seem upset."

The Englishman shrugged again.

"Enh, don't worry about it."

"Brother, I've got a lot of things to worry about and you're one of them. C'mon, if something's up, you gotta tell me."

"You ain't gotta worry about me. I'm solid, bruv."

"No you're not. I didn't want to say anything but I've been doing a lot of thinking about what you did on the _Best of the Best_."

Steele looked a little annoyed as he sipped his tea.

"What? Did I do something wrong?"

Frost shrugged.

"Look man, first you dumped hot coffee on a guy to make him talk and then use him to make other people surrender. Then you pummel the shit out of someone until they can hardly open their eyes. I know they were traitors but you could get into some serious trouble for that. Some people might have seen that as abuse of prisoners of war, maybe even torture."

Steele groaned.

"Who cares? Got the job done, huh?"

"There could have been other ways."

"Yeah, but Waters said no lethal action. We're soldiers; killing people is how we usually solve our problems!" He said, half-joking, "I had to be creative."

"You didn't have to bash that guy like you did. You had secured the ship."

"Guy tried to kidnap a woman. You and I both know what he would have done. You remember Skopje, the first time?"

Frost seethed, not at Steele, but at the memory. He clenched and un-clenched his fists several times.

"I remember all too well."

"So what's your bugger? He got what he deserved."

"I would have liked have given him a beating too. But we're not on the remote hillsides of Skopje anymore. We have more than just Hayes on our shoulders now. You could have gotten investigated." He ran a hand down his face, "All I'm saying is that there were other, less risky ways, you could have done things."

"They would have taken too long. And you weren't there. I'm sure if you were there, we could have hatched some other ideas. But you weren't, so it was up to me. Look, mate, I'm not saying you're a bad squad leader but time was of the essences, wasn't it? There was only so long before somebody pulled the trigger on the bridge, so we needed the ship fast. If you were there, we couldn't have done it fast."

Frost was confused.

"So, you think I'm slow to act?"

"No, bruv, that's not what I mean. You're quick on your feet when it comes to fighting and thinking, and you would have found some way to talk those guys out of there. You probably could have done it without throwing a fist. But you were up on the bridge and to get the job done fast I had to fight dirty. You're not one for fighting dirty, at least not anymore. Let me take care of the dirty jobs, you can take care of everything else, yeah?"

"I can still do the dirty jobs too."

"Yeah, but..." Steels sighed. He scratched his mustache and ran a hand through his hair, thinking, "Look, I know you bruv. In the end, if you had done what I had done on that ship, you would have regretted it. You're way too hard on yourself and you would have been kicking yourself for doing what I did. I for one, don't regret doing tha, so let me take care of the dirty stuff so you don't have to, okay? It's not that I think you can't do it, it's just that I don't want you to, okay? Does that make sense?"

Frost sighed.

"Fine..." he said, then he smirked, "nice to know that you care."

"Ah, shove it," Steele grunted then finished his tea. "If you want to know what was bugging me, I was thinking about the second time we were on Skopje."

Frost was surprised.

"That op? Why was that bugging you?"

He often didn't think about it. It wasn't that he didn't like to, it was just that it had been a long time ago. He had made his peace with what had happened to them and what he had done. All that had mattered was that he got Steele out of there alive. The surgeries and the awards that followed didn't matter. Steele had lived, and he was proud to have saved him, but there wasn't much reason to dwell on it. He knew Steele felt the same way, aside from the fact that he felt like he owed him, which Frost constantly told him he didn't. A million times he told him he didn't, but Steele had gotten it fixed in his brain somewhere that he had to pay him back somehow. All the same, they hadn't spoken about it for three years. There was no reason to. Frost had assumed that Steele simply didn't think about it like he did.

Steele shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Just, you know. What you did for me an' all."

"Oh."

They were silent for a few minutes, their eyes distant. Frost wanted to say more but he knew that Steele struggled with more emotional conversation. Often, he disguised the more emotional with blunt forwardness and crude humor.

"I gotta tell you something else, mate. The reason I was thinking about it was because I was telling the Captain about that op."

"That op is classified..."

"Yeah, well, she promised."

Frost's brow furrowed.

"I wouldn't too much stock in her word."

"Don't worry, I got my own angle on her."

"What angle?"

"That she drew on you in the armory."

Frost closed his eyes and lowered his head. He should have figured that Steele would have found out sooner or later.

"Maddox told you?"

"Maddox knows?"

"Fuck me..." Frost groaned. "Yeah he knows. Look don't tell the other guys alright? If they find out, they'll scream for blood."

"Wasn't planning on it."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

"You should be, twat," Steele said, folding his arms on the table and leaning forward. He was smiling though. "But I understand why you didn't, so no hard feelings, enh? Anyways, I'm sorry I didn't tell you about my little chat with the Captain."

"You should be," Frost shot back. The two chuckled a little. "Who told you about what happened between me and her?"

"Doc Jasmine."

Frost sighed. He should have guessed his telling her would have started a little chain reaction. He cursed himself for not being able to keep the matter to himself.

"So what did Waters want?"

"I guess she was trying to figure out why people follow you, gravitate to you, and all that. I told her that story to answer her question."

Frost nodded.

"I'll have to have a word with her later."

"Can I come?"

"No."

"You ain't fun."

"Yeah, because if I bring you along...is that Langley?"

Frost's attention was drawn to their radio operator, who had stormed into the mess hall with her fists clenched tightly. Her eyes were dark and she looked liable to hit anyone who looked at her the wrong way.

Steele looked as well, following Frost's gaze.

"She looks might miffed, doesn't she?"

"Yeah, she does."

They watched as Langley marched over to another squad of marines, led by a twenty-two year old named Nabiyev, who hailed from Kazakhstan. He was a good soldier, but Frost knew him to be wary of outsiders. Many of the marines were. Their MEU was a tight group with a distinct reputation, and this was the first time they had ever had to work with service members from other branches for extended periods of time. They were used to fighting alongside them, but having them attached to their squads was still alien for some of them.

Frost watched with interested as she stood over him, arms akimbo, her feet apart. She said something to him and he seemed to snicker. That's when she grabbed his tray of food and dumped it over him.

"Oh shit."

Frost jumped from his seat and jogged over. Langley had her fists raised and Nabiyev was getting out of his seat, covered in stains, swearing and getting ready for a fight. The rest of his squad were on their feet too and looked ready to tear Langley apart.

He put himself in between the two just as they were about to throw their first punches.

"What the hell is going on here?" he asked, keeping a hand raised in front of both of them, "Langley, what do you think you're doing?"

"This xenophobic oaf thought it funny to dump their drinks on their Air Force radio operator as well as insult him."

"Sánchez is a pussy has no reason to be wearing our armor, lady," Nebiyev growled, "I was just letting him know where he stands in the food chain."

"I think you might want to take a look at the evolutionary track and see where you stand," Langley shot back, "I'd say somewhere behind _homo erectus._ "

"What the hell is _homo erectus_?"

"I sorry, I forgot you're too stupid to understand that!"

Nebiyev tried step forward but Frost held him back. He point at Langley.

"Langley, get over to our table, sit down, and shut up. _Now_."

Langley tried to protest but he shut her down, and she slowly marched off. Frost turned to face Nebiyev. "Sorry, about that Nebs."

"You gotta get that bitch under control," Nebiyev grunted.

"Oi, I wouldn't go calling her that now unless you want to eat my boot heel," Steele said, standing behind Nebiyev. Knight, Bishop, Moser, Maddox, and Grant also had walked up, arms crossed. They didn't look happy at all. Nebiyev's men braced themselves, and he looked at Frost, furious.

"You and I have sought side by side for five years, Frost, yet you take the side of these wimps who are only good for talking on the phone?"

"The only reason I haven't smashed your face in is because of those five years, my friend. Call my radio op a bitch again, and you'll find that I won't be so friendly as I am now. Treat your radio op with respect, and if I hear about you picking on any others-"

"You'll what? Fight me?"

Nebiyev was one of the few men who fight Frost toe-to-toe, though he still lost during every sparring match they had together. But Frost shook his head.

"Nope. I'll sick Langley on you. She'll do a whole lot worse than I could. Enjoy your meal."

Frost and the rest of the squad headed back to the table. They sat down and started to eat. Except for Frost, that is. He tapped Langley on the shoulder.

"Can I have a word?"

"Yes, Sergeant."

He led her out of the mess hall and stood her just outside the entrance. "I'm sorry, but he shouldn't have done that to Sánchez. Sánchez didn't deserve that."

"No, he didn't. That doesn't mean you can just roll up and start fights."

"Somebody had to say something."

"Yes, you're right. Next time something like that happens, report it to me and I'll take care of it."

Langley frowned.

"I'm an adult. I can take care of my own problems."

Frost shook his head.

"Doesn't matter."

"You wouldn't make one of the others do that. You'd let them sort their own issues. Why not me? Because I'm still new? Or is it because I'm not a marine."

She said this bitterly, folding her arms across her chest and looking away in anger. Frost poked her in the shoulder.

"Look at me, Airman."

Reluctantly, she did. "You're a member of my squad. That uniform you wear my have a an Air Force patch on it, but it has marine colors. Your BDU may have that patch on it, but it's marine armor. You're in my squad and that means you're a _marine_. You're one of my marines, understand? The others have problems too and I have them bring them to me so I can solve them. That's my job as squad leader, that's my duty to you all. I'm the squad leader and I take care of _my_ marines? Understand?"

Langley stared at him angrily for a few moments, then her expression softened. Eventually, she nodded.

"Yes, Sergeant."

Frost smiled.

"Don't bother with formalities. I have a name. Use it from now on, just like the others do. Now get something to eat."

"Okay."

"Tell Steele that I've got something to take care of and that he can find me in the barracks later."

* * *

Vivian was in her office with Ngouabi. She had brought him up to discuss further strategies. Their engagement had gone smoothly but her tactics would drain their emergency thrusters quickly, especially the frigates which had less thrusters than the larger ships. As well, they weren't always going to have time to sit around at port to get new thruster tanks installed. Eventually, they were going to go deeper into the frontlines, perhaps into zones that had once belonged to the UNSC but were now firmly in the grasp of the Covenant. They couldn't use their thrusters as liberally as she had, and she knew she needed new fleet configurations to ensure that they wouldn't have to rely on them. So, she had brought the more experienced Ngouabi up to speak with her.

"No disrespect, Captain Ngouabi, but wouldn't having all of the ships packed together like that hamper maneuverability. We need intervals between ships to ensure that one can move when it has to, prevent collisions, and prevent on Covenant volley from taking us down."

"Very true, but look at this," he handed her his data pad with the fleet projection tool activated. It showed five ships; the configuration showed one ship slightly above two, which were side by side. Spaced above the two ships but below the first one, were two other ships, one on either side of the original triangle formation. Ngouabi smiled, "I've used that one myself. So, you fire together on the largest ship. That many MAC rounds going down range on a capital ship will cause serious damage. With our advanced MAC guns, I'm sure we'd have no trouble chewing through a battlecruiser or other capital ship. Then, when the remaining Covenant ships fire, the ships disperse in different directions. Look at the inner triangle; the top ship goes up, the other two go down at diagonal angles. The one on left flank peels off to port, and the ship on the right flank peels off to starboard. With the Covenant plasma concentrated essentially just one large spot instead of being spread out, the ships can easily escape damage under their own power, rather than using emergency thrusters."

"I see. We could then enter a squashed pentagon formation. That'll make it easier for our ships to engage any remaining targets that are in a wider formation."

"Precisely. I've used that formation more than once and it worked every single time."

"Thank you, Captain."  
"Sure thing. Forgive my being cliche, but it is wise to ask your elders for advice," he said with a chuckle. Vivian did as well. Ngouabi reminded her of her great-grandfather on her mother's side. Her great-grandfather was a small but stocky man, with thin white hair and a constant coating of gray stubble on his jaw. He always seemed fragile but made up for it with a sage-like wisdom. No matter the situation, he had advice for it. Family problems, issues at school, equations on her homework, absolutely anything. His advice had even given her the courage to break up with her first boyfriend. Vivian remembered him not unkindly; he was rather weedy and her great-grandfather had told her that she would never be happy with a spineless man. Vivian hadn't exactly been dating to marry; she had been seventeen or so at the time, finishing up the processes of getting her diploma early, and had been dating for a year. But her great-grandfather had said to her she was strong, and he wasn't, and she would be unsatisfied soon. When he dwelled on the words afterwards, she realized that she already was unhappy. The boy she was dating didn't have any backbone, just ideas and aspirations. He enjoyed talking about grand plans to make the world a better place than actually spending quality time with her. So, she let him down relatively easy, but he must have taken it harder than she realized, as he dropped out of school and left the city soon after that. But before that she hadn't realized that she was strong. Nobody had told her that, except for her great-grandfather. Part of the reason she ended up enlisting was because of that old salt. If she was strong, she thought back then, she should use whatever strength she had to help defend people.

Ngouabi had that same sagely attitude about him. He was always smiling a little and those eyes of his saw more than he let on. And he believed in her; a young captain with only two victories under her belt. She thought she would end up getting the 'two victories don't win the war' spiel from him, but instead, she got a veteran telling her that he stood firmly behind her, and would follow her to the grave if need be.

"Any other advice, grandpa?" she asked.

"Grandpa?" he laughed, "Am I that old? I thought sixty was the new forty and all that?"

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Vivian joked, even though it was relatively true. Humans were now living to the ripe old age of one hundred and fifty. That was one of the benefits of 26th medicine and medical technology. Now, there were seventy year old marines running around the battlefields like twenty year olds.

Their laughter was cut short by a loud knock on the door. Before she could even inquire as to who it was, the individual identified themselves.

"Sergeant Frost requesting permission to enter, ma'am."  
Vivian froze for a moment, a wave of emotions passing through her. Anger, fear, anguish, rippled throughout her like a strong current.

"You okay, Captain?" Ngouabi asked quietly.

"Yes, I am. If you wouldn't mind..."

"Sure, we can talk strategies later."

Ngouabi stood up, taking his data pad, and proceeded to exit the room. When the door open, Frost saluted sharply. Ngouabi returned as he passed. Frost then entered as the door closed.

Waters stared at him for a few moments, trying to find the words.

"Jack the Ripper" she greeted in a low growl.

"Heard one of my men was spotted up here recently. Just wanted to inquire to see what that was about, seeing as I am the squad leader and have a right to know what kind of activities my men are involved in."

Vivian didn't like his tone. She knew he knew what happened. Steele was loyal, so she should have expected him to go crying to his savior after their meeting.

"Don't be coy with me, Jack the Ripper. If you know what happened, then just say it."

"Look, Cap', if you've got a problem with me, fine."

"Oh, I've got more than a problem with you..."

"Leave my people out of it," he said sternly. "They're my squad. They're good boys, brave boys. Just leave them out of it, okay? Don't get them involved in something they didn't even have a hand in the first place."

"Fair enough," Vivian said after a few moments of thought.

"Thanks." he turned to leave.

"I was speaking with Jasmine today. She considers you her friend."

Frost smiled a little, but it faded.

"Well, that's good to hear. I consider her the same."

"You best not cross her. Hurt her and I'll see that you'll be in worse shape than you were after you assassinated a good man."

Frost glared at her.

"I wasn't planning on it. And as for that _good man_ , if you knew the things he had ordered, what he had done, you would have wanted to see him dead too."

"I'm sure there's many on Skopje who want to see you dead if they found out what you did to my friends, and whatever other atrocities you committed on my planet, Jack the Ripper."

"Nathaniel, Frost!" he said suddenly, spacing the words. "My name is _Sergeant_ Nathaniel Frost. I have a name, I'd appreciate it if you fucking used it from time to time."

"Sensitive about your nickname?"

"How would you like it if everybody called you the same name as a maniac who butchered five women in the 19th Century?"

"I think you fit the name nicely. You even got away with it too."

Frost gritted his teeth together.

"I didn't choose my nickname. It was a name that stuck and I didn't get a say in the matter."

"I find it interesting, _Jack the Ripper_ , that you find the real murderer to be an immoral monster, yet five dead girls lay at your feet and you use the rules of engagement-some words on a piece of paper-to justify it? How morally corrupt are you that you don't regret killing five innocent girls?"

"What the fuck did you want me to do, Vivian!?" he yelled, "Stand there and let myself get shot? I have them a warning, two if I remember correctly, and they didn't drop them!"

Vivian stood up, slamming her hands on her desk.

"You barely gave them the time to put their pistols down! They were shocked and afraid, they had no time to react to what you were saying!"

"So I was supposed to stand there and wait until they could? What if they decided to shoot me? Just let myself die, is that it? Oh that makes a lot of fuckin' sense, Vivian, it sure does."

"You'll address me as Captain Waters!"

"No, I won't! You call me Jack the Ripper, I call you Vivian! Or have you forgotten, the first time we spoke? That night, late in the armory? You asked me my name, my first name, and you gave me yours. What happened to that? Huh, Vivian?"

"What happened is that I found out who you really are. Now get out of my office."

The day after, Vivian was on the bridge with her officers. They were restocked with food, medical supplies, and ammunition and the new emergency thruster tanks had been installed. All of the wounded who could be taken care of on the ship were settled, and the few casualties from the battle who wouldn't be able to return to the field had been transferred to the Army hospital planetside. She had witnessed many tearful partings between the marines all morning. It was moving, to say the least. Seeing all the marines bursting into tears as they said goodbye made her realize that she hadn't seen grown men cry before. She could only think of a few occasions; her father had cried when her younger brother was born. Her guidances counselor at school had grown weepy when they went to the principal's office to collect her diploma at seventeen. She had been the only student to graduate early; perhaps her counselor had cried because he was proud. And there were some scenes of tears when they had rescued the 89th from Ambition. Seeing so many bawling and holding one another as friends left was something that had almost brought her to tears.

Being among her staff had brightened her up, though. She was smiling as she listened to their banter, Tsang soaking every word with sarcasm, Bassot verbally berating Delany, while the latter just listened and tapped away.

"Captain, who do you think would win in a fight, the _I'm Alone_ or _Everest_?" Bassot asked.

"Admiral Cole's ship?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

Vivian pretended to think for a moment, stroking her chin.

"I'm not sure, Lieutenant. We've got the same ships, although ours is somewhat bigger and we have the upgraded MAC guns."

"So we'd win, right Captain?"

That's when Delaney cut in.

"Brains will overcome strength."

"Delaney has a point. A ship is only as good as the crew who runs her. Admiral Cole is one of the best officers we have in the entire UNSC Navy and one of the sharpest minds for starships strategy." Bassot seemed to deflate then, but Vivian grinned, "I still think we'd win."

Bassot smiled wide and laughed.

"See Delany, even the Captain says so! You're beat, two to one!"  
Delaney said nothing, he only smiled just a little bit.

Decatur appeared on the AI pedestal next to Vivian's command chair and console.

"Madam, Rear Admiral Travers has passed along a message. He requests that you contact him in your office."

"Understood. Prepare a video feed, please. Solak, you have the bridge."

Vivian returned to her office; Decatur was ready to send the transmission by the time she arrived. She ordered him to send it and in a few moments, Travers bearded faced appeared on screen.

"Waters," he grunted in greeting.

"Rear Admiral Travers, it's good to see you."

"Always is," he said with that big, sharkish grin and a cigarillo in his good hand. "I've got a special assignment for you."

"My battle group is ready for anything, sir."

"Good. As you know, our operations technically fall under NAVSPECWAR."

Naval Special Warfare Command; they were the handlers for the ODSTs and units that were assigned to special operations. Her battle group, which doubled as a quick reaction force as well as a hunter killer unit, was soon to penetrate deeper into territory seized by the Covenant, and seeing as Travers was a part of NAVSPECWAR, it went without saying they fell under their command. She found it odd that he had to state this.

"Yes, sir?" she said slowly.

"Then you know that ONI is just down the hall, figuratively speaking."

Vivian quirked an eyebrow.

"I take it that ONI had a job for us."

"ONI _and_ NAVSPECWAR. ONI has a _Sahara_ -class prowler in orbit of a half-glassed colony world called Farwater. Population's been evacuated for the most part but they've encountered a snag in the mission. Instead of moving on, the Covenant had a moderately sized battle group stationed by the planet. There's no way that prowler can get out of there without getting a volley of plasma up its tailpipe, so they're stuck in cloak. Complicating the situation further, they had a recon team planetside but they've gone dark. They dispatched another operative but that operative has been compromised; they're now being hunted."

Vivian remained silent as he explained. The entire situation was a multilayered complicated mess. First, they'd have to defeat the fleet. As she mulled over that, she realized that dispatching the enemy fleet would probably be the easiest part of the mission. Having the prowler there would give them enemy ship numbers and their location ahead of time, which would allow her to start preparing her battle plan immediately. The harder part would be finding that recon team as well as the operative they sent after them, as well as getting the mission completed before enemy reinforcements arrived. What caught her attention was that they had only sent a single operative to find the team. Who in the right mind send just one individual to rescue an entire team?  
Travers ran a hand through his beard and blew a puff of smoke into the screen. "So, you need to head there immediately. Engage the enemy fleet and send a rescue team for the operative."

"What about the rescue team?"

"What about them?"

"Aren't we going to search for them, too? You didn't say they were KIA, you send gone dark."

Travers looked at her, unamused.

"One lightly armed recon versus an entire invasion group goes dark, let's face it, they're dead. ONI prioritized the data they collected; NAVSPECWAR prioritizes the operative."

"Why the operative?"

"They said that's classified. Just gave me a name and a number: Carris-137."

* * *

The radar facility had lost power, leaving the long concrete hallways were quiet and dark. There seemed to be a bit of a breeze traveling through the hall; the part of the facility she was in was underground; there must have been an entrance way nearby that had been left open. She had made sure to close the door she had come through and lock it. Her motion tracker showed no red dots, so if there was an open door, it might have been left open by the recon team. That, or the Covenant were immobile, perhaps staging an ambush.

Carris made up for the blackout with her helmet's night vision capabilities and the flashlight attachment on her M7S SMG. On either hip of her Mark IV armor was a SOCOM variant of the M6C, and on her back was a heavily modded assault rifle; it had an extended barrel, a drum magazine, a suppressor, and a scope. Internally, she had improved the gas chamber, effectively turning the assault rifle in a light machine gun.

Her NAV point, a blue diamond with round edges on her HUD, was placed in a room down the hall. As she approached, the distance meter began to fall.

"This is Yellow One," she said over the comms, "I'm on top of the recon team's last reported position, over."

"Yellow One, this is _Rasputin_ , proceed with caution, over. You may have shaken the Covenant for now but they're searching the area around you"

"Copy that, out."

Carris came to the door and paused a moment. A red light inside was casting an eerie glow through the door frame. It didn't deter her; with her weapon raised, she entered the room quickly. She looked around; it was some kind of control room. In front of her was large panel with multiple keyboard, switches, and buttons on it, and on the wall above it were large monitors. The monitors off due to the power outage. Chairs were overturned and tables had been smashed. On the floor were the eight bodies of the recon team, lying in pools of blood. Spent bullet casings littered the floor around them and there were plasma burns on the walls. They probably hadn't gotten a chance to even make radio contact before they were dead.

" _Rasputin_ , Yellow One here. Recon team is KIA, over."

"Understood, Yellow One. Data module should be on the team leader's body. Over."

Carris found the man in question, an individual who used the moniker Death's Head, due to the skull he had painted over his helmet and visor. All of the ONI recon teams wore light armor, which didn't stop much when compared to the medium armor of marines and the heavier raiment of the ODSTs. Their armor didn't even come close to a Spartan's, so it was no wonder that they were cut up by the Covenant.

"Data module is in hand," she said before placing the piece of tech into one of the soft case strapped to her calf.

"Solid copy. Is the facility is powered? Over."

"Negative."

"Can you restore power from your location?"

"Standby."

She began searching the room. It was rather large and had multiple sections, including a few offices and storage rooms. One room led her to a small electrical panel; it had a level to the backup generator. She threw the level and the facility rumbled. A few moments later, the lights turned back on and upon returning to the main area of the room, she found that the monitors had remained access.

"Facility is on backups now."

"Good work Yellow One; can you access internal cameras and find any footage of what happened to the team."

Carris's tapped at the keyboard and pulled up the camera feeds. She watched the footage from the one that was located where the bodies were; it showed Death's Head, with six of his team, in the control room. They had pulled whatever data was in module from the computers in the radar array, and had wiped the facility of any mentions of other colonies or Earth. He was ordering the power to be shut down, just to be safe. The feed then ended. The individual who had been at the generator room had probably returned and soon after they were ambushed. Carris relayed all of this information back to the control operative on _Rasputin._

"Can you ensure that all of the facility's databanks have been wiped? We don't want to miss something and end up having the Covenant knocking on Earth's doorstep tomorrow. Over."

Carris checked and found nothing. There was nothing left in the databanks, not a single file."

"Databanks are clean. The recon team did their job. Over."

"Good work, Yellow One. Power the facility back down and make sure that it can't be powered back up."

"Wait, one."

Carris went back to the electrical station, pulled the lever back down, and then slammed her fist into it. The entire panel caved in, sparking and hissing. "Facility is out of commission. Over."

"Recommend then that you proceed to extract. Primary EZ is compromised, head to secondary EZ. Designating third and fourth EZ's as safety nets. Over."

"Can you give me the position of the Covenant infantry tailing me?"

"A portion of the force is holding tight on the western end where you entered. Several groups splintered off; one has taken position at the northern entrance, another at the south. That leaves only the eastern entrances as your means of egress. Covenant troops will be on top of that position in less than ten mikes."

"Transfer the countdown to my helmet HUD. Oscar-mike, out."

Carris broke into a light jog down another hall that connected to the main room. The Covenant pursuing her hadn't seen her enter the facility; how would they have known to block the entrances? What's more, if they were in pursuit, why didn't simply enter the radar facility and search?

As she entered a loading bay of sorts, near the eastern entrance, she heard the tell-tale sound of an energy sword being activated. Carris stopped and braced herself. She scanned the large bay, which was askew with containers large and small, as well as the bodies of the staff who hadn't escaped. She spotted the white-purple glow of a sword behind one, and soon an Elite stepped forward. It wasn't an ordinary Elite; it was of the Zealot class.

She raised her weapon, then heard the sound of several more blades. Her eyes went to her motion tracker. Nine more dots appeared, all moving towards her.

* * *

" _What happened to Carris on that planet started a long process of separation from the rest of the Spartans. I only saw her once before Reach fell in 2552."_

-Kelly-087, Spartan II, Petty Officer Second Class, speaking of fellow Spartan II Carris 137

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Well, remind me not to set dates for myself. Still haven't gotten around to fixing Ch. 15, because writing new chapters is more fun. Anyways, there were some of you who were wondering if there was going to be a Spartan character and I answered vaguely, because I didn't want to spoil things for you. Here she is, Carris-137, one of the few characters unoriginal characters in this story. Without delving too far into my beliefs on how fanfiction writing should be used, I wanted this story to have as little devotion to the Halo Universe characters we all know, simply because my story didn't need them nor did I want them in there. I and you, the readers, get enough of them in the games, the books, the graphic novels, and other fanfics. They'll make some guest star appearances but they will be fleeting in general. Carris is one of the exceptions; in creating a role for a Spartan character, I was torn between making an original character and selecting one from the roster of known Spartan II's. Since the Spartan II roster is pretty defined, I decided to choose one instead of adding an original one. Carris has little information on her and what is known about her is rather interesting (if you know, keep it to yourselves so you don't spoil it for other readers, or I'll smack ya with words) so I went with her. Carris will become a deuteragonist alongside Steele. Vivian, Frost, and Jasmine remain as our primary protagonists, and Langley as our tritagonist. It feels strange having only one tritagonist; I have some ideas so maybe we'll take a poll on it. Or perhaps not because I hate polls, though I love all your feedback, so feel free to drop ideas.**

 **By the way, Qrs-gj, I meant to message you, sorry I didn't get around to that. Busy not getting sleep and preparing for second semester and all that fun stuff. All I wanted to say is that you inadvertently guess, for the most part, how I was going to introduce a Spartan character. You either have mind reading capabilities or hacked into my Google Docs. If you're the former, please contact Professor Xavier. If the latter, shame on you, I'm changing my password! Kidding though; love you bro.**

 **Comment response; you love them and so do I! Who's up?**

 **MightBeGone: I always make the urge to make a little pun from your awesome name, like 'Please don't ever be gone, I'd miss you very much.' You ask good questions that I wish I could answer for you right now but I don't want to spoil things for you brother! The answers will come in due time, however, you'll see.**

 **Chase 8999: In response to your first comment, good luck with that time machine, make sure to let us known how that goes. Be safe, back some dramamine for motion sickness just in case. Also be sure to tell me when you get back if a I'm a reserved, bitter jackass in ten years or not, that way I can start shaping up to be a better person now, know what I mean? In response to your second comment...that's so hilarious that I might just have to incorporate that into my story somehow. I don't know how but I feel like something like that needs to happen. I don't know when I'll do it, or how, but I have to now.**

 **Alpha HighBreed: Yes, their friendship runs deep. As for the distance thing, I didn't really explain it that well, did I? When I go back to edit (whenever that'll be) I'll provide some more detail on the rebel base, but as I stated it's in a pit mine. Many pit mines are large and deep; effectively, they're a huge hole in the ground. That means they would have to find a perch to fire** _ **into**_ **the hole, and due to the defenses they couldn't just sneak up to the edge of the mine or else they would have been spotted. The best terrain that afford a clear line of sight on the area the target would most likely be on was that ridge, which was unfortunately closer than a sniper would have wished. Again, my lack of detail in the story, I'll fix it later, I hope that answers your question. You make an astute observation on Vivian; I for one can attest to how blinding anger can be. You basically become another person when you're angry, so that's how I'm trying to divide Vivian. And as for a beta, well I'm fuckin' waiting man, being patient for ya to kick that test's ass and you can be my beta! I ain't got nobody else, bruh! Joking aside, yeah I need one bad; my dyslexia is becoming worse and combine that when I type fast, I'm error prone. I'll fix it though, some time in the near future, eventually, when I FEEL like it. And I won't abandon this, trust me. Like I said, if I'm not posting it doesn't mean I'm not reading comments or working on it, it just means it's slow going for me due to external circumstances or a big update is coming.**

 **Thanks for commenting folks, next chapter will come when it comes, hopefully soon. I'll do my best before I head back to school on Sunday. I'll probably be able to crank out one to two more chapters prior to Sunday, and one or two on Monday or Tuesday too. Stay tuned!**


	20. Chapter 20: The Spartan

**Quick note everyone; I finally updated and fixed Ch. 15 so that the Covenant shield strength and number of MAC guns are consistent with this chapter's space battle. I didn't need to change as much as I thought, so you don't have to run back there and re-read it unless you want. Just wanted to let you know. Anyways, enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 20: The Spartan

* * *

The battle group was about to exit slipspace. Vivian had already ordered everyone out of the cryo-bay and to their battle stations. There was a chance that it could be a hairy fight. The UNSC prowler _Rasputin_ had reported that they were going to be facing eight ships; two battlecruisers, one destroyer, thee corvettes, and two CRS-class light cruisers. The light cruisers were similar in design as the battlecruisers, albeit much smaller. Corvettes and light cruisers were easier targets, but in packs, were tougher to take down. More than once during her time at OCS, Vivian had heard tales of might _Marathon_ -class heavy cruisers, which could decimate Covenant light cruisers any day of the week, being destroyed by swarms of the smaller ships.

There were two factors on their side; the prowler feeding them data and the element of surprise. The Covenant were mopping up on Farwater; they hadn't even felt the need to glass the entire planet. According to those on _Rasputin_ , the Covenant fleet was scattered; each ship was orbiting a different location, save for the two battlecruisers. If they could jump in system, form up quickly, and take out the battlecruisers first, then they would be able pick off each enemy ship individually. A face-to-face fleet engagement could then be avoided. What's more, _Rasputin_ was armed with M441 Hornet Remote Explosive Systems, otherwise known as Hornet Mines. These mines possessed a thirty megaton yield and were devastating against Covenant ships. Before they had jumped into slipspace for their fourteen day journey, _Rasputin_ affirmed that they would plant mines if they were needed.

Fourteen days. It had taken them fourteen days to complete this journey. They had been the closest battle group; the second closest had been twenty days away. Their slipspace technology was nothing like the Covenant's. Was that strangely named operative even alive? What of the recon team? The only fact they had was that the Covenant ships weren't going anywhere; according to _Rasputin_ , they were digging in some places and delving into human-made mines as well as natural cave formations. For some reason, they just weren't leaving. Vivian had heard of Covenant invading forces acting in the same way. They'd obliterate the human defense but refuse to glass it, opting instead for a full planetary invasion. Invasions weren't rare; often the Covenant did so just to prevent any resistance from the planet below, such as activating MAC cannons or deploying more ships. Yet, these were usually accompanied by glassing. If an invasion had minimal or no glassing whatsoever, then the Covenant began scouring the surface, looking for something. Farwater hadn't been spared of the glassing beam; apparently, there was a larger garrison on the planet than there was a civilian populaces, and a robust defense fleet had already been present. It appeared that victory would be achieved, only the two cruisers were left when the other six jumped into the system and wiped the floor with the remainder of the UNSC ships. The civilians were evacuated, but the garrison opted to stay behind. _Rasputin's_ report indicated that had held out for a few days, repelling wave after wave of Covenant. Eventually, the Covenant simply glassed their position from orbit.

It was infuriating to Vivian that the Covenant could just fly in and start dumping plasma beams all over their place. There was no defense against, no way to strengthen buildings or fortifications. The only solutions were to either get off the planet or go deep underground. She wondered, then, why wouldn't they just use the glassing beams all the time? What was the point of deploying invasion forces when they could just glass a planet? Were infantry deployments merely a formality, a way to make humans feel good about themselves before they were incinerated by highly concentrated plasma? Perhaps it tied into their search for...whatever it was they were searching for. Vivian had no clue what they were possibly looking for. In the end, it didn't concern her. Her duty was to engage and destroy the Covenant, not understand them.

Sailors were running by her, heading to their stations. She offered words of encouragement to them all. Marines were preparing as well, though she didn't think they would be needed. Their job was to extract one operative and find a recon team, then leave. All she needed was one search team, and as she entered the hangar bay, she knew she was going to have a choice.

Colonel Hayes and Major Holst were standing a few inches from one another. The former towered over the armored ODST, armed folded across his chest. Holst had his arms on his hips, with his helmet tucked under his left arm. Behind Holst stood De Vos and several other ODSTs, while behind Hayes stood Frost and his squad. She headed their way; they looked angry and ready to turn to fists.

"Best let my troopers handle this one, Colonel," Holst was saying as she marched over, "we actually fall under NAVSPECWAR's jurisdiction unlike you lot."

"We're a part of this task force too, so we fall under them too. Don't try that one with me boy, I've been doing this since you sucked on your mother's tit."

"It makes more sense for us to go then; we can deploy much more efficiently. Our HEVs will get us down there faster than a Pelican."

"What if we need a quick extract? HEVs can't levitate back into the sky, now can they?"

"We have to find the operative first."

"My team here has more experience with search and rescues than you do; you ODSTs are better suited to quick assaults that get most of yourselves killed."

"You wanna send this chump on a rescue op again? Need I remind you that he got two Hornets down and only saved one pilot, and not even the right one."

Vivian could see that the comment made Frost and his team bristle. Obviously, it was still a sore memory.

Hayes turned to Vivian then.

"Captain Waters, this squad has pulled numerous civilians, pilots, and other soldiers out of the first dozens of times without fail in five years. I insist that you deploy them to search for the operative."

"Captain, sending ODSTs will get the job done quick and clean. Deployment will be faster and less risky, and we'll be able to move faster and more quietly. Sending marines would be suicidal."

Jasper and his crew were also standing by in their gear, watching the spectacle. He was laughing. When both officers were finished, he stepped forward with his arms outstretched.

"Here's an idea; why don't both you go? There's room for everyone in the Pelican!"

"Shut up!" both officers shouted in unison. Jasper only laughed.

Vivian had been about to rebuff Hayes and allow Holst to go instead. His argument made more logical sense and after Frost's botched rescue operation, she wasn't about to send him in. However, a single world had caught her attention: suicidal.

She had made a promise not to kill him. Taking a man's life seemed a simple thing, but when Vivian had taken a step back, she understood the gravity it possessed. She didn't know if she had the guts to do it, but she knew as the captain of the _I'm Alone_ and as the person Jasmine painted her to be, she couldn't. It was a promise she couldn't break, but it was a promise that afforded flexibility. She didn't have to be the one to do it. Any chance that the insanity of war would snatch his life was a chance she would take.

Her tactical mind, of course, reminded her of the mission. A person's life was on the line. She had to send the right team out there to retrieve them. The wrong team would get themselves and the operative killed and the entire mission would be scrubbed. But as she thought about it, she realized she would have sent Frost's team anyways. Holst was a war hero with a good war record, but there were drawbacks to his proposed plan of insertion. As well, ODSTs were indeed better trained as vanguard troops and shock troops; it was in their name. Rescue operations were better suited to those with experience and enhanced training.

"Jack the Ripper?"

Frost slowly looked over at her, annoyance gripping every feature.

"Yes, Vivian?"

Vivian wanted to smack herself internally. Everyone else looked between her and the marine, confused. She remembered their argument in her office; she wouldn't be able to get away with saying it without him referring to her informally.

"Are you up for the job?"

"Locked and loaded."

"Good."

"Captain!" Holst said, exasperated. He took a step forward, his free arm extended, "You can't be serious? You're going to send these ODSTs out there instead of my Helljumpers?"

"Are you questioning my orders, Major?" she asked sternly. Holst went red in the face. Vivian raised a hand, "Major, I appreciate your argument, but there are flaws. Your HEVs cannot be extracted and you'll have too much ground to cover by operating on foot. The marines can deploy with the Warthog and deploy quickly and extract just as fast. As well, they may be able to do a simple pickup instead of having to search. They'll go, but I want your team on standby to-"

Holst stormed off.

"De Vos, stay here with the team!" he barked, "I'm not dealing with this right now."

Vivian would have gone after him but there were more pressing matters at the moment. She would speak to him another time.

De Vos stood there, obviously embarrassed.

"Sorry ma'am, the Major is under a great deal of stress."

"Don't make excuses for your CO's insubordination, Captain De Vos," Vivian stated sharply.

"Yes, ma'am."

Vivian smiled just a little bit.

"But I appreciate your loyalty. Fall out." She turned her attention to the Pelican jockeys. "Jasper, get your Pelican ready to go."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, and sauntered off with his two companions. Vivian turned to the marines.

"Finish gathering whatever gear you need and get a Warthog ready for transport. Find the operative and extract them as quick as you can. As soon as we're in range, you'll be deploying."

"During a space battle, ma'am?" asked one of them, the German named Moser.

"Longswords will be escort you down. Good luck."

The marines began to fall out, but Vivian reached out and grabbed Frost by his upper arm. She pulled him close, even though it made her skin crawl. She leaned close to his ear and whispered, "Try not to fuck up this time."

Frost freed his arm and walked off in disgust without uttering a word. Vivian smirked. She watched him join his squad; they walked together in a single line, side by side, weapons slung over their shoulders, clutched in one hand, or braced across or against their shoulders. They walked with confidence and they joked with one another, like they had on their mission to investigate the _Best of the Best_. They smiled at one another, performed small handshakes and bumped their fists together. Their casual approach to beginning a mission confused her just as much as it made her envious and inspired.

They had exited the jump in the _perfect_ spot. Despite all the inefficiencies of the Shaw-Fujikawa Translight Engine, every so often, the exit was turned out well. Perhaps it was due more to luck than their slipspace drives. Human slipspace technology was slow and was prone to errors; many ships found themselves exiting a jump outside of a system, which complicated jumping, movement, and just about everything else that was required of a starship.

But the fleet was together and they were approaching the rear of the pair battlecruisers, which were sitting side by side. There were no other ship's insight, save for the two light cruisers. The battlecruisers were orbiting by the planet's side, while the light cruisers were underneath the planet, also side by side.

Even as the UNSC ships steamed forward, they hadn't begun to move yet. Vivian smiled; they had caught them off guard.

" _Best of the Best_ , take _Determined Guardian_ and _Lion's Den_ and engage the light cruisers below us. Maintain intervals and focus fire; take down one ship, recharge, and then take down the next. Frigates, fire first to weaken the shields, then allow _Best of the Best_ to finish them off with her double MACs. _Batavia_ , form up on the _I'm Alone's_ right. We're heading for the battlecruisers. Full speed ahead. Charge MACs and arm Archer missile pods."

"So it's a race then, Captain Waters?" Captain Kelly joked over the comms. Vivian grinned.

"Second ship to fire buys a round of beers for the first ship's officer."

"You're on, Waters!"

Morale was high. Vivian was glad it was. She wanted her people to feel invincible in these moments; the slow closing between human and Covenant ships, waiting for the guns to charge, waiting to be in range. During that waiting, she wanted them to feel unstoppable rather than afraid. Fear was good to acknowledge, but failure to control it would get them killed.

"MACs are charging," Bassot declared.

The angle which they were coming in was excellent. Their first three shots would disable to the shields, and the final round would knock out their engines. Without any power to move, the battlecruisers would be sitting ducks.

They were closing in. The two captains of the battlecruisers were probably kicking themselves. Both ships were turning to the right, but it was an awkward and staggered maneuver. By staying side by side, they limited the amount of space each ship to move around. Now, they couldn't make a quick turn without one ship colliding with the other.

 _I'm Alone_ and _Batavia_ were barreling towards the battlecruisers. The enemy ships' engines were flaring, a hot purple-white in the darkness of space. They made for excellent targets.

"MACs are fully charge!" Bassot yelled.

Vivian checked the tactical screen. Batavia was also fully charged. Both ships duo of MAC cannons were hot. They two warships closed the distance quickly. Vivian uploaded the firing coordinates.

"In range!" Bassot yelled.

"Fire!"

The ship rumbled as the first of their MAC guns blasted its payload, with the second following shortly afterwards. Batavia did as well. Vivian waited eagerly.

The first two rounds hit, splashing against the shield. The third hit and immediately killed the shield. The fourth round buried itself in one of the engines, causing a massive explosion.

"Fire the first pod!"

The horde of missiles soared out towards the injured battlecruiser. Vivian was surprised to see no point defense lasers taking them down. The subsequent explosions must have decreased power throughout the ship. Clouds of orange appeared all over the Covenant ship as the missiles collided.

"Sosa, half speed. Bassot, charge for another volley. I want these ships turned into dust."

"Madam, scanners are picking up Seraph class fighters deploying from the battlecruisers. I recommend deploying our own starfighters to engage."

"Agreed, send the word down to the pilots to scramble. _Batavia_ , we have enemy fighters inbound, deploy your Longswords."

"Copy that," Kelly said, "good shooting by the way. Guess we'll be buying the first drinks."

"You're too slow, Kelly!"

"My carrier's a little fatter than your cruiser, Waters!"

Vivian laughed. The other battlecruiser was also disable; she had ensured that the _Batavia_ would be firing at the same spot on their target as the _I'm Alone_ did with theirs. Their round must have found an even juicier spot, as there were now rifts in the hull of the battlecruiser and white flame was billowing out of several spots.

Both enemy ships had no power and were now drifting aimlessly. Vivian stood up in her command chair, watching intently.

"Bassot, keep charging the MACs but don't prep another pod."

The ship that they had fired open was drifting towards the other battlecruiser. A few moments of high anticipation passed and then, just what Vivian had wanted to see, the first battlecruiser collided with its sister ship. At first, its starboard side simply grazed the top of the second one, but then its drift increased, sending it towards. Their hulls crushed together and soon both ships began breaking apart.

Everyone stood up and cheered once more. Vivian smiled. " _Best of the Best_ , report."

"One light cruiser down, the other one is turning tail. We'll be putting it out of its misery in about ten seconds."

Ten seconds later, he added, "Light cruiser is down. MAC round broke her back. Two kills."

" _I'm Alone_ and _Batavia_ reporting two kills as well. Except job. I'm sending new coordinates for rendezvous on the other side of the planet."

The trajectory would have the destroyer and the frigates continue traveling under the planet and then steam upwards to the opposite side. _I'm Alone_ and _Batavia_ would travel along the right side and meet them on the other end. As Vivian finished sending the coordinates, they were hailed by the prowler.

"UNSC _Rasputin_ here; that was one hell of an attack, Captain Waters. We're sending you the positions of the remaining ships. There are four more."

Vivian was glad; the destroyer was steaming with one of the corvettes towards her two ships, while the other two corvettes were attempting to regroup. Slater and his group would set upon them with ease.

"Any word on your operative?"

"Carris-137 has been on the run for fourteen days. She's been able to hold out but we've been able to extract her. Our EZ keep getting compromised but we can't risk exposing ourselves."

"Understood, I'm sending a Pelican with a mobile team to recover her. Send me her location." Vivian nodded to Decatur to send the word down to Jasper and Frost to deploy. The coordinates of the operative's coordinates were also sent and transferred to the Pelican. As Vivian got her ships moving again, she wondered how the hell some NAVSPECWAR operator had survived for fourteen days.

* * *

The Pelican shuddered as the descended towards the planet of Farwater. Frost was standing in the small doorway between the cockpit and the troop compartment. Ahead of the Pelican, Longswords and Seraphs shot by. Streaks of gold and purple crossed in front of them.

"This is nuts," Frost said, watching the dogfights unfold in front of him. A Longsword fired its missiles and was able to down a Seraph after whittling away its shields with its cannons. Then, a Seraph locked onto its tail started peppering it with plasma cannons. The Longsword was doomed until another interceptor came blazing by riddled the Seraph with cannon fire and a pair of missiles than reduced it to space dust.

Jasper scoffed.

"Pfft, I've seen way bigger battles than this. _This_ is nothing."

"Can you fucking focus please?" Pajari snapped.

"Darlin', I am focused."

"Don't call me darling!"

"But you just mean so much to me!"

"You're a goddamned pig!"

Frost chuckled.

"You two need couple's therapy."

Pajari groaned while Jasper laughed. The pilot looked over his shoulder briefly.

"Hey Frost, not that I don't mind having a dude named after a 19th Century serial killer keeping me company, I don't think you ought to be standing there. We get a bad concussion, your head is going to be smashed against something."

"Either that," Pajari added, "the force of a nearby explosion could break your spine."

Without a word, Frost retreated to his seat beside Frost at the end of the compartment.

"Okay guys, we're going to do this quick. Jasper's going to drop the Hog and then we're going to be right behind it. We're not stopping to engage any Covenant until we get to the operative, callsign Yellow One. We pull her out and we get to a safe point to extract."

"We taking the Warthog back with us?" Grant asked. The Warthog was secured by a robotic arm with a clan on the end, which was located on the Pelican's overhang. The claw was clamped on the dividing bar between the driver and passenger seats.

"I don't think we'll have the time but if it's possible we can get it hooked back up."

Marines forged strange attachments to machines. Vehicles and weapons gained lives of their own the more a marine used them. He supposed that sailors felt the same way about their ships and Airmen about their starcraft. The Warthog strapped to the Pelican's overhang was new; the Hog they had used on the previous colony world had been salvaged for parts and the hulk that remained was towed away to be scrapped. If they managed to get the Hog back this time, it would be considered theirs; a part of the squad.

The Pelican shuddered again as they got closer to the planet's surface. Frost had been able to steal a look at the colony before he had sat down. It was perfectly halved; one side an orange wasteland, the other side a lush green paradise. He hoped they wouldn't have to venture to that side of the planet.

"I'm zeroing on the operative's location but she's mobile," Jasper said over the comms, "I'm talking _mobile_. She's moving real fast."

"Maybe she was able to commandeer a civilian vehicle," Knight put in.

"The countryside on this planet is made up of tough terrain; I doubt a civilian vehicle could traverse it like Warthog could. One mike to touchdown."

The Pelican rumbled as they descended even faster now. Frost and his squad all shook in their harnesses.

"I think I'm going to hurl," Grant muttered.

"Please don't, the last thing I want to do is clean up vomit," Isha, the crew chief, grumbled.

Eventually, the shaking ceased and they were moving fast over the countryside. Frost removed the harness and stood up.

"Get ready!"

He held a handle on the bulkhead and kept his feet firmly planted on the deck, feeling the Pelican decelerate. Everyone else got to their feet, holding their weapon in one hand and keeping one on a nearby handle. They all faced the rear door, waiting. Soon, they could feel plasma bolts striking the hull. The plasma fire came from small arms; if it had been larger they would have been going down already.

"Small arms fire is picking up. I've got eyes on Covvies deploying heavier weapons too; I'm dropping you now. This is as close as I can get you!" cried Jasper, sounding serious for the first time.

"The operative is still eight hundred meters from here!"

"There's Covenant all over the area, I can't risk getting closer without taking more damage! I'm dropping the Hog and opening the rear door, I'll be tracking you from above the clouds. Good luck!"

The rear door slowly open, allowing light to fill the dark troop compartment. The Hog had already been let go. Frost went to the edge first and looked down; they were only a few feet from the ground.

"Go, go, go!" Isha yelled, waving his hand out of the door. Frost leaped from the edge with his squad right behind, landing on both feet. As soon as the last man was clear, the Pelican ascended quickly until it was concealed by the clouds.

"Mount up! Grant, on the gun, Steele, driving!"

"Can't somebody else drive?"

"Just do it."

Frost took in his surroundings as he jogged to the Warthog, dodging green and blue bolts of plasma. It was hilly country indeed; there was hardly any level ground and there were many piles of gray stones all over the place. There was no forest nearby but there were small groups of trees and scrub dotting the landscape. A Warthog was built for rough environments such as this, but the ups and downs of the rises in the land meant they were going to be catching a great deal of air time.

Everyone piled in and began returning fire. Jackals darted from rock to rock, Elites roared, and Grunts scampered about.

"Steele, get us rolling."

As the Warthog began tearing over the hills, Frost tried to raise the operative.

"Yellow One, this is Bravo One, are you receiving?"

"Yellow One here," said a tired voice.

"We're locked onto to you and we're inbound to your position. What's your status?"

"Heavily outnumbered and almost out of ammo. I'm pinned down at the base of a small hill. I've got fifty hostiles in front of me."

 _Fifty? This could be hairy._

"Copy that, Yellow One. We're on our way. Out."

"Fifty troops might just be a little too much for us," Maddox mumbled over the SQUADCOM.

"Stay aggressive people," Frost countered.

* * *

Fourteen days. Fourteen long days on the run. Carris-137 had little sleep and water, and almost no food. She was exhausted but she had kept moving, kept evading the Covenant as best as she could.

For days, she felt as though she were moving in a daze-like stupor. She no longer felt that she was moving her armor, but rather it was carrying her. All of her ammunition had been used up in the first three days, a quarter of it when she fought off the Zealots. That had been a hard fight and she had been wounded several times. If it weren't for her armor, she would have died for sure.

Carris had to ditch all of her weapons and had been able to scavenge what she could from enemies she had been able to take down hand-to-hand. That had been at night or when she had come upon packs of Grunts. Grunts would always run at the sight of her if they didn't have an Elite nearby, Once she had eliminated them, she would take the plasma pistols they carried. Plasma pistols weren't the most powerful weapons in the Covenant arsenal, though the larger EMP bolt was great for taking down the energy shields of Elites or the shield gauntlets that Jackals used. If she was lucky, she could snatch a needler from a Grunt, though only one or two carried one per squad. The most helpful tool she had been able to acquire off the Covenant had been plasma grenades. Grunts always carried plenty of the blue, pulsating sticky grenades. Those had been the difference between life and death several times.

But all she had now was a plasma pistol with only a twenty percent charge. She had no grenades either. Thankfully, the Covenant didn't seem to realize that. They had gotten use to her tactics after hunting her for fourteen days. She'd pepper them with plasma fire for a few minutes, allowing them to get close, then toss plasma grenades, taking out Elites and groups of Jackals or Grunts. As a result, they were holding off in the small clearing at the base of the hill.

Carris had picked her cover poorly and she kicked herself for it. The hill wasn't particularly high, just a slight rise in the land. Sprinting over it was out of the question. The Covenant were raking the area around her with so much plasma that she'd get a hundred bolts in the back before she could get over the top. So she remained hunkered, sitting on the ground with her back against a rock just tall and wide enough to completely obscure her from view. Of course, the aliens knew she was there. They were still firing at the rock and the slope.

She kept her eyes on her motion tracker. Some of the red dots had broken off. They were trying to flank her. If they were able to flank her on both side, she was done for. There was no easy way out of this.

Quickly, she peeked around the corner of the rock, only to withdraw after a moment as an intense burst of blue plasma whizzed by her helmet. There were Elites out there with Grunts; the Jackals must have been the ones who had broken off to flank her. There was no way she could charge them and break though. The Grunts would scatter, as they always did, but the Elites would stand their ground. They weren't afraid to engage in close combat. If they got close, Carris knew she'd be able to fight off at least a few, but after her fight with the ambushing Zealots, she wasn't sure she could handle more than four. She was tired and didn't have any weapons besides the plasma pistol; she had lost her combat knife two days ago during a grapple with an Elite in a narrow gorge.

Her options were dwindling. She didn't want to fall into despair yet. There had to be a way out. She was a Spartan, supersoldier. Any problem could be solved, even this one.

Maybe her best chance was to cut and run up the slope. She was fast, but they had her zeroed in. Charging was out of the question. Perhaps cutting to either one of the flanks would be a better options. But then she would run into those Jackals. She could handle them but they'd slow her down. Waiting for the Warthog? She couldn't wait anymore. The Jackals were almost in position on smaller rises in the land on her flanks. They could catch up to her if they had a Warthog.

Taking the Jackals was her best bet. She decided to dart to the left. As she was getting to run, however, she heard the tell-tale sound of a Warthog's engine. It seemed to be coming from the other side of the slope. It grew louder and louder, and she could hear bursts of small arms fire as well as from the chaingun.

All of a sudden, the Warthog appeared. It barreled over the crest, gliding through the air above and to her right. It was almost like she was watching in slow motion. On board were eight marines; seven men and one woman. All of them were bellowing a war cry and were firing their weapons.

The Warthog landed hard in the center of the clearing. Just before it landed, all of the occupants vaulted out, except for the gunner and the driver. The Grunts scattered and the Elites dived out of the way.

The squad of marines began firing indiscriminately into the confused packs of aliens. The gunner mowed down the Elites, whose shields couldn't withstand the barrage of bullets. Grunts ran about, cut down by assault rifles, SMGs, shotguns, and battle rifles. Soon, the clearing was little with alien dead. A few Grunts fled and no Elites were left standing. When the Jackals finally reached their positions, a marine with a rocket launcher hit each group with a single rocket. Both groups were killed.

"Clear!" one marine yelled.

"Yellow One!" one hollered, "is that you? We have to go, hurry!"

Carris broke from cover and made her way over to them. The marines on foot gathered in front of her. Amazement, confusion, and perhaps apprehension gripped their faces. She knew immediately that they had never seen a Spartan before. The Spartan II program was still undisclosed, even though many engagements throughout the war had involved its participants. Human space was so vast and large and the Spartans so few that she was sure the majority of the UNSC would never see let alone _hear_ about Spartans. Their contributions would be forgotten by many; that was something she had come to terms with years ago.

"Are you Yellow One?" asked the squad leader, a man with a trim beard and gray eyes.

"Affirmative."

"Oh Christ, it can talk," said the stocky marine with the shotgun.

The squad leader cleared his throat.

"Glad we got to you in time, Yellow One. Ah...Triple Seven, this is Frost. We've got Yellow One and require extract."

"On our way."  
The squad leader jerked his thumb towards the Warthog.

"Let's get moving."

Carris waited until the squad of marines disembarked their vehicle. She clambered up into the back.

"I'll use the gun."

"Uh, I've got it," said the young marine.

Carris towered over him, silently. The marine blinked and stepped away. "Er, all yours I guess."

"Let's get moving," Carris said, "there's more Covenant on the way."

"Triple Seven, can you designate an EZ?"

"There's another clearing half a klick to east. Covenant are all over the area but that's the least occupied, so I'll hold over the area. Let me know when you're almost there."

Carris held on as the driver drove full speed over the many slopes and declines in the landscape. She was surprised that she had to hold onto the handles of the gun tighter. She barely had enough time to turn to the gun to fire at Covenant infantry before he would swerve and start taking them in another direction. He seemed to hit every single bump, accelerate up every slope, taking them into the air, and crashed the front through every bush and thicket of scrub. Carris liked to think herself as calm and not so quick to anger as a few other Spartans she had trained with. But the way that maniac was driving made her want to reach over and throttle him.

The Warthog was approaching the next clearing, one of the few spots with even terrain. She could see the Pelican breaking through the clouds. Covenant were all over the landscape, firing at them with little effect. The psycho driving them had the Warthog going so fast that hardy one bolt of plasma hit the gun truck.

Finally, they skidded to a stop at the clearing. At the same moment, the Pelican floated downwards, with the overhang of the aircraft sitting right above the Warthog.

Carris jumped off and immediately got into the Pelican. When she turned, she saw that the squad of marines were making sure that the Warthog was attached to the Pelican. The small arm with the claw attached clamped on the bar, and _then_ the marines piled into the Pelican.

"We're in, let's hit it!"

The Pelican ascended back towards the task force. Carris sat near the door, between the squad leader and the driver. Finally being back among friendly forces brought a kind of relief to her that she hadn't felt for a long time. For the first time in two weeks, she was able to let her guard down. She reached up and removed her helmet. Her black hair fell down to her jaw line; if it wasn't for the Mark IV's temperature regulatory gel layer, it would have been far greasier and the smell that would have wafted from her helmet would have been repulsive.

After a few moments, in which she just closed her eyes and breathed, Carris looked up. The marines were all looking at her. Her eyes fell on the driver with the sniper rifle. He grinned.

"Didn't think I was going to see a human face come out of that helmet," the Englishman said as he pulled out a cigarette. After he began smoking, he handed her his canteen, which Carris gladly drained. She handed it back with a grateful nod, even though she wanted to clock him for his driving.

Carris looked at the squad leader.

"I appreciate the help, Sergeant."

"Our pleasure," he held out his hand, "Name's Nathaniel Frost."

"I need to get back to the _Rasputin_ , I have an important package for them."

"Soon enough; looks like you're wounded. You should see the ship's doctor before you hand that over."

Carris sighed. Her armor had been able to sustain much of the damage she had taken over the past few days. The wounded she had received were recent and despite her enhanced strength and resilience, they were extremely painful. She wanted to complete the mission first and foremost, but she supposed that being fixed up first was more important.

"By the way," Frost said, "I can't see a name or rank on your armor. Do we just call you Yellow One?"

"Petty Officer Third Class Carris."

"Carris what?"

"Carris-137."

The marines stared at her, puzzled.

"Don't you have a last name?" asked the only female in the group, a young woman with a radio and a slight German accent.

Carris shook her head. This had happened to her before. Every time she had told anyone her name, she was barraged with a thousand more questions about it. But she was surprised as the marines seemed to shrug.

"Well, alright then. Good to meet you, Carris."

* * *

The remaining Covenant ships hadn't proved to be much resistance against the combined efforts of the battle group. None of the ships had sustained any damage once again and all of the Covenant vessels were intact. Vivian had ordered the fleet to form up along the side of the planet that wasn't glassed. Her bridge staff were probably having a party as she waited in the hangar for Jasper's Pelican and the Pelican from _Rasputin_. She didn't mind; in fact, she hoped they were having a good time. They deserved to revel in their victory. But she knew better. All of them were working diligently at their stations.

 _Rasputin_ had also sidled up to the task force, though they hadn't entered formation like she had requested. Instead, it was floating lazily in front of the _I'm Alone_ , some distance off. _Sahara_ -class prowlers departed from the usually, elongated, blocky textures of most UNSC ships. They were small ships, being three hundred meters in length; they were sleek and had curves instead of lines. They even had what could be considered fixed wings. Prowlers had to be built differently though; they were meant for stealth operations, not fleet action.

The first Pelican to touch down was Jasper's. First, it dropped the Warthog from its rear. Vivian was surprised it simply hadn't been left behind. Then it touched down and the squad piled out. Among the marines that came walking towards her was a woman in hulking, weathered green armor which all manner of battle scars on it. She stood at almost seven feet, had short black hair that came down to her jaw, and two dark blue eyes. Her eyes were so vivid that Vivian could see them clearly from across the hangar.

Jasmine arrived and stood next to Vivian.

"Is that the operative?" she asked.

"I think so."

"I've never seen a soldier like that before."

Vivian and Jasmine stepped forward. Frost looked at her grimply but saluted anyways. If it wasn't for Jasmine's glance, Vivian wouldn't have saluted. The operative, Carris-137 as Travers had identified her as, saluted sharply as well.

"Petty Officer Third Class, Carris-137, reporting."

"At easy, Petty Officer." It felt strange to speak with authority towards a soldier nearly twice her size. "I'm Captain Vivian Waters.I'm sorry it took us so long to get here. There were no other battle groups closer than we were."

"No apologies necessary, ma'am."

"I understand that it was a quick but close dust-off down there. If you'll give me the location of the recon team, we'll dispatch a second team to their position."

"They're KIA, ma'am."

Vivian grimaced.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Petty Officer." Carris only nodded in response. Vivian continued, "This is Dr. Jasmine Ebrahimi, she'll see that your wounds are treated."

But before anybody could leave the hangar, a second Pelican touched down. It had a darker color to its hull and only one occupant exited. He was middle-aged, with graying blonde hair. He was clean shaven and wore a gray uniform much like Vivian's, though he had 'ONI' written all over him. His eyes were shifty and suspicious of everything around him and everyone that gazed his way. He walked quickly, shoulders hunched.

He held the same rank as Vivian but didn't acknowledge her or anyone else as he came up to Carris-137.

"Do you have the data module?" he grunted.

Carris reached down into a pouch taped to her calf, retrieved the module, and placed it in his hand.

"Good, now let's go."

"Excuse me, Captain," Vivian said. The ONI officer stopped and glared at her. "Your operative appears to be wounded. We have a sophisticated medical facility on board, so it may be better that she remained with us. Seeing as you'll be jumping out of the system anyways, what does it matter what ship she's on."

The ONI captain stared at her for a few moments. He then motioned for her to follow him away from the group. Vivian gave Jasmine a confused look and followed. When they were a short distance away, he leaned forward, invading her personal space.

"Look, princess, that's my operative. You may think you're a big shot for the way you handled that fleet but what's more important is that operative right there and the intel in my hand. What's on this module is more important to the war effort than those ships you destroyed. So, how about you let me do my job. My operative needs to debrief."

Vivian poked him in the chest, hard.

"Listen here, spook. If it wasn't for my ships, you'd still be cowering under your ship's pansy camouflage system, waiting for a chance to slip away. Consider yourself lucky that we were able to come in the time we did and clear the entire system. The only reason you're standing here now is because of my people. And your operative would still be running for your life down there if it wasn't for my marines. When my mission handler spoke with me, he said the priority was the operative, not some intel. That woman is my priority, not your intel, so she's staying on my ship for medical attention. Got that?"

The ONI officer was red in the face.

"Fine."

"I was told the recon team didn't survive as well. I hope their lives were worth whatever you've got on that module. I won't even bother asking what's on it."

"Good, because I wouldn't have to answer you. You keep fighting the Covvies while we actually find a way to win."

"Get off my ship, spook."

With an indignant huff, the ONI officer hopped back onto his Pelican, which left moments later. Vivian shook her head as she walked back to the group.

 _Asshole._

"Petty Officer, go with Dr. Jasmine here. She'll take care of your wounds."

"We'll get you something to eat and drink," Frost said, motioning between himself and Steele.

The group started to split when Vivian's earpiece crackled to life.

"Captain, we have multiple slipspace ruptures. Covenant ships are entering the system."

"How many ships?" Vivian responded loudly. This brought everyone else to a halt.

"Over ten."

Vivian had raced back to the bridge. With her was Carris and Jasmine. She was too preoccupied to care that they were with her. When they burst onto the bridge, Vivian saw almost twenty Covenant ships approaching them.

"Should we engage?" Bassot asked, looking over his shoulder. Vivian slid into her chair.

"Negative. All ships, prepare to enact the Cole Protocol. Decatur, randomize jump vectors. Make sure that we all end up in the same place."

"Of course, madam," he said calmly, then said, "Madam, Covenant fleet is preparing to jump."

"What?" Vivian said and looked up.

The Covenant fleet performed a jump inside the system. Vivian had heard that they had performed the feat before. Human technology was so far behind that performing an in-system jump was one of the most dangerous acts a fleet commander could order. But the Covenant could jump with complete precision and without any risks. After the jump, they were practically on top of them.

"Vectors have been received. Fleet is ready to jump," Decatur informed her.

"Good, all ships-"

Vivian stopped. In her view was _Rasputin_ , still ahead of the _I'm Alone's_ bow. The ship was struggling to move when she the plasma weaponry on the Covenant ships flare, and then fire. Motes of plasma sliced their way through space, towards _Rasputin_.

" _Rasputin_ , evade, _evade_!" Vivian cried.

The only response was a distorted scream as several huge bolts of plasma collided with the un-camouflaged prowler. The small starship was practically vaporized into dust.

"Get us out of here!" Vivian shouted.

The five ships jumped just before the Covenant could fire a second volley. Soon, Vivian was staring at the strange lights of slipspace, sweating running down her temples and panting heavily.

The bridge was deathly silent. All that could be heard was the shallow, stressed breathing of the entire staff. Soon, the occupants began looking at one another, shocked and amazed that they had been able to escape. Vivian looked over her shoulders at Carris and Jasmine. Jasmine looked horrified while Carris maintained a grim expression. Vivian felt sorry for her then. She couldn't imagine how she must have felt. First, she found an entire team of operatives dead, then led the Covenant in a fourteen day chase, and after returning the data module, it was destroyed along with the ship she was assigned to. All of her efforts, had been for nothing.

Vivian rose to her feet. She finally found her voice.

"Decatur, I want three more vectors. I want us to be ready to jump again in case the Covenant decided to follow us."

"Aye, aye," said the AI. "We shall arrive at a system that meets the requirements of the Cole Protocol in three days."

Vivian exhaled, venting some of her internal tension.

"Listen up." Everyone turned to face her, "I'm proud of you. We were able to defeat another numerically superior force with no damage to ourselves. I don't want you to take our victories lightly. The fact that we have engaged the enemy twice with no damage shows that we are a force that can make a real difference for humanity. But let's not forget the...actions of the _Rasputin_ and her crew. Without them, we wouldn't have been able to come out prepared like we were."

She turned to Solak and said quietly, "Commander, make an announcement to the crew that we won't be ending the Cryo-bay. I fear that they'll take the loss of the _Rasputin_ hard, so I want them to have some time to think and deal with the loss."

"She wasn't a part of our battle group. Not to mention ONI," Solak said with a slight air of elitism. Vivian frowned.

"They were humans like us. Don't forget that."

Vivian walked over to Carris. She had no idea what she was going to say. How could she find even the slightest word for her predicament? Her objective had been completed but nonetheless, her mission was a failure. All of her efforts had been wasted. Vivian couldn't begin to imagine what was running through her mind.

"Petty Officer..." she began. Carris looked at her with those blue eyes. There was a deepness to them that made Vivian feel even sorry for her, yet she had no idea why. Something about the strange armor-clad soldier that she had experienced a great deal of pain in her life.

Vivian cleared her throat. "Proceed to the medical bay with Dr. Jasmine."

"Yes, ma'am," Carris said and departed slowly from the bridge. Jasmine hung back for a moment, yet said nothing. She and Vivian exchanged a silent glance before the former left the bridge. Vivian returned to her chair. As much as she just wanted to slump into it and bury her face into one of her hands, she sat up tall and solemn.

* * *

Carris was stirred from her slumber as someone place a tray of food on a table beside her bed. She was in a recovery ward. Dr. Jasmine had finished some hours ago treating the plasma burns and now she was just resting. As soon as her head hit the pillow, she had fallen into a deep sleep.

Quickly, she checked to see that her armor was nearby. It had been unmoved, much to her relief. The last thing she wanted was for someone to meddle with it. Getting the armor off had taken a great deal of finesse and strength, but after wearing it for half of her life combined with not having a group of technicians or the proper station to remove it, it had become a requirement to learn how to take it off without assistance.

She was under a warm blanket wearing a tee shirt and a pair of shorts that Dr. Jasmine had given her, as Carris had politely refused to put on a hospital gown. The wounds weren't terrible and the procedure to treat them wasn't extensive. She wounded, not crippled. All the same, she welcomed the bed, blanket, and the chance to rest.

Her eyes locked on the tray of food. She was surprised to see a few pieces of roasted turkey, as well as mashed potatoes, which were all soaked with gravy. There were even a few pieces of cornbread a stub of corn on the cob.

Sergeant Frost and the English driver had brought it. They were in their fatigues and were mumbling to one another. They put down a plastic cup of water along with a paper cup filled with coffee.

Carris sat up.

"That doesn't seem like the usual food the serve on a ship's mess."

The two marines turned to face her.

"Oh, yeah. This is a special ship; we're out longer than most groups so we get to have better food. It's getting close to Thanksgiving so they've been serving turkey pretty regularly, though you'd like some," said Frost.

After fourteen days of living off scavenged food from surviving farmsteads, she would have welcomed slop. This was better.

"Thank you," she said, taking the tray from Frost. She sat up a bit further, set the tray on her lap, and began to eat. Frost and his companion sat on the vacant bed to her left. Carris looked at them again, and felt she should say more. "This was...very nice of you."

They both nodded. The other one was about to pull out another cigarette but his friend motioned for him not too.

"Don't worry about it. Usually they don't allow food out of the mess hall but they allow food to be taken to people in recovery."

"Rules don't stop people from swiping too," the other cracked, grinning.

Carris observed these two peculiar individuals as she ate. They didn't seem like the average line marines she knew. Many were gung-ho types, though plenty were scared kids. More often than not, they were liabilities than allies. This was the first time she had ever been supported by them.

And they were young too. Most marines their age, which she guessed was very early twenties, were green as grass. They were experienced; their less than orthodox entrance onto the battlefield combined with their tactical dismount from the Warthog-she used the word 'tactical' quite liberally in their case-showed her that these men were not only capable fighters but also quite unafraid to enter the battle. There had been times that she had seen officers having to drag, pull, and kick their troops into battle.

Frost had a short but rather thick crop of brown hair that he kept swept back, and a beard that was closely trimmed. He was a fit chap with though not bulky; he held himself rather...gentlemanly almost, in her eyes. While his voice was casual, his posture was proper. He didn't slouch or fidget. He kept still and straight. His friend was the opposite. He was half on the bed; his back was against Frost's shoulder, and one leg was braced on the floor. The other was on the bed. He was twiddling his thumbs and whistling. He had thick blonde hair brushed to the side, so that it was extra thick and curly there. The only feature that was anywhere near the word neat was his mustache. It wasn't elegant or trimmed in some specific style; it was an average mustache that came to the corners of his mouth, but only drooped a little over his lips.

He had a pair of blue eyes, like the color of the sky on a clear day. Frost had gray eyes; she found them haunting in a way. They seemed to change shades every so often. One moment, they were a pale gray, like fog at sea. Another moment, they were an icy gray, which seemed fitting to his surname. At other times, they were silve like the titanium hull. The color shifts were almost unnoticeable to someone who wasn't paying attention, but she imagined that every person he met would find his eyes to be a different kind of gray.

As she neared the end of her meal, Carris began to wonder why they had stayed in silence for so long.

"How's your squad?" she asked Frost

"They're well, thank you."

"Yeah, they're happy about pulling your ass outta the fire," his companion said, "our last rescue op didn't go so well."

Frost's face grew stoney for a moment. The other wasn't looking his way but seemed to feel his friend's change of expression, and mumbled an apology. Carris quirked an eyebrow.

"What's your name, trooper?" she asked the second. He looked over at her.

"Steele."

"Steele. What happened on the last op?"

Steele craned his neck to look at Frost. Frost exchanged a glance, and he ended up being the one to explain.

"We were sent to rescue a Longsword pilot. Ended up getting ambushed and losing a couple of birds. We were able to extract, but as we were getting into the Pelican, a sniper hit the pilot as I carried her in."

"Right there at the end," Steele said quietly, "ain't that a bitch."

Carris nodded.

"I understand."

Frost and Steele exchanged a look.

"We're sorry about your ship," Frost said. Carris nodded. He went on to say, "I suppose there's not much we can say besides that we understand what you're feeling. I hope that provides some solace."

Carris blinked; she hadn't expected the marine to say something like that. But she nodded.

"It does. Thank you both."

"I had some...words, with the Captain," Frost said as Steele snickered. He seemed to know something about whatever those words were, though Carris guessed by the glare in Frost's eyes that she wouldn't find out anytime soon. "Seeing as you'll be on the _I'm Alone_ until we can return you to your unit, you'll need a place to bunk down. Captain Waters has offered to attach you to my squad for the time being, so you'll be able to use one of the spare beds in our room in the barracks."

Carris looked between the two. It had been years since she had worked with a team, let alone bunk with them. She wasn't sure if she could handle living with marines, who had lived an entirely different life than her. But she didn't feel like spending all her time in the medical bay, and they had pulled her out of the fire, so she guessed she owed them in a way.

"Thank you, I think I'll take you up on your offer."

 _They seem to be professional enough._

* * *

" _I had no idea what I was getting myself into."_

-Petty Officer Third Class Carris-137, Spartan II, speaking of Bravo Squad

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Actually came out longer than I expected. On Docs, I thought this would be around fifteen pages, it actually came out to nineteen. Not bad. I know some of you like chapters to be longer, but I usually like to keep my chapters in the 14-23 page range. I treat the chapters of this specific story more like episodes than chapters; you'll see that later on. Anyways, second semester starts on Wednesday next week, so I think what I'll do from that point onwards is two write one to two chapters on the weekend (including Friday). I think that'll be a good way to do it.**

 **I also just wanted to say, now that we're at Chapter 20, that I'm so very grateful for all of the reviews, favorites, follows, and views that you have all given me. To have such a young story and one of the first chapter-driven stories I've posted on any site receive so much attention and appreciation is...it's just remarkable. I owe to all of you who read regularly, to new viewers and one's who had read from the beginning, those of you who comment, just every single person who drops by and takes a gander. It really warms my heart not just as a writer but as a person who's trying to develop more skills before they catapult themselves into post-college adulthood. You guys have given me so much great feedback, advice, ideas, and also have really built up my confidence. For all that you've done for me, I find it harder to call you fans or readers. I see you more as friends than anything else. So, my friends, thank you from the bottom of my heart.**

 **Anyways, enough from that sentimental stuff that makes me cry. Comment responses, yay! I'm actually not half-asleep so my responses will be more articulated, maybe! Alright, who's first goddammit?**

 **Caver Floyd: When I first read your name, I thought it was 'Carver Floyd.' Makes you sound like the bad guy in a crime thriller, like Dr. Carver Floyd, Phd. Basically I'm saying that your name is awesome. But I digress. I have been updating very frequently these past few weeks, as a miasma of other circumstances have kept me from writing for some time. I owed my readers big time, and I had a lot of ideas. I'm glad you're enjoying the story and I know spelling-grammar needs some work. The reason it's so poor right now is because of my dyslexia, which makes editing very hard for me. Compound that with writing late at night when I'm tired, I'm mistake-prone. Often though, I can't see mistakes I've made, partially due to my dyslexia, but also fatigue and the fact that Google Docs had a crummy spelling/grammar/mechanic check. Word isn't much better either. But yes, Alpha is going to help me out. Don't worry about reviewing on a regular basis; read and comment at your leisure, it makes no difference to me. I just hope you keep enjoying the story. Thank you.**

 **Alpha HighBreed: The 150 thing I actually pulled from Mass Effect; in the first installment of the trilogy, a comment is made in passing that humans can live to be 150 years old. Seeing as ME takes place in the 22nd Century, I figured that in the 26th Century of the Halo universe, the age would be longer (Sergeant Major Johnson is past the age of 78 according to most sources, and the fact that he looks so good and can keep pace with soldiers practically a fourth of his age shows me that medicine has advanced and changed how humans age. But I didn't want to stretch things too far, so I stuck with 150. I dunno if it works, but that's what my research and my creative intuition tells me. As for cross branch discrimination, there is some today, but it's more or less not said with any real hatred behind it. I'm taking it a step forward, however. You have to remember the unique upbringing of the 89th MEU; these were kids who for the most part didn't have a chance to grow up in a normal way. As well, not being the most normal unit, and having the benefit of surviving five years of combat, and knowing each other for eight, had created an extremely tight group. They're used to fighting and living with another, so the Navy and Air Force comms specialists are essentially outsiders. People react differently to outsiders, some more harshly than others. So while they use their differing branches as an excuse, it has ulterior motives behind it. As for Vivian witnessing men crying, you also have to remember that Vivian wasn't exposed to that kind of emotion for a good portion of her life. I'm delving more into later on, so I won't spoil it, but she herself has not witnessed it that much, so of course it's alien to her. Don't worry, I'll explain later on. When? I dunno. But thanks for stopping by; also don't feel the need to thank me for posting, you're the people reading, so you deserve the thank you.**

 **Chase8999: Just don't burn the house down...Chase did you hear me? Chase? I said don't burn the...ah never mind.**

 **MightBeGone: I don't know how Carris will react. My fingers on the keyboard will show me! Heh, believe it or not, I don't do a whole lot of planning. I had plenty of development stages, creating characters, arcs, and events, but I leave them actually un-detailed. I just give myself a to do list really, and when I sit down to write a chapter, I have an idea of what I want to happen and have my checklist, but how I go about completing the items on the list, I come up with there and then. For instance, I just made up most of this chapter. I knew there had to be a space battle, the rescue scene, the return scene, and the aftermath scene, as well as dialogue exchanges. How I connected them, everything else I added in, I basically came up with as I went along. Some might consider that poor writing and planning, I think it makes the story and plot more organic than basically translating an outline of a chapter. But other chapters, such as Chapter 18, I had planned out about three months in advance, though I hadn't set down to write it. There were some things I came up with on the spot, but for the most part everything that you read were ideas I can come up with way earlier. Anyways, that's a little bit on how I write. Boy, I'm a windbag.**


	21. Chapter 21: Classified

**Hey everyone, I have some announcements to make, but they'll be at the end of the chapter. I don't want to slam you with a block of bold text before you read. Stick around to the end and check out the announcements if you want to know what's up. Enjoy.**

* * *

Chapter 21: Classified...

* * *

 _Day 1..._

The next morning, Carris, Frost, and a team of engineers moved her armor to the armory. As she had been attached to his squad, it was moved to a section of the armory devoted to storing their gear that couldn't be housed in their lodgings. It was a small corner in the Armorsmith, with a few lockers and crates. Frost and the engineers struggled with her armor, so they eventually had to get a large cart used for carrying cargo. The armor weighed one thousand pounds, and even lifting it together was too much for Frost and the team. They placed it in a large crate and left the cart nearby, in case it needed to be moved again. It felt strange for Carris to be out of her armor; this was the first time all year she had been out of it. Taking it off without the help of trained armor technicians or a MJLIONR station was doable but difficult. Still, it was better to leave it on. She never got a chance to rest. Every time she finished a mission, it was time to leave for another one. That's what Spartans were trained for; round-the-clock, nonstop activity and aggression against the enemy.

Somewhat similar to their agenda was the purpose of this odd battle group. Frost had been explaining the fleet's creation and objectives. It had some real teeth to it. Most often, heavier UNSC warships operated on their own, acting as scouts to briefly engage Covenant ships and then call in reinforcements. Of course, this often got the ship destroyed and a good portion of the rescue fleet as well. But this one was powerful; an upgraded _Valiant_ -class super heavy cruiser, a destroyer, two _Paris_ -class heavy frigates, and a carrier. _Orion_ -class assault carriers were not ships to be crossed. They didn't possess the mass of _Epoch_ -class carriers, but they still packed a mean punch with double MAC cannons and the ability to produce and maintain weapons, vehicles, and other supplies. The self-sustainability of the task force impressed Carris, and she was not easily impressed by anyone or anything that wasn't a Spartan.

Frost was leading her towards the barracks. She didn't have a duffel bag with her; she didn't have any spare clothes or any possessions besides her armor. Her weapons were back on Farwater and she had owned nothing on _Rasputin_ except for a small hygiene kit, though it didn't matter because the prowler was nothing but dust now. All she had were the borrowed clothes that were too small for her tall, toned frame. And, of course, a new hygiene kit; military issue toothbrush, toothpaste, dental floss, soap and shampoo. She was surprised the color of the soap wasn't olive drab.

"You're a Petty Officer Third Class, right?"

"Correct, Sergeant."

"Our ranks are pretty equal. You may be in my squad but I'm sure that you've seen more action than us. I won't boss you around."

"My experience shouldn't overshadow protocol. I'm attached to your squad, so I will defer to your leadership. Just consider me another member of the team," Carris said professionally.

"You got it."

Frost winded his arm around, grunting. "I almost pulled a muscle helping carry that armor of yours. I can't believe it took that many of us to haul the damn thing. How much does it weigh?"

Protocol dictated that she couldn't reveal that information.

"Sorry Sergeant, but I'm afraid that's classified."

He didn't seem bothered by the answer.

"Gotcha. By the way, Frost is fine, as long as you don't mind us calling you by your first name."

"Call me what you like."

"It'll make everyone feel more comfortable if they can. We're not exactly a saluting squad, know what I mean?"

Carris understood, but rank, protocol, and regulations were just as important to her and the other Spartans as shooting up the Covenant.

The marine walked up to the door to their barracks and grinned at her. "Home sweet home," he said as he opened the door. Carris stepped into the doorway and stopped. Her nostrils were bombarded by a miasma of smells; body odor, sweat, shaving cream, gunpowder, military issue soap, boot polish, and cigarette smoke. A cloud of the smoke hung towards the ceiling, drifting lazily in the fluorescent light. Heavy metal music was blaring loudly.

On the floor, two men were wrestling with their shirts off. She recognized one as the Scotsman who wielded a shotgun, and the other was the heavy weapons operator, a somewhat large Englishmen. On one of the beds sat Corporal Steele, smoking a cigarette and looking at a pornographic magazine. Sitting on his knees at another bed was the combat engineer, trying to piece a tactical pad back together and swearing loudly. On another bed, the young marine and the German lad were sitting cross-legged as they played a game of chess, tossing insults at one another. Finally, the only female member of the squad, the Air Force radio operator, was standing at one of the lockers in the room which had a small mirror on it. She was wearing shorts, a tank top, and a towel around her neck. She was brushing her teeth but would take the time every few moments to holler at Corporal Steele.

"Do you have to smoke that thing in here?"

"Why not?" He laughed.

"It stinks!"

"I think it smells rather nice."

"Those things are terrible for you!"

"Smoking's good for you, dear"

"Good for you!? Are you serious!? You'll get lung cancer!"

"They've got shots for everything now."

"No they don't!"

"Let me smoke in peace."

"At least stand outside in the hall and smoke it!"

"Make me."

Carris turned her attention to the wrestling match. The Scotsman had been able to gain the advantage and was now pinning the English one down.

"Tapout!" he cried.

"Fuck you!"

" _Tapout_!"

" _Fuck you!_ "

The Englishman used one of his free hands to knock one of the Scotsman's arms away, causing him to fall. The grapple once again ensued. Their scuffling came up against the engineer.

"Watch it you fuckwits!" he snapped, but the wrestlers weren't listening, and continued to bump against him. After a tirade of swearing, the engineer finally joined the melee.

The chess game seemed to be civilized, aside from the immature cursing, until the young marine snatched up a bishop and hopped off the bed.

"Boom!" he yelled to an imaginary audience, "Boom baby! Yeah! He tries to take my king but I nailed him and got his bishop with my knight! Got your bishop, bitch!"

The German chuckled.

"Checkmate."

The young marine stopped prancing.

"What?"

"Checkmate. You left your knight exposed. I took him with my other bishop and now there's no way for your king to move because you boxed him in with your pawns. Check. Mate."

The young marine stared at him in disbelief for a few moments, before roaring and tackling him. Chess pieces flew around the room as the pair fell into the pile of arms and legs rolling about on the floor. Even the radio operator was knocked off her feet and flung into the roughhousing. Swearing and laughter mixed with the music.

After watching this for a few moments, Carris slowly turned to face Frost, who was standing beside her. He shrugged and smiled.

"Like I said, we don't salute that much." He went over to the music player and silenced it. "Alright guys, enough horseplay. Come on, knock it off."

He didn't raise his voice at all. Carris thought a normal sergeant would have ended the wrestling match with a few swings of his own accompanied by a long-winded reprimand. Instead, he spoke in a normal tone and in a matter of seconds, the squad had separated and were now sitting on the floor, panting and staring at him. Steele simply chuckled on his bed.

Frost motioned towards Carris. "PO Carris will be lodging with us for the time being. Until we get her back to her handlers, she's another member of the squad. But that doesn't mean you can go pulling pranks on her in the middle of the night, Grant."

"What? Putting Bishop's hand in warm water is always funny."

"Bastard," muttered the big Scotsman.

Frost shook his head.

"Try to remember that she is also a _guest_. Okay? Be respectful, mind your manners, and if we go into battle with her, she'll have your back as long as you have hers. Read me?"

"Gotcha, boss," the engineer said.

Frost pointed to each one, "This big dude is Bishop, and the slightly smaller dude is Knight. This angry looking boy-o is Maddox, our engineer. This here is Grant, don't mention California or you'll be stuck listening to him for the next two hours. This lanky lad is Moser, and our radio op here is Langley. And you know Steele and myself."

Carris nodded in greeting. The squad stared at her for a few moments. She felt uncomfortable with so many eyes locked on her. Perhaps they were looking at the surgical scars. Most of them on her torso were concealed, though the white tank top and black shorts she wore exposed the long, aged scars on her legs and arms, that twisted down her limbs like snakes.

Frost motioned to a bed that was across from his and Steele's. Their two beds stuck out vertically from the wall they were against, while hers was seated against the opposite wall horizontally. "You can have that one if you like. One of the lockers is empty, so anything you have can be put in there."

Carris walked over and looked at the bed. It had been three years since she had actually slept in a bed. Most of the time she was able to sleep was during long Pelican rides, in starship hangars while waiting to be deployed-she even considered being put in the Cryo-bay a good rest. Beds though? She had practically forgotten about those. Small supply crates had been her pillows, and her armor and its temperature regulatory layer were her blankets.

On the sheets were a pair of fatigues, a pair of socks, and a pair of boots. She welcomed the sight of those; walking around in recovery patient flip-flops that were about an inch too short was beginning to get on her nerves.

"I hope these'll fit. Lieutenant Conroy's father was a tailor and taught him the trade before he enlisted, so he was able to fix you up a set overnight."

"Six feet, seven inches is correct," Carris said with a nod. In her armor, she stood an inch shy of seven feet. "Please tell the Lieutenant thank you."

"No need. He loves fixing uniforms. Even if you have the tiniest tear, he'll take care of it was admirable gusto. You don't even need to give him cigarettes or chocolate."

"Why would you give him those?"

"Those are our two greatest bargaining chips," Frost explained. "You want something special done, you gotta cough them up. But everyone in our MEU knows each other, so most of the time nobody asks for payment. It's the bigger stuff that you gotta pay for."

"Like what?"

"Like getting _Playboy_ mags," Steele joked, flipping through the pages. Carris frowned. Those magazines weren't considered contraband although they weren't exactly befitting of the rules and regulations.

Carris was about to change into her new uniform when she noticed that everyone was looking her way. She turned slightly to face them.

"That's some armor you had on," remarked Knight, "what kind is it? I've never seen it before."

"That's classified."

The squad blinked but accepted her answer.

"Does everyone in your unit wear that armor?"

"Yes."

"What unit are you from?"

"That's classified."

"Why is that classified?" Grant asked.

"Our existence to the public hasn't been formally and fully disclosed."

"That gonna happen anytime soon?"

"No."

"Where you from?" BIshop asked her.

"That's classified."

"Seriously?"

"Yes."

"When did you enlist?"

Carris thought about that one for a few moments. She hadn't enlisted. In fact, she had been taken away. 'Chosen,' was the word Halsey liked to use. But Carris was no fool; she remembered when she was taken away and how.

"I was...conscripted," she said, which was a half-truth.

"When?"

"That's classified."

There was a pause.

"How old are you?" Knight asked.

"That's classified."

"Blimey, you're full of answers."

Everyone was quiet for a few moments. Finally, Steele asked a question that she was glad to answer.

"Got a favorite weapon?"

"Customized MA5B; drum magazine of one hundred rounds, extended barrel with a muzzle brake, and an ACOG scope."

The squad nodded, impressed. Frost seemed especially taken with the idea.'

"You basically turn it into a SAW. Not a bad idea considering we don't have a good supply of light machine guns in the UNSC."

"The MA5 series is highly customizable. The MA5B suits a SAW-role well because of its high rate of fire," Carris said.

Frost grinned.

"Hear that Grant? That enough evidence for you that the MA5B is better than the C?"

Grant waved dismissively.

"Accuracy and stability means more killshots. A higher rate of fire only helps with suppression."

"And draining Covenant shields," Carris reminded him, "and for taking out groups of lightly armored enemies. I've eliminated squads of ten to fifteen Grunts with a single expanded magazine on my MA5."

"See?" Frost said triumphantly, "MA5 kicks more ass than the C."

"The MA5C does have a slower rate of fire and a smaller clip, yes, but Private Grant is right. The added stability means the user has more control, and thus he can pull off more accurate shots. Short, controlled, three-round bursts can take down just as many Grunts as a sixty-four mag in a MA5B."

"How about that?" Grant shot back defiantly, "The C is just as good."

"Come on, Carris!" Frost laughed, "I thought you were on my side."

Carris cracked the smallest of smiles.

"The skill of the individual holding the weapon counts for a whole lot more than the weapon itself."

"Shit, ain't that the truth?" Steele chuckled.

 _Day 2..._

"Why isn't Captain Waters following slipspace protocol? We should be in cryo." Carris asked. The team had settled down after a stint of training and were now occupying themselves. Grant and Moser had returned to their chess game, with Langley spectating. Bishop and Knight were enjoying some chocolate and cigarettes, sitting next to each other on the floor and chatting. Maddox, having worked on it since yesterday, had finished repairing Frost's tac-pad and had returned the device with a great deal of grumbling and cursing. Steele was looking at that dirty magazine again, and Frost was reading a French translation of _The Art of War_. Carris had read the same book when she was still in training. She found it odd for an NCO to be reading it, since officers who went to the big academies typically read such works. Sun Tzu surely was the most influential, seeing as how his work had survived into the 26th Century. Still, Frost was taking a step in the right direction. Carris hadn't sized him or his team up yet; their actions on Farwater weren't enough for her to form a proper opinion of his leadership and ability. But they were brave, that was for certain. Or crazy. Charging into a mass of Covenant and rolling from a Warthog was definitely not in the _The Art of War_.

"Waters uses slipspace travel as a time for us to cool off after heavy combat or close calls like that one," Frost explained as he flipped through the pages.

His voice had departed from the somewhat formal yet light-hearted tone from earlier. There was something darker and serious in his voice now. Carris was confused. What would have shifted his mood in a split second? Was it questioning the Captain? Perhaps he was extremely loyal and didn't appreciate an outsider criticizing his commanding officer. Waters certainly seemed to be an officer a soldier would be happily loyal to. From her short stay on the ship, Carris had gleaned that Waters was fearless and crafty. She made liberal use of emergency thruster, utilized unorthodox formations that required finesse, and was more aggressive than the typical UNSC battle group commander. As well, she was particularly tender towards the crew, relaxing on multiple regulations in return for high performance. Most commanders wouldn't take such a risk, but it seemed to be paying off. Morale on the ship seemed rather high. Most ships Carris had been on were manned by emotionless, veteran crews, who had been burned out by the war. This conglomerate of marines, ODSTs, sailors, and airmen were in high spirits; when she had been walking in the halls with Frost, she had seen only smiling faces. Some were even pissed that they retreated from the larger enemy fleet that had arrived. They were aggressive and raring for a fight. That was good; UNSC forces needed to be fierce. Almost two decades of war on the losing team had caused widespread blows to morale. Seeing personnel in high spirits brought a certain feeling to Carris's chest, though she couldn't quite place it. Happiness? Pride? Excitement? Maybe all of the above?

"Having the crew functional during slipspace puts a drain on food resources."

" _I'm Alone_ is pretty self-sustaining. We have extra cargo stores. _Batavia_ also had its own production facilities. We can produce vehicles, ammunition, hell, even some food on the go," Frost explained.

"I see. I forgot that there was a carrier in the group."

"Our battle group is designed to be out in the field longer, engage the enemy whenever possible, and act as a QRF. We have a lot of assets at our disposal that normal ships don't have."

"Including us," Steele remarked.

"Damn right," Grant exclaimed.

Carris quirked an eyebrow.

"Are you a special unit?" she asked.

"That's classified!" Steele said obnoxiously.

"I understand."

Frost leaned over and socked Steele in the shoulder. Steele only snickered.

"Don't listen to him. He's just being an ass. Our unit isn't classified. We're the 89th MEU, one of the Earthen Youth Programs."

"Earthen Youth Programs?"

"Yeah, not everyone's heard of them. Eight years ago we were given the choice to enlist."

"Coerced to enlist," Steele mumbled.

"Strongly encouraged to enlist," Frost corrected vehemently. He put down his book and turned and looked over at Carris. He sat cross legged and rested his arms on his knees. "Colonel Hayes, our commanding officer, put it together. He wanted kids to partake in advanced training for three years before forming MEU-sized forces. Whole idea was to create better prepared, better equipped, better trained, front line units that were above the normal rank and file."

Carris blinked.

"You were kids?"

"Yes. Well most of us anyway. I was thirteen. Most of us were in the thirteen to sixteen range, though Grant is a younger outlier and Knight is older than all of us."

"And you were given a choice?"

"Pretty much, yeah. I mean, they obviously wanted us to join so there were a lot of bonuses for the family if the selected child was allowed to participate. But they didn't have to."

Carris looked away from Frost and stared off. They had been kids too, taken away from home, put into an advanced training program, and trained to be elite troops. The similarities shocked her. The one glaring division, however, was that they had gotten a choice. A choice? She hadn't been offered to join or not. Granted, the marines' training didn't involve a risky augmentation process that changed the participant's body. Who would volunteer for an operation with no rewards. Maybe the successful augmentation was a reward in itself but not all would agree. Still, these marines had been given more agency in the matter. Although she didn't regret becoming a Spartan and wasn't embittered by her induction-in fact she couldn't remember ever paying it much thought ever since she had become entrenched in the Spartan II program-it brought a level of indignation within her that she hadn't ever felt before.

"Why did you accept?" she asked.

Frost shrugged and smiled. It was a sad sort of smile, soft and reminiscent of something long past. He had the look of a storyteller about him, Carris decided.

"I was just kind of lost back home. Maybe I didn't have the words for it then because I was thirteen, but I think that's the only way I can describe it now. I enlisted to find myself. Not that I didn't have a good home life or anything."

"Unlike me," Steele snorted, "I enlisted to get the fuck away from my folks."

"That's it?" Carris asked.

"Didn't have any other options, now did I?"

Carris nodded and looked at the others.

"What about you?" She asked.

"My dad and mum were marines; they died when I was fourteen, and that's when I enlisted. Didn't seem right to just sit out the war in my uncle's fancy mansion while my folks had died fighting the good fight. So I joined up." Bishop grunted. Carris couldn't remember her parents, but she could at least understand his decision.

"I was tired of everyone telling me what to do with my life," Maddox said, "so I did what everyone told me not to do: I enlisted." Carris hadn't known Maddox for very long, but she surmised from his temperament that his decision made sense to him.

"Did it for my wife and boy. One way or another, I knew I was going to get drafted. It was also tough trying to find a job that could support my family. So I went ahead with it and now they live on my back pay," Knight said. Carris found that noble, though she wondered what his wife do if he died in the field of battle.

"I felt I had a duty to enlist," Moser said. That was reasons enough, Carris guessed.

"A Godly duty," Grant joked, earning a playful punch in the shoulder from Moser. Carris looked at Langley.

"No one was enlisting where I lived. Everyone who was enlistment age was willing to just sit the war out. That pissed me off to no end, so I enlisted," Langley said. Anger was something that Carris didn't feel too often but she understood that it could be fuel for someone else.

Everyone looked at Grant then. The young marine thought long and hard, before shrugging with a relaxed expression.

"Can't remember."

The squad sniggered and tittered with laugher. Carris didn't find it all that funny. Though, these soldiers had known each other for a long time. They were more attuned to one another, and would obviously understand one another's words and humor more than an outsider. She imagined that if they saw her interacting with her fellow Spartans, they'd be indifferent or confused by their exchanges. She almost laughed. Exchanges? The Spartans were tight lipped, even with one another. To think, the most advanced soldiers of humanity were shy.

Some time passed. She felt tired, even though she had gotten a full rest in the medical bay. It was the first time in years that she had actually _stopped_. There was nothing to do. No orders, no missions. She lay flat on the bed, wearing her fresh fatigues, and listened to the odd conversations of the other soldiers in the room, and soon she fell asleep.

 _Day 3..._

Carris saw the face of a dead man and gasped. She shot up, sweating, gasping for air. She didn't know where she was. Something was holding her hand, and something had its hand on her. After blinking a few times, she found that Frost was staring at her and Steele had taken her hand. Both of them looked concerned.

The room was dark. Only one dim light was on. Some of the other squad members were awake, while two or three still slept.

"You okay?" Frost whispered.

Carris breathed slower, taking longer, deeper breaths. She needed to calm down. She felt stupid. Years of grueling training, years of combat, years of experience, had all netted her a great deal of control over her mind and her body. Little could phase her. She did not act brashly, did not disobey orders, did not act on emotions or feelings. Everything she did was calculated, by the book, correct-controlled. That is, until she fell asleep. When she slept for more than a few hours while out of her armor, she was plagued by nightmares. Sleep was the one occasion when she didn't have control and it made her angry. Even after the augmentation process, the nightmares didn't stop coming back. It was like a plague.

Her eyes drifted down to her hand, locked firmly with Steele's. She looked at him, confused.

Steele smiled, almost shyly.

"You kept reaching out for something. Almost knocked Frost's lights out."

He relaxed his grip and she slid her hand out of his. She assumed it was out of a soldierly bond; she had seen dying men reach out and their friends take their hands before. It made sense.

"Bad dream?" Frost asked.

"It was nothing," Carris stated bluntly.

"Didn't seem like nothing."

"It was nothing," Carris repeated, running her hands through her black hair. "What time is it?"

"A few minutes shy of oh-five-hundred."

 _0500? How long was I asleep?_

Frost seemed to noticed her surprise. "You were out cold for most of the day. You just slept and slept and slept. You stirred a couple times but you didn't even get up when we went to our meals. We saved you a little food. But you just wouldn't get up. It's like you hadn't slept in a year."

"Not far from the truth," Carris mumbled. She felt uncomfortable. Having nothing to do was still strange. "I'm going to the armory."

"What for?"

"Target practice."

Carris stood up. She was still dressed in the fatigues, though her feet were unclad. She grabbed the pair of socks and began to slide on the boots. Frost was watching her for a few moments before he clapped his hands together.

"Alright, rise and shine everyone. We're grabbing an early breakfast and then we're hitting the range."

Everyone groaned and swore and complained. Frost was standing no nonsense. "On your feet before I drag you of your beds. We can sleep when we're dead. Now come on."

Carris was surprised.

"Sergeant, there's no need to wake the squad. I'll go by myself."

Frost smiled. It was warmer, happier, more boyish, but still possessed a hint of that sadness. Perhaps that was just the way it looked to her.

"We're a team. When one of us goes, we all go. We go together, no matter what."

Carris was about to respond that she wasn't a part of the team, but it felt rude. So, she nodded in agreement. Maybe the company wouldn't be so bad.

The team dressed in their fatigues and headed to the mess hall. Carris was hungry and she had graciously declined the food they had saved for her. It hadn't fared well overnight. Spending days in the field on dying planets didn't exactly make her picky. Plenty of times resulted in her eating moldy food. However, she had the opportunity to have some real food, and wanted something warm and fresh. Eggs-she hadn't had eggs in two years. Sausage, she hadn't eaten a sausage in three years. Bacon? She hadn't had bacon for seven years. Hopping from ship to ship, dropping onto planet after planet, meant she could never sit down and enjoy a full meal. No matter the occasion, even if there was a lull in the fighting, she would have to just grab what she could and keep on going. The more she thought about it though, the more she considered the reasoning behind it. There was at least a few times that she could recall where she could have taken the time to sit in a ship's or a basecamp's mess hall and have a full meal. One time she had done so, and all it did was earn her strange stares and a few jeers. Being ostracized was never a real concern of hers, yet all it took was one time of derision to keep her from entering a mess hall again.

She walked between Frost and Steele, with the others around or behind them, yawning and grumbling.

"The mess hall is open?"

"It's always open. It stays open all night long," Steele explained, smoking on a cigarette, in violation of multiple ship safety protocols. "Smells like they have French toast this morning."

"You like french toast?" Frost asked.

"I've never had it."

The squad all stopped.

"Never had french toast?" Grant asked.

"Not even when you're were a kid?" Knight asked.

"If I did, I don't remember," Carris said with a small shrug.

"Well if this your first time, gotta do it right. _A_ _près moi_ ," Frost said with a wave of his hand. He began walking towards the kitchens. Carris watched him for a few moments. She turned to Steele.

"What did he say?"

"Don't know French?"

"No."

Steele snickered.

"You stay with us long enough, you'll pick a little up. For now, I'll leave you in suspense."

Carris sighed and followed Frost, while the others went and found a table. The mess hall was quiet, with only a few personnel occupying the tables around them. They either sipped coffee or slowly ate a meal. Some were too tired to even look up. One or two were even asleep, their heads down on the table or propped up on one hand. Others looked at her suspiciously. Carris didn't look back but she knew they were looking. Anywhere she went, wherever she was, they would stare, whether or not she was in her armor. She did her best not to care.

Frost was standing at one of the doors at the kitchen, talking with one of the officers in charge. The officer was middle aged, with a weathered complexion and brown hair that was starting to gray. He had stubble on his jaw and he seemed somewhat bent over. Carris could see that he had a robotic prosthetic right arm, judging from the odd texture of his sleeve, though she could only see the metal hand poking out from the sleeve of his tunic.

"We're not busy, obviously," he said in a tired voice, "so I guess it's okay if you want to cook. We already made a fresh batch of French toast, but if you want to make it from scratch, go right ahead."

"Thank you, lieutenant."

The lieutenant looked up at Carris, and she looked down at him. He smiled a little.

"Never had French toast, huh? That's gotta be some kinda crime," he laughed dryly and quietly, walking back to oversee his staff.

Frost waved again, motioning for Carris to follow.

"You're...cooking me breakfast?" Carris asked slowly.

"Sure. If you've never had it before, best try it at its best. And I make damn good french toast."

He donned a spare white apron and began working. Carris watched at the beginning, but soon he began asking her to help. She had been taught numerous survival skills; how to hunt animals, skin them, and then properly cook them. She had learned which wild flora to avoid and which were safe to eat. She knew how to find fresh water when there was none. But never had she learned how to cook in a kitchen. Frost showed her how to make the egg batter for the French toast. Carris mimicked what he did, breaking eggshells and using measuring cups. He also added some cinnamon to it, a dash of sugar, and a bit of maple syrup. Carris had never smelled cinnamon before; it had a bittersweet sort of smell to it. The syrup was very sweet smelling, as was the sugar. They had never eaten anything like this when she was in training in Spartan program. It was strictly military-issue rations, which didn't offer anything sweeter than the chocolate bars. It reminded her of being young, though she had few memories of that time. Everything smelled good; it was the first time she actually felt excited to eat something.

"Where did you learn how to cook?" asked Carris as she dipped some of the bread into the large pot of egg batter.

"My mom taught me," he said. "I have four sisters and none of them ever learned how to cook. They couldn't sit still long enough, my mom said. But I stayed put long enough to pick a few things up."

"Do you like to cook?"

"You bet. Never get enough chances to. It's relaxing. And food you cook yourself always tastes better than when someone else cooks it." He frowned comically. "They say some psychological studies show your brain tricks you into thinking food tastes better when someone else makes it because you didn't have to work for it. But that's bogus to me; anything you make yourself tastes far better."

Carris chuckled.

"Does that mean it'll taste bad for me?"

Frost laughed a little.

"I hope not. That'd be mighty embarrassing for me."

Carris scooped the bread out with a pair of cooking tongs after it was soaked in the batter and placed them on the black griddle. The french toast sizzled as she set each one down. Frost was leaning on the counter, watching.

"Good," he said, somewhat tired. He was smiling as he watched the bread fry. "I remember one time we got pinned down in this hotel in a city. Completely cut off. We had to wait for the rest of the MEU to come back and pick us up. The Covenant didn't realize we were up there. The building was at least forty stories high; it was one of those ultra fancy hotels, you know? For the super rich? And so we're milling around trying to find a spot to lay low when we come into the hotel kitchen, and they had been cooking steaks prior to the Covenant attack. So I grabbed a few of those big suckers, turned on the stove, and whipped us up some fresh steaks with a pinch of dill weed and salt. One of the best meals I ever cooked."

"What makes you say that?"

"We hadn't eaten anything for two days up to that point. Maybe it was because of that, or maybe it just tasted better because we thought we were gonna die. Maybe they were just plain good. Who knows?"

He sighed, happily. "I can still smell those steaks cooking on the stove. Can still taste them too. The salt, the dill's underlying flavor."

Carris smiled. He had a gentle voice, with that hint of sadness and mystery. It was a storyteller's voice, for sure, she was certain of it now. She enjoyed it.

"Quite the story.

"We got a lot of them," he said. They were quiet for a time. He flipped the bread over, letting the other sides cook. The bread was yellow from the egg batter, but was now turning to a beautiful brown. Carris eyed them hungrily.

"You ever cook with your mom?" Frost asked then. Carris was surprised, and stopped stirring the batter in the pot for a moment.

"I don't remember my mother," she said. That was the truth.

Frost nodded.

"The last time I saw my mom was five years ago, when I was sixteen. Before that, I hadn't seen her for three years. Sometimes, I feel like I don't remember her. I have trouble visualizing her in my head sometimes." He nibbled on his bottom lip for a moment. "I guess I'm trying to say that I understand."

Carris was quiet for a time.

"It's good to meet someone who does," she said quietly.

The Spartans had never really talked about their previous lives. There wasn't much to discuss. They had been kids; their lives had barely started. But some of them had families. Some of them had friends. Some of them came from good homes, bad homes, or no homes at all. Carris honestly couldn't remember. She couldn't remember when she forgot about Tribute, or her mother and father. All she could remember was the school and the teachers who would get angry at her. As close as the Spartans were, they hadn't spoken of the past. Sometimes, they never spoke at all. Emotions and thoughts didn't come up like one would imagine. 'Normal,' wasn't a word that applied to them. The shyness she sometimes found humorous was more severe than she realized, at least when she really thought about it. Bondship was there, but it was a different kind of bondship.

"Ah, here we go," Frost said, taking the slices of bread on the griddle off. Carris quickly replaced them with a few more while Frost prepared a plate. He put a little bit of butter on each, then stacked them in the center of the plate, and finally drizzled syrup all over it. He snatched a fork and knife and held the plate up to her. "Here, try it. Be honest."

Carris gingerly took the plate. Frost grabbed a nearby stool and set it down for her. Carris sat down slowly while he grabbed another. He sat across from her, looking at her eagerly.

She eyed the French toast, hungry. She took the fork and knife and cut a small piece off, making sure to douse it in the syrup pooling on the plate. After holding it up and looking at it for a few moments, she ate the small piece. It was sweet, with a little hint of bittersweetness from the cinnamon, and it warmed her belly.

"Mmm," she sighed, instinctively. Ignoring her surprise at making such a noise, she smiled at Frost. "It's very good. It's delicious."

Frost clapped his hands together.

"Excellent! Hold on, let me grab the guys." He went over the door and leaned out. "Hey fellas, she likes it! Come on in and get some!"

The squad came shuffling in and began lining up for some french toast. Frost went and got some sausages and some fruit from the other side of the kitchen. Sitting on the floor or on a crate or on a stool, the squad chowed away. Frost came and handed everyone a mug before returning to stove. Carris thought it was coffee, but upon taking a sip, she was surprised to taste chocolate. She had never had it before either, but decided that it was a day of firsts, so she gulped it down, finding it a nice complement to the french toast.

Soon, everyone had finished and now the squad was cleaning up. Carris and Frost stood side by side washing dishes. She had a small smile on her face. She felt full and relaxed and...happy. The kitchen smelled of french toast and she could still taste it on her tongue.

"Thank you for breakfast, Frost," she said.

"No problem. Maybe when you go back to your pals, you can whip them up some french toast and impress them with your mad cooking skills."

Carris chuckled. She imagined Fred or Joshua or even John trying french toast for the first time. She imagined them having the same reaction as her. Well, maybe not John.

"I think I'll need some more practice before I try it on my own."

The mess officer came back in and watched them for a few moments.

"Thanks for cleaning up," he said, leaning in the doorway leading to another part of the kitchen.

"Thanks for letting us cook," Frost said. He looked at Carris, then seemed to smile a bit wider. "Hey, sir, do you think you could let us cook our own Thanksgiving dinner? It's in a few days and I know you're going to be doing more than few big roasts. But do you think it would be okay? We'd be out of your way."

The officer grinned.

"I don't see any harm in it. You don't like our cooking in here?"

"No sir, you're the best chefs in the UNSC. It's just a special occasion, for our friend here."

Carris was a little surprised and a little bashful, but she still smiled. The lieutenant continued to grin.

"Alright, well, no problem with me. Come in and cook whenever you want. Just make sure you clean up afterwards."

When the mess officer left, Carris turned to Frost.

"There's really no need to go through all the work."

"Ah, nonsense. It'll be a pleasure. Besides, I think the squad would have a lot of fun cooking together. Anyways, ready to hit the armory?"

 _Day 4..._

Carris stirred. She could hear something, or someone, whispering in the dark. The barracks room was dark, but by no means quiet. Bishop and Knight were snoring, and Grant was mumbling his sleep. Although, he wasn't the one who had woken her up. Carris had already gotten used to them. The whispering voice was new.

Several minutes passed and her eyes adjusted to the darkness. It was completely dark. Her eyes scanned the room. Then, she realized it was coming from Steele's bunk. Steele was still laying in bed but Frost was sitting on the edge next to him. He had a hand on Steele's forehead. Carris, laying on her side, remained quiet and listened.

"Just can't stop thinking about it," Steele mumbled. He sounded almost like a child who had woken up from a nightmare. Frost had the voice of a consoling brother.

"About what, Lou?"

"About Skopje."

"Because of what you told Waters?"

"Yeah. I never paid it any mind until after that."

"What's bothering you? Bad dream?"

"Yeah. And just thinking about it all the time."

"That was years ago, Lou. It's behind us."

"I almost got you killed, Nate."

"No, you didn't."

"Yeah, I did. You could have died on that long walk. From the cold, from your wounds, from rebels. You could have even gotten hit by a car in the street-"

"Lou, come on, that's silly."

"Bugger me, mate. You practically killed yourself to save me."

"I'd do it again."

"No way, mate. No way I'm letting you do that."

"You don't have a choice in the matter. I make my own decisions."

"No. Next time if my ass is laid out, and I'm dying, you leave me. You just keep going, okay?"

"Not gonna happen, Lou."

"Nate, listen to me. If that happens, you just keep going. I won't let you get killed just to save my sorry ass."

"We're pals, Lou."

"And that's why I want you to keep going. Just leave me, alright? Promise. If it comes down to it, you keep going. Promise me, Nate."

"Lou..."

"Promise. Swear it."

"Lou, I can't."

"You can. And you will. Swear it."

Frost sighed, resigned.

"Will it get you to go back to sleep if I do?"

"Maybe."

"Fine. I swear it."

"Promise?"

"Want me to pinky promise?"

"Just promise."

"I promise."

"Say it."

"I promise to keep going."

"If?"

"If you get hit, I promise to keep going."

"You're a shite liar."

"Yeah, I am. Now go back to sleep."

"Don't know if I'll be able to."

"What if I just sit on the floor next to the bed? Would that help?"

Steele rolled over.

"Maybe."

Frost reached over and messed up Steele's hair.

"Okay Lou. Goodnight."

"Night."

Frost went to his bed, took the blanket and pillow off, then walked to the side of Steele's bed closest to Carris. He sat down, putting the pillow behind his head and draping the blanket over himself. He was soon asleep. Carris watched him and Steele for a time, pondering the exchange.

The next morning, Carris was finishing up in the bathroom. Showers were something she had learned to live without. She never exactly got dirty; the armor prevented any kind of muck from clinging to her skin and the layer that regulated her temperature meant she hardly ever broke a sweat. Still, the suit began to smell after a while, no matter how well the suit worked. So she welcomed the showers. It was a period of time, no more than ten minutes, that completely cut her off from the rest of the world-the ship being the rest of the world. Standing under the hot water, unable to hear anything going on outside, provided her with an opportunity to think. Being alone with her thoughts was something she was accustomed to, but being out on missions around the clock was hardly a time to ponder and mull over the thoughts entering and exiting her head. As the water cascaded over her pale, toned frame, her mind wandered over what she had heard last night. She had seen rugged soldiers sob and embrace one another after terrible battles, but never had she seen something like that. A man contemplating, no, preparing for his own death and demanding, extorting a promise from his squad leader-his friend. No Spartan had ever talked like that. Death was something that was far from their minds, until it came. Spartans never died though-that was the saying at least. The other Spartans could wield that phrase like a shield, but Carris thought it was foolish. Everyone died, some sooner than others, including the Spartans. Perhaps they all said it to soften the blow of a comrade's death, but it did nothing for Carris. She tried to place herself in Frost's boots and imagine what it would be like for a friend to say that to her. Out of all the emotions that began to course through her, sadness was the dominating one. Sadness and anger. How dare you, why would you put that weight on my shoulders? You know, no matter what, I'm coming back for you. Don't think about death or else it'll come for you; prepare to live, to fight, not die.

Carris shut the water off once she was clean. Her instincts told her to clear her head of those thoughts, that it was distracting. But she couldn't bring herself to. They clung to her like dirt to wet skin.

After drying off and dressing in her fatigues, she went out into the barracks. Everyone else was already cleaned up and dressed. They were beginning to file out.

"Come on Carris," Frost said with a small wave, "we're going to eat."

"Right behind you," she said. But she wasn't. She targeted Steele, who was lingering on his bed, tying his boots. Carris made her wave over to him and held up a hand just as he stood up. The Englishman, with his thick, combed hair and trim mustache, quirked an eyebrow.

"Something the matter?" he asked, tapping a cigarette out of a packet. He took one out and put it between his lips, but didn't light it. Carris supposed he had some sort of oral fixation. He offered her one, but she shook her head, her black locks sliding back and forth with her.

"What was that, last night?"

"What was what?"

"Between you and Frost. I overheard you two speaking. He spent the night on the floor next to your bed."

If he was surprised, he didn't show it. Steele shrugged nonchalantly.

"Nothing. Just some stuff."

"You said nothing, and then said it was stuff. Which is it?"

The corner of Steele's mouth began to curl into a smile. Her observation seemed to amuse him. But he kept his lips pursed around the cigarette.

"Stuff."

"What's stuff?"

"Whatcha mean?"

"I don't understand what you mean by stuff. I've never heard someone speak like that."

"For real?" he chuckled. "It was some...emotional stuff."

Carris frowned and sighed.

"Maybe you should focus more on getting ready for the next fight."

Steele snorted.

"We're in slipspace again. We won't be exiting the jump for another four days. Is there some fight I don't know about it?"

"You know what I mean, Corporal Steele."

"Just Steele. Corporal makes me sound fancy."

He started for the door. Carris followed.

"Corporal isn't a high rank."

"Is to me. Never thought I'd come that far. I've been promoted and demoted so many times they ought to just put a zipper on my stripes."

Carris smiled, almost chuckled. She was not used to the dry, military humor that marines possessed. Spartans didn't crack many jokes.

"Are you some kind of troublemaker?"

"Oh, I wouldn't put it that way exactly. I just don't have much respect for the higher-ups."

"Higher-ups make sure that discipline is maintained, that we have good orders, and-"

"Please tell me you don't believe that horseshit," Steele grumbled, lighting his cigarette with a silver plated lighter. "Haven't you ever gotten a bad order? Colonel Hayes-that's our CO-ordered me and my squad to stay behind in some half-finished base to set off a nuke with barely anytime to get out ourselves. We almost didn't make it; I swear the shockwave was right behind us while we zoomed off in the fucking Pelican."

He shook his head. "Fucking Hayes. He's a bastard. Bugs me how practically all of the marines in my unit worship him. A lot of them call him 'Father'. Can you believe that shit? Father? Like they don't have a real dad? Fucking bullocks."

"You're a very vulgar marine," Carris said matter-of-factly.

Steele grinned up at her and then lit his cigarette.

"Thank you for noticing."

"You're not supposed to smoke on starships. There are codes against lighting combustibles."

"Combustible? Not like the cigarette is gonna explode. Waters doesn't give a damn and it's not like the smoke is gonna make some computer go on the fritz. I only smoke in the mess hall and the barracks. And sometimes the armory. And the hangar..."

He trailed off, sighing grumpily. Carris said no more. She didn't want to badger him, though the soldier in her wanted to snatch the cigarette and stub it out.

They walked in silence for a few moments. Steele took a drag on the cigarette, puffing out a cloud of gray smoke. The smell bothered Carris; she wasn't used to it. Most of the other squad members smoked quite liberally too, which made it worse. Whatever brand Steele smoked, however, the smell was particularly foul.

"Frost saved my life a long time ago."

Carris looked down at him.

"What?"

"I'm answering your damned question." Steele was staring straight ahead as he smoked and walked. "He saved my life a few years ago. Almost killed himself in the process. I was practically dead. During a special op we took a fall off a cliff. Well, we jumped really. Broke both my legs, busted myself in a bunch of other places. Frost basically broke his feet and ankles but the son of a bitch just tied his boots tight and somehow carried me for twenty miles. _Twenty. Miles._ "

He took a long drag and exhaled raggedly. "I owe him."

"I haven't known you all for very long, but I imagine Frost would disagree."

"Yeah. Says I don't owe him a thing. I do. You bet your ass I do. The last thing I need for him is to get killed trying to save my sorry ass. So last night I made him promise to go if something like that happens."

"I don't think he'll keep it."

Steele snorted.

"Neither do I. But he's never broken a promise. He values promises; truth."

"Truth?"

"Yeah, he values truth. Big time. He needs to see the truth in what he does. He won't do it if he doesn't see the truth in it. If he can't see it, well, he doesn't want anything to do with it."

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean."

Steele seemed to change then. He was walking somewhat slouched, hands jammed into his pockets. But then he stood up straight, like he was at attention, one hand went to his side and another took the cigarette away. For the first time in the few days she had known him, he finally looked like a real soldier.

"He's a...good man. He believes in truth, and honesty. He's...honorable I guess. I don't fucking know how to put it, this isn't exactly my forte."

He had spoken clearly and sternly. It wasn't something he had rehearsed, Carris could tell, but the words meant something to him. She could see then, at that moment in the deserted corridor of the _I'm Alone_ , he loved Frost. Two brothers, that's what they were. Two strange brothers, that was for sure. Frost was a trim, by the book looking fellow at six feet, with an average build, a professional looking fellow. Steele stood a bit taller and was lankier; he always seemed laid back and disinterested with whatever was going on. Quick to humor, unlike Frost, whose own attempts at being laid back seemed to be a bit awkward sometimes. He was better at it than Carris, though she considered that wasn't too hard to do. Still, Frost and Steele made for an interesting, strange pair. Sometimes they acted like children, other times Steele was Frost's sarcastic sidekick, and other times they bickered like a husband and his wife.

"He's a better man than me," Steele said, his normal posture returning.

"You're a loyal friend."

He chuckled and winked at her.

"I get that a lot."

Carris smiled a little.

"You two are a very odd couple though."

"Hm?"

"You seem to be polar opposites. Yet, you're..."

"Thick as thieves?"

"What's that mean?"  
"Means that you're good pals. Never heard of that phrase?"

"No. But I understand. You have a special...friendship."

Steele looked at her slowly.

"How did you know that we were fucking?"

"What?!" Carris looked down at him, confused. Steele laughed.

"Ha, the look on your face! No, love, no, he and I are buddies, you're right."

Carris sighed, slightly embarrassed. Steele continued to snicker. After a while, he said, "Uh, we're not into the cock, by the way."

Carris nodded, trying to stomach his language. She had heard cursing before but he was especially foul. All the same, she wanted to say something funny back, but she wasn't sure what to say. It seemed like the sociable thing to do. Socializing wasn't one of her strong suits-she was again reminded how her fellow Spartans weren't exactly chatterboxes. Her mind searched quickly for something to say.

"Yeah, sure," was all she managed to say, trying to sound sarcastic. She was surprised to hear Steele laugh.

"Do I have to prove it to you?" he joked back. Carris tried to keep the banter going. She was actually enjoying herself.

"I'd like to see you try," Carris taunted.

"Aw yeah, watch this."

As they got closer to the mess hall, some sailors were coming out. Among them were a pair of women, one younger, the other a little older. Steele grinned and smoothed his hair a little. Steele sidled over to the group with his arms outstretched, targeting the younger girl first.

"Excuse me, Petty Officer, would you care to grab dinner with me tonight in the mess hall."

"Yeah right, Steele." she laughed.

"Come on, I'm really charming. What if I said there'd be chocolate and wine."

"I'd still say no."

"And why's that?" he said, putting a hand up on the bulkhead. The girl didn't seem annoyed, though not overjoyed.

"Because I'm engaged."

"Oh, I see. Well congratulations, Petty Officer."

"Thank you, Corporal."

Steele turned to the older woman, who looked to be nearing her forties.

"And how about-"

"I'm married."

"Right then. I'll just sod off then."

"Good idea."

Everyone laughed, including at Steele. A few more friendly words were exchanged before the group mustered by. Carris waited until the group had passed before she came over.

"I didn't actually think you'd do anything. I was only kidding."

"Really? Please, I'm a man of action."

"Technically we broke frat regs."

"Fun, wasn't it?"

"It was more fun to see you embarrass yourself. But you could have gotten into trouble; that could have been labeled as harassment."

"Ah, they know me. The sailors on this boat are good sports, anyways. After a month of being cooped up with us, they know when we're joking or not. I was just trying to be goofy really. Not really trying. Besides, I've chatted with them before. I know they're taken."

"Sounds like you're just trying to cover for inept social skills."

Steele laughed.

"You've got me pegged, Carris," he chortled jokingly. Carris smiled. "You're funnier than I thought you'd be. More talkative too. You're full of surprises."

Carris nodded. She was surprised at herself. It felt good to joke and laugh. It seemed like it had been years since she heard a joke. She couldn't even remember attempting to tell one herself or kid around with another Spartans. There had been no laughter during training. Just training. No time to talk or socialize, no time for anything.

As they grabbed their meals and joined in with the group, Carris sat silently and watched the squad joke and laugh and sing and argue. Sometimes they whispered, sometimes they yelled. Their humor was crude, sometimes it was sarcastic. Sometimes they talked about sex and other times they talked of home. Their conversations ascended and descended and spiraled out of control. Everyone talked over one another and then there would be one speaker governing over all of them. Stories unfurled and developed and ended. Carris listened and watched. She felt lonely among them. There had been _nothing_ like this before. Everyone in the mess hall on Reach had always been quiet. No one stayed up late at night and whispered to each other. At times like this, she realized she had missed something. She had never gotten a chance to be a part of _this_.

"I'm thirty-one," she blurted out. The group stopped talking and all looked at her, surprised and confused.

"What?" asked Steele.

"I'm thirty-one years old."

"I thought that was classified."

Carris looked down into her drink and then looked at all of them.

"It is."

* * *

" _We are not your kind of people_

 _You seem kind of phony_

 _Everything's a lie"_

-Not Your Kind of People by Garbage

* * *

 **Author's Note: Hey everyone, it's been a while. As you can tell, things didn't go as planned for how I wanted to post my chapters. I'll explain.**

 **My original upload and writing plan was ruined by the whirlwind of returning for second semester. I thought I had everything I needed, turns out I didn't, and I was just slammed with work. Compounding the issue, my fiancee has been very sick since we've come back. I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but she has a chronic illness and a host of other medical conditions. I've had to spend more time taking care of her this semester than last one. The good news is, she was able to get a small surgery that fixed a ton of problems; she's fully recovered from the operation now and I have more time on my hands as well. Believe me, I was on care duty around the clock. I had no time to write. As much as I love you guys and love this story, I've got to take care of my fiancee first. And I apologize for the lack of transparency. I try to strive to keep you all in the loop and I utterly failed; I honestly couldn't take anytime to use my computer for anything but my coursework. All of my time was divided between work and my fiancee. I wish there was a moment where I could have posted a little announcement or something to fill you in, and I'm sorry that I couldn't. But I am back with a few chapters here that you'll hopefully enjoy and were worth the wait. I wouldn't get your hopes too high about more chapters coming out soon, but hopefully this and the next two will keep make things a bit more bearable.**

 **As always, I appreciate and cherish and love you all. Thank you to all of the new folks for favoriting and following. If you comment or don't comment, it doesn't matter; if you come by to read, I'm grateful for your time, your patience, your devotion to the story. If any of you wish to speak to me, remember that you can PM and I'll get back to you as soon as you can. Our conversations don't have to just reside in the comments section.**

 **Aaaaannnnnddddd speaking of comments...let's just see who commented.**

 **chase8999: I...don't know what to tell you man. Maybe you should just take a break from the time machine. Please. PLEASE. Just don't blow anything else up okay. PLEASE, for the love of all things good, don't blow anything up, including people. P...please? ...are you even listening?**

 **Alpha HighBreed: I understand your point about the naval battles, so let me explain. Now, I'm sure you've read the Halo novels and other expanded universe work. A lot of what I understand about the space battles come from the games and from the book, The Fall of Reach. A good book, but my least favorite segments were the space battles. The author, in my opinion, took too much time to describe certain things about the space battles in an effort to inflate and pad the battles themselves. Starships battles in my eyes aren't ocean-based naval battles, where heavy cruisers can fire away at each other for hours. They're fast paced, dirty fights with a lot of movement, and a few bad hits can utterly destroy a starship, even if it has shields, so conclusions to battles come quickly in my opinion. That's how I pictured them and that's how I've chosen to write them; I'm not going to write a bunch of fluff just to draw out the time of the battle. I'm confident in myself enough that I can bring as much enjoyment/drama/tension from a naval battle scene in a few sentences than entire blocks of text. Eric Nylund is a fantastic writer and really brings the Haloverse to life in his work, but I felt that he just had a lot of unnecessary filler and descriptions for scenes/actions that needed only brief descriptions for the reader to understand. As well, I want to make them quick to emphasize Vivian's tactical skill, to show that she's got an edge above the usual starship captain. The** _ **I'm Alone**_ **is an advanced ship, but its greatest weapon is Vivian's mind. Vivian's ability to quickly destroy Covenant ships and adapt to situations shows just how competent she is.**

 **And bro, Mass Effect is my shit. Every once in awhile, you just gotta do a playthrough of the trilogy. ME1 to ME3, all the DLC included. Infiltrator class, paragade, romance Jack or Miranda. The games are just too great.**

 **Potential antagonist? Brother you gotta let me know what you're thinking. You can keep me in the dark like that, I'M THE WRITER FOR PETE'S SAKE. Joking aside, I'm might interested in this potential antagonist.**

 **WHO'S NEXT?**

 **MightBeGone: After reading this chapter I think you'll agree with me in saying that Carris is definitely going to be a wild card. She's sort of in the middle, know what I mean? Struggling to understand and actually enjoying these whacko marines but also holding the establishment (the UNSC) in high regard. We'll just have to wait and see how it plays out.**

 **Caver Floyd: A very interesting individual; I take it you have a little affinity for history? I myself study maritime history, its my concentration. Always nice to meet someone with a little love for the past.**

 **Well, Mr. Floyd, you saw through my master plan. Already before I started composing Chapter 21 I had planned for Carris and the squad to have this weird conversation. You must be a mind reader my good man.**


	22. Chapter 22: Cross My Heart

Chapter 22: Cross My Heart...

* * *

Jasmine had a small board in her office to hang up photographs from X-rays and other examinations. She hung up one of the dark pictures, showing a femur.

"Look at this, Viv," she said.

"I am. What's so special about these?" Vivian asked, leaning against the corner of Jasmine's desk with her arms folded across her chest. "They look like normal X-rays."

"Maybe to you. But the bone density is much higher than a normal human's. The entire skeleton is more dense and strong than a normal skeleton. Furthermore, there are signs of advanced growth."

"Who are we looking at right now?" Vivian asked as Jasmine hung up more X-ray scans.

"Carris-137. I performed a number of scans and examinations while I treated her wounds so I could compose a file for the medical database while she's on board. Other than the skeleton, I found that she has increased muscle density. Her wounds also weren't exactly recent either, they were already showing signs of healing."

"So?"

"She's not a normal soldier, Vivian."

"The weird, full suit of armor and the fact that she stands taller than almost all of the personnel in this battle group didn't tip you off?"

Jasmine frowned.

"Everything about her is abnormal, Vivian. I've never seen a human being possess any of these physical traits. And don't even get me started on those scars. I know the difference between surgical scars and battle scars, and a majority of those were surgical."

"What're you thinking?"

"I don't have the evidence, but there's no way she was born with genes to result in this kind of growth and structure. She underwent some manner of surgery to attain these traits."

Jasmine stood her ground. Vivian rubbed her chin and then held up a hand with a sigh.

"So what do you want me to do? She's on our side, so what's the problem?"

"I'd like to speak with Rear Admiral Travers. If there's some sort of clandestine enhancement program going on, I need to know."

"Why?"

"I have to."

"But _why_?"

"It could be unethical, non-consensual."

Vivian stared for a few long moments and then laughed. It was a somewhat bitter laugh.

"Guess the shoe's on the other foot, huh?"

"What?"

"Ever since I got Frost's name, you preached that we couldn't and furthermore _shouldn't_ do anything to him. No investigation, no court case, no conviction, nothing. It didn't matter that he murdered my five friends. What he did fell under the rules of engagement and blah blah blah. It would be wrong to do anything to him because he's a bonafide legend, a big hero." Vivian was pacing the room now, eyes on the floor, throwing her arms up in aggravation every so often for effect. "But we come across one mysterious soldier and you do some scans, and you want to confront our mission handler about some potential program?"

Jasmine didn't say anything. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but she did have one hell of a point. She knew she'd have to watch what'd she say. Vivian was standing stock still now, eyes judgmental and fiery, her body braced as if she were about to storm over. One slip of the tongue, one wrong choice of words, and that would set her off. Every so often, at times like these, Jasmine pondered if Vivian had anger management issues. Maybe even something greater. But Vivian would never agree to sit down and have a formal therapy session. Her stubbornness was unmatched. Jasmine was still reeling in shock from being able to convince Vivian to promise to spare Frost's life. Even if they were able to sit down, it'd be impossible to retain any semblance of formality. They were best friends; best friends couldn't remain formal for too long unless there was a third party present. And it wouldn't take Vivian too long to lose her temper, and Jasmine was reluctant to diagnose her closest friend with some kind of condition.

"Vivian, I cautioned against pursuing Frost in the manner you wished because it would harm you more than anything else. As well, Travers would have never agreed to an investigation because of the rules of engagement. You know it, and I know it. Frost has too much on his side for you to create a case."

Vivian didn't flinch but she didn't blow up either, so Jasmine felt she was on the right path. "That isn't to say that what happened isn't unethical or immoral. But we have something in front of us that could be just as unethical and immoral, and could run deeper within the entire UNSC. The UNSC can't afford to partake in experiments that tamper with what makes us human. Sacrificing our humanity to _save_ humanity means we've lost already."

"You don't have any evidence, Jas, aside from an x-ray. You don't even know if there is some kind of program that would do that."

"Travers might. He may be able to disclose the information."

"And what if he does, hm? What're you going to do with the information? Open a case against whoever is running this program?" Vivian pointed at her. "We don't have the time for an investigation."

"Coming from the person who wanted to open one herself."

"I'm just regurgitating what you told me!"

"Are we a couple of immature high school teens or something? Because you can't do something, no one else can either?"

"What if we open up a can of worms that gets us both in hot water?"

"I thought you always preached about asking questions and not placing full trust in authority."

"We shouldn't be blind believe everything we hear, yeah, but this is different."

"How? Explain."

"Carris was able to survive for fourteen days on a planet overrun with Covenant. What does that tell you? That's she's one hell of a soldier and can do things normal soldiers can't. She's a valuable asset to the UNSC."

"Oh, so unless something or someone can contribute to the war effort, than any unethical circumstances surrounding them are justifiable? I could use that same kind of argument for Frost. He's a good leader, a good marine, and therefore he's an asset, so what he did to your friends-"

Jasmine cut herself short. She shook her head and put a hand on her face. Vivian didn't look angry anymore. She looked shocked and hurt. Her vivid emerald eyes were wide and her mouth was slightly agape. All strength and power had exited her frame and she stood almost limply.

"I'm sorry, Vivian," Jasmine said, letting her hand drop. "That was wrong of me to say."

Vivian looked at the floor.

"You didn't say it."

"I almost did. I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

The two friends stood in silence for a while, avoiding each other's eyes. Eventually, Vivian raised her head.

"I'll secure a video transmission with Travers once we're out of slipspace. We'll be stopping at a colony world once we exit to restock before heading to Reach, so I'll send a message to you then, and we'll speak to him together."

"Thank you, Vivian."

* * *

Carris was sitting cross-legged on her bed, clad in her fatigues, reading a book Frost had lent her. It was a book of popular fables. She found the stories about anthpomorized animals strange but entertaining.

The others were on their bunks too, except for Steele, who was in the bathroom finishing up his shower. They were reading and chatting.

Taking a break from the book, Carris looked up.

"So, what do you all do besides train and eat?"

"Not much for us to do on the ship," explained Bishop, "we spend a lot of time taking care of our weapons and gear. But that doesn't take up a lot of the day unless you let it."

"Sometimes we go over to the hangar and ask if they need help. We've got some pretty good mechanical skills but sometimes all they need over there is a few strong pairs of hands," put in Knight.

"Besides that, not much else to do but chew fat," grunted Moser.

Carris quirked an eyebrow.

"You chew fat?"

"Never heard that expression?" Moser asked, an amused smiling splitting his face. Carris shook her head.

"Just means shooting the shit."

"I still don't follow."  
"Gabbing."

"Gabbing...?"

"Come on!" Moser laughed kindly. "You're killing me Carris!"

Grant snorted.

"All of those phrases just mean you sit around and talk."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"I've never heard any of those phrases."

"Missed a lot in your training huh?" Moser asked from across the room. Carris nodded. She hadn't told them about the training process yet, or how she was taken. They weren't ready for that. After yesterday, she still wasn't sure it was right telling them about her age.

"I just haven't been around too many other soldiers to get used to the chatter."

"Is that code for that you don't get out too often?" Grant joked cheekily.

"Get out? We're in the military," Langley snorted. She cast a knowing look towards Carris, "Don't let them get to you. Most of these guys haven't even gone on a date before."

"I've been on plenty of dates!" Grant proclaimed.

"Name one girl you've gone out with."

"Whores don't count!" Steele yelled from the bathroom.

"I've never been with..." Grant groaned and said no more.

"Never been on a date or never been with a whore?" Bishop teased.

"Neither!" Grant exclaimed angrily. The others snickered.

"Langley's got us pegged, brother," Moser said.

"Funny, how there's dozens of different ways to say the same exact thing," Maddox said, changing the subject, departing from his usual red-faced anger, "I read that the word 'chatting' comes from the trenches of the First World War, when soldiers would talk to each other while they burned lice from their clothing with cigarettes."

"No, no," Frost cut in, engrossed in his own book, "chatting is much older than that. I've read a few good history books on language and the word can be found all the way back in 1400s."

"Bloody historian over here..." muttered Maddox, though the corner of his mouth was upturned.

"Do you have those books with you?" Langley asked. "Those sound interesting."

"Nah. I read them when I was younger. They're still in my dad's office."

"What does your dad do?" Langley asked.

"He's a history professor. He studies music from the twentieth and twenty-first century. He's got collections from numerous plays, films, and a huge assortment of records bands put out there. He wrote a few papers when I was a kid that needed some sources on language itself, so he bought those books. I read them when I was seven."

"Seven?" asked Carris. "That seems a little young to start reading textbooks."

Frost flipped a page and shrugged.

"Well, didn't do a lot of socializing when I was young." He changed the subject. "What about your dad, Nora? What does he do?"

Langley flashed a smile. Carris noticed she had a small gap in between her front teeth.

"He's a woodsman."

"Woodsman? He save your grandma from the Big Bad Wolf?" joked Bishop. Langley snorted.

"He's an outdoors kinda guy. Does a bit of hunting and a bit of forestry; has a friend in the university setting who likes to take his students out there. My dad helps them out. His real job though is helping take care of the local forest reserve. That's how he makes his living."

"He's lucky."

Langley turned to Knight.

"What do you mean?"

"Not many people get to do what they love for a living. My mum was a damn good singer but she had to settle as a secretary at some insurance office," Knight said.

Langley nodded. The squad was silent for a time. Frost had the music player turned on, playing some tunes from the eras his father studied. Carris wondered what her parents' jobs were. Did they have jobs? They were definitely still alive; Tribute was an Inner Colony, far away from the rest of the war. No, she couldn't think about them. Wondering about the life that could have been would only serve to distract her. But she could help but envy these soldiers. They had parents, they had families, they had lives before all this that they could remember. She had watched them write letters to their families, which was the most saddening thing to her. She had no one to write to. Not her family, none of the other Spartans. Not even Dr. Halsey. No one would send her letters and she had no one to send them to either. She was sure that the other members of the squad would be aghast at such a tragedy, but she wasn't sure she wanted to tell them. Part of her thought they didn't need to know. Another part of her didn't want to reveal how different she was from them.

"Aw, yeah!" Frost suddenly said. A song had come on, and he had flopped his book down and had jumped to his feet. He began moving to the rhythm.

" _Ooh-bi-doo, I wanna be like you-ooh-ooh_

 _I wanna walk like you, talk like you, too-ooh-ooh_

 _You see it's true-ooh-ooh, an ape like me-e-e_

 _Can learn to be human, too-ooh-ooh!"_

Carris watched him oddly break that usual serious, rather professional aura he had about him, and dance around the barracks floor. He sang along loudly, belting out the words. The others laughed at him, either from enjoyment or embarrassment. Grant and Langley clapped along.

As the song continued, the bathroom door opened and Steele burst out, wearing nothing but a green military towel around his waist. Smiling, he joined into the ending chorus of the song.

" _You-ooh-ooh!_

 _I wanna be like you!_

 _I wanna talk like you!_

 _Walk like you, too-ooh-ooh!_

 _You'll see it's true-ooh-ooh!_

 _Someone like me-e-e_

 _Can learn to be_

 _Like someone like me_

 _Can learn to be_

 _Like someone like you_

 _Can learn to be_

 _Like someone like me!"_

By the end of it, both men were dancing with one another like two dates on a dance floor. The others hooted and howled with laughter as they finished the song, but their chortles quick turned to cries of disgust as Steele's towel slipped from his waist and fell around his ankles.

"Oh come on man!" laughed Frost, stepping away from him.

Instead of rushing to pull the towel back up, Steele just put his hands on his hips and stood firmly in the center of the room.

"Drink it in boys and girls. Be _jealous_!"

Grant threw a pillow at him.

"Cover up, man!"

"We were having a good time and that _thing_ just ruined it!" Moser laughed.

Carris blinked, red in the face, and slowly averted her gaze.

" _If I were a rich man..._

 _Yebby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dum..._

 _All day long I'd biddy biddy bum..._

 _If I were a wealthy man..._

 _I wouldn't have to work hard!_

 _Yebby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dum!"_

The entire day had been spent listening to music and dancing around, with a few meal breaks in between. Carris watched with amusement as Frost and Steele once again hit their makeshift dance floor. As they sang the song, they marched towards one another. Their arms were outstretched, they were snapping their fingers with the beat, and they were twisting their upper bodies back and forth. They had told her it was called shimmying.

When they met in the center of the room, they threw an arm around one another. Thankfully, Steele was fully clad this time. His thick blonde hair was messy and his face was coated with sweat. Frost's hair was also unkempt. Carris again noted what an odd pair they made. Steele was tall and loose in the way he stood. He was somewhat lanky in his frame though he was not devoid of muscle. Someone who toted SRS99 series rifles all day long was bound to have good upper body strength. Frost was shorter but a close eye could reveal that he danced with a bit more practice and precision than Steele.

" _Lord who made the lion and the lamb,_

 _You decreed I should be what I am,_

 _Would it spoil some vast eternal plan,_

 _if...I were a WEALTHY MAAAAAAAAN!?"_

Everyone clapped and whistled and cheered as the pair finished the song. Carris couldn't help but clap as well. Everyone getting up and dancing had certainly been entertaining. Once in awhile they had taken to badgering and pestering her to dance, but Carris had refused. She didn't know how and didn't want to embarrass herself, more than shedding the professional skin she had worn since she joined the Spartan II Program.

Frost sighed contentedly and shut off the music player.

"Alright, I'm all danced out."

"Good dancing bruv," Steele said, clapping him on the back, "Good to see that you're loosening up."

"Doing my best, brother. What's the time?"

"Almost midnight," answered Maddox.

"Yeah, I'm hitting the sack," Steele said with a stretch.

"Ugh, don't say that. I saw way too much of your sack today," Grant joked. Everyone laughed, including Steele.

Everyone brushed their teeth and undressed into more comfortable sleeping wear. Nobody really spoke. Carris unbuttoned her overshirt and took it off but left the undershirt on. She kicked off her boots and pulled off her socks, setting everything down on the floor at the foot of her bed. The room wasn't cold but it wasn't warm either. The internal temperature of starships were strange to her. She could never figure out if she was cold or not. Perhaps she had just been spoiled by her suit's internal temperature regulation.

The others must have read her mind.

"Do you remember those cold nights on Skopje five years back?" Grant asked wistfully.

"Don't remind me," mumbled Bishop. "Couldn't even unzip your trousers to take a piss without getting frostbite on your knob."

"Remember what Wright told us those nights?" added Maddox. "Before the big battles?"

"Don't eat anything," Moser said. "I remember him those nights, going from foxhole to foxhole. Don't eat anything. Don't eat anything. Back and forth, back and forth for six hours, all along the lines."

"Why did he do that?" Grant said. "I've always wondered. Tried to eat half a slice of bread and a he knocked it out of my hands."

"To put it simply," Langley said, "when you eat, there's more blood going to your stomach. If you get shot there after you eat, there's more blood to leak out. You'll bleed out faster. If you don't eat before a fight, less blood is there, less chance for hemorrhaging, longer bleed out times. Basically, your chances for survival are better."

The squad was silent for a time.

"Didn't do much for him, then," Maddox grunted.

Everyone settled into their beds and all of the lights were turned off, except for one near Frost and Steele's bed. It was silent in the room. Carris found it uneasy. It was the first time she had seen their jaunty mood turn sour. Losing comrades was a bitter memory. The Spartans had lost people. Carris hadn't been there when they died, but she mourned them all the same.

"You have to think about him in a more positive way," she suddenly said.

"Huh?"

"Try to remember something good about him. Something that made you laugh."

That was advice she was given a long time ago by Chief Mendez. She hadn't ever had to recite something he said before, but listening to the sad silence between the squad was discomforting to her. The more she thought about it, the more their unhappiness upset her. It had only been a few days but she had gotten used to their laughter and their banter, their strange conversations, even if they turned crude. The past few nights, she had gone to sleep listening to them chatter. Their voices were almost like a lullaby. She smiled a little. She liked them. She couldn't help it, but she liked all of them. The interaction was nice. After years of solo missions and salutes and receiving orders and making reports, their company was nice. They were just too infectious.

Everyone seemed to think for a few moments. She could feel them pondering. It was a strange air that entered the room when someone was thinking. You could feel the strain of their mind, hear the gears turning in their heads.

"Do you..." Grant laughed. "...do you remember how he used to greet everyone in that Jamaican Patois?"

Everyone chuckled fondly.

" _Wah gwan_ ," Frost said. "Came up to me all the time and said _wah gwan, weh yaah ah seh._ "

"What's that mean?" Carris asked.

"Like saying hi or what's up, how you doing, something like that. I could be wrong. It's been a while."

"I loved the way he sang that California song," Grant said, "he'd kinda shift in and out of that Patois. It was so cool."

A few moments passed. "Nate, can you sing that song?"

"What, like Wright?"

"No, no. Just sing it. You don't have to do the funny voice."

Frost sighed heavily.

"Alright."

Carris listened to Frost sing. He sang slowly and quietly, almost mournfully.

" _When the wintry winds start blowing_

 _And the snow is starting to fall_

 _Then my eyes turn westward knowing_

 _That's the place that I love best of all_

 _California, I've been blue_

 _Since I've been away from you._

 _I can't wait till I get going_

 _Even now I'm starting in a call_

 _California, here I come_

 _Right back where I started from_

 _Where bowers are flowers bloom in the spring_

 _Each morning at dawning_

 _Birdies sing and everything_

 _A sun kissed miss said 'Don't be late.'_

 _That's why I can hardly wait,_

 _Open up that Golden Gate._

 _California, here I come._

 _California, here I come_

 _Right back where I started from_

 _Where bowers are flowers bloom in the spring_

 _Each morning at dawning_

 _Birdies sing and everything_

 _A sun kissed miss said 'Don't be late.'_

 _That's why I can hardly wait,_

 _Open up that Golden Gate._

 _California, here I come..."_

There was a long silence afterwards. To Carris, the song seemed upbeat and playful. But the way Frost had sung, it sounded sad. Perhaps it was just because he was singing quietly and not boisterously like he had with the other songs he had been singing along to all day long.

Carris had been laying down with her head flat, but she looked up a bit to get a view of the squad. Everyone was quiet and had distant looks on their faces. The only person's face she couldn't see was Grant's, as he had rolled over.

After many minutes of utter silence, Grant spoke.

"I miss my mom and dad."

No one said a word for some time. Knight was the first one to speak up after Grant.

"Miss my wife and boy."

"My uncle," Bishop put in.

"My grandparents," Moser said.

"My parents," Maddox grunted, "and my cousins."

"My brothers," Langley said.

Carris looked over at Steele. He caught her gaze and smirked a little.

"London."

"Teo," Frost said a few minutes later, "Wright. Ocampo. That's who I miss." He sighed sadly.

Carris lay flat on the bed, arms behind her head, thinking. What did she miss? Reach? Reach certainly was a lovely planet and she considered that her home, more than the planet she was born on. All that constituted Tribute in her mind was a dingy school building and a few angry faces belonging to people she couldn't remember. Yes, Reach was home. She missed the Hungarian accents of the farmers she had listened to during stealth training exercises. She missed seeing the jagged mountains dusted with snow. She even missed New Alexandria, the gem of a city they had only visited a few times before they left for good.

Did she miss the Spartans? A little. They had grown up together as kids but hadn't exactly stuck together. John was off leading a few teams on numerous operations. Others had been formed into their own teams and sent off. No one had heard from Jerome, Alice, or Douglas since 2531. Many of the Spartans didn't make it past augmentation either. They had died or had become invalids. Some managed to serve in other roles, but Carris hadn't been able to bond with them like some of the other Spartans had. She knew Cassandra tried to write John regularly. And then there were the ones who had rebelled and tried to escape. Those that hadn't been found and returned were dead. Halsey had simply answered they had gotten away, but Carris was too smart for that; she knew they were dead.

"We trained on Reach," Carris suddenly said, not even thinking. "Grew up there."

"You were born on Reach?" Steele asked quietly.

"No. Tribute."

"Oh."

"Reach is where we trained. I...miss it."

Steele nodded, then quirked an eyebrow.

"Thought you said all of that was classified."

"It is." Carris looked away from him, her brow furrowing. She shouldn't have told them that. But it felt nice to tell somebody; it felt good to participate in this reminiscing. "You won't tell anyone, right?"  
Steele smiled, kindly this time instead of his usual smart-alec smirk. He made an X over his chest.

"Cross my heart."

"Cross your heart?"

"Oh come on Carris, you live under a bleeding rock your whole life?" Steele chuckled. "You were a kid once, weren't you? Didn't you ever say 'cross my heart and hope to die' when you made a promise."

Carris shook her head.

"The members of my unit have a way of greeting one another," she offered, tracing a smile with her index finger in front of her mouth. Steele blinked, confused, then he nodded.

"Cause' you all where those helmets, yeah?"

"That and my unit doesn't say much. They're not big talkers."

"Glad to see you're a chatty-Cathy, otherwise you'd be dull company."

"It's Carris."

"...come on now..."

Carris smiled a little.

"I'm kidding. I've heard that one before."

"Thank God..." Steele muttered.

"But you won't tell anyone, right?"

"We won't," Frost said, "now get some sleep everyone. We're getting up early tomorrow."

Carris nodded. She took one last glance at Steele, who winked.

"Cross our hearts," he said quietly.

* * *

"Grant, I need you over there, right now."

"I'm on it."

"Bishop, time?"

"I'd say about three minutes."

"Three minutes? Damn. Langley, where are you? I need you."

"I'm coming, just hold on!"  
"Steele better get back here quick otherwise we're screwed. Carris, how's it look?"

Carris opened the stove the mess officer had let them use and peered in. The turkey was roasting perfectly, with the skin turning to a darker shade of tan. It was sizzling and the pan was starting to fill up with the meaty juice seeping out from it.

"It looks perfect."

"Great, why don't you take it out and let it cool. Langley, did you grab the utensils."

"Yep, I'm setting the table now."

"Steele!" Frost hollered, "Where are you with the damn cranberry sauce! The meal's almost ready!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Steele jogged through the door leading to another part of the kitchen. Carris had just finished setting the deep pan with the turkey down on the counter as he did. When she turned, she saw he was holding something behind his back, and in his free hand were two cans of cranberry sauce stacked on top of the other.

During their years of training on Reach, not once had they had a special meal. Holidays of any kind weren't celebrated either. Military rations were their breakfast, lunch, and dinner for years. Sometimes they didn't even get MREs; during certain exercises, they just dumped them in the wilderness to fend for themselves. Carris wondered if the other Spartans would be jealous if they saw her getting ready to sit down for a big meal.

Everyone had been helping to cook and prepare the table they had set up in the little side kitchen. Maddox had made gravy, Bishop had been making apple and blueberry pies for dessert and had been fussing over them like a stubborn grandmother. Steele had been running back and forth to pick up different foodstuffs for cooking, since he had no cooking skills whatsoever. Langley had whipped up some cornbread before she went to set up the table with Grant, who had prepared corn on the cob. Moser had made mashed potatoes and sliced up some bread and Knight had cooked an assortment of vegetables. Frost and Carris had worked on the turkey. Together, they had basted it and roasted it, applying salt and the dill weed that Frost was so fond of.

Everything was put onto the table, with the turkey in its pan right in the center. They didn't have a fancy platter; no UNSC warships did, so the cooking pan would have to do. Carris had been smiling the entire time. Listening to the squad's chatter, busying herself with prepping the turkey, smelling all the different food-she had been enjoying herself immensely.

Everyone pulled up a chair or a stool to the table; which were just three supply crates with a canvas sheet covering them. Frost sat at the head of the table, with Steele on his right and Carris on the left. At the other end sat Knight, and on the left with Carris were Grant and Moser, while on the opposite side sat Bishop, Maddox, and Langley.

"Alright, before you go filling your faces," said Frost, leaning over and peeled a shred of the crispy turkey skin from it. It revealed a portion of juicy looking white meat. "I want Carris to try this first."

"I feel so honored," Carris joked, and everyone chuckled.

"Every year we visited some family friends in the U.S. My mom would help cook the turkey and made a big deal of who got to eat a bit of the skin first. So, as per my my mother's tradition, here you are."

Carris gingerly took it and placed it in her mouth. It was crunchy, salty, and the dill weed had brought out the flavor of the turkey brilliantly. It was very hot but she didn't mind, it was too delicious. She grinned and nodded.

"Amazing."

Frost clapped his hands together.

"Alright, let's dig in."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Knight said, "Ain't we gonna say what we're thankful for?"

"Oh come on!" Steele groaned, "What are we, five years old? Just shut up and eat before the Covenant show up."

"Don't fucking jinx us, man!" Grant growled, "I want to enjoy this while I can."

"Don't curse at the Thanksgiving table!" Langley snapped.

"Knight's right, we should all say what we're thankful for," Moser chimed in.

"Ah, blow it out your ass, Dietrich," Maddox mumbled before getting socked in the arm by Langley. Frost sighed.

"Alright, we can say it. Just make it snappy. We'll start with me and go down the right side, alright? Don't get sappy, either. I'm thankful that mess hall officer let us use this space to have a private meal. Okay? Next."

"I'm just so frigging thankful for this guy right here!" Steele said boisterously, pointing at Frost. He leaned over and wrapped an arm around his neck, "Without this son of a gun telling me what to do, I wouldn't even know what time it is!"

"Without me you wouldn't even know what year it is" Frost joked.

"Skip," Bishop mumbled.

"Yeah, skip," Maddox added. They were both eyeing their food like predators tracking their prey.

"Well, I'm thankful to have been given the chance to fight instead of work in a spaceport for the rest of the war," Langley said.

"I'm thankful to have a wonderful wife and son and to be a part of a good squad," Knight said with a slight hint of somberness.

"I'm thankful that we've had a few days of peace to enjoy this meal and one another's company," Moser said.

"I'm thankful for food," Grant said plainly.

Now it was Carris's turn. She was a little nervous as all the eyes went to her. Nothing came to mind. She wasn't sure what to be thankful for. Halsey for turning her into a supersoldier? These soldiers who had saved her life and gave her a bed to sleep on? Her mind wandered. No, it'd have to be something funny, something that could make them crack a smile. After a solid minute of pondering, she found something to say.

"I'm thankful that you've all shut up, because I'm ready to eat."

"Ain't that the frigging truth!" Bishop chimed in while the others chuckled. After Moser and Langley both murmured a little prayer of thanks over their food, everyone started to dig in, shoveling food into their faces and guzzling their drinks. Grant and Bishop began to compare belches and at least three different conversations were taking place across the table. When Carris was halfway through, Steele stood up.

"I have a surprise for everyone."

Everyone stopped eating as he raised two bottles by their necks.

"Is that..." Knight asked slowly.

"Before we set off for Farwater, I was able to pinch some whiskey from from a liquor store while we were planetside on that colony."

"You stole whiskey?"

"Hey, there was no one in the shop. Might as well have."

"Lou..." Frost grumbled.

"Pass it down," Maddox said eagerly.

"No," Frost grunted, "we're on duty."

"No, we ain't," Steele countered, "lighten up mate, have a bloody drink. It's Thanksgiving, we're alive, we're happy, we've got great food, now why can't we have a drink?"

"We're not supposed to have alcohol in our possession," Carris said quietly.

Steele groaned.

"Come on!" He nudged Frost with one of the bottles, "Armies used to have alcohol rations, you know."

"That was a long time ago," Grant muttered.

"I'm just keeping the military tradition alive, bruv."

"Tradition?" Carris asked.

"Yeah! Everyone knows that soldiering is just one long quest to find alcohol, smokes, and sex."

"That's not what I learned..." Carris said with a blink.

Steele once again turned to Frost.

"Nate, bruvva, come on. It's a special occasion."

Frost sighed, drumming his fingers on the table. He kept eyeing the group and then looking back at Steele.

"Fine," he relented after a moment, "but not for Grant."

"What?" Grant said indignantly, "Why not?"

"You're only nineteen, Grant. We're all twenty-one or over. Military law says that you have to be twenty-one to drink."

"But it's a special occasion, man!"  
"And what would your parents think if your squad leader let you take a swig of whiskey when you're two years under the legal age?"

"They don't have to know."

"Come on, he's gotta try it sometime. Better if he was with us than some vandals he didn't know, right?" Knight said in a fatherly tone. Frost sighed heavily and nodded. Steele went around filling up the extra cups they all had. When he came to Carris, she shook her head.

"No thank you."

"Come on, have a drink."

"It's against regs."

"Ain't you ever had any?"

"No."

"All the more reason to try some."

"That...I'm not sure I understand your logic."

Steele filled half a cup with it.

"Just try some, for me, okay?"

Carris sighed and looked into the cup. She watched the others knock back their cups, downing their drinks in one gulp. Gingerly, she took a sip and began coughing. It was bitter tasting and practically burned on the way down.

Some of the others laughed.

"Strong stuff," Knight said, contented.

"It's like drinking acid," Carris said hoarsely. "I only took a sip."

"You gotta down it real fast, love," Steele said, refilling his own cup. We'll do it together. On three."

Carris took her cup and got ready.

Steele winked at her.

"One...two...three."

She tipped her head back, swallowed all of the whiskey, and felt it burn all the way down her throat. When it reached her belly, she felt suddenly very warm. When she tried to speak again, her voice was extremely hoarse.

"Wow..." was all she managed.

"That means it's good."  
"Was that your first drink?" Frost asked.

"Yes, it was," Carris said, coughing a little.

"Your first drink in thirty-one years? Wow."

"We weren't allowed. Never had an interest anyways...we don't exactly get to go on leave."

"Same. We only ever get a couple weeks and it's only ever at the planet we're currently staying at. They don't let us go back to Earth," Maddox explained.

"They say it's because we're too far away from the planet. It wouldn't be worth it," Frost said, looking into his cup.

Carris wanted to ask more but Steele changed the subject.

"You want another?"

"Another drink?" Carris asked.

"Yep."

"...sure."

Steele reached over and filled her cup halfway again.

"You don't look thirty-one."

"Pardon me?"

"You don't look thirty-one. You look more around twenty-one, really. It's a compliment."

"Thank you."

* * *

After the meal had been finished, Frost had fetched his music player. The drinks had loosened him and everyone up and now he wanted to dance. Steele sat on a stool next to Carris while Frost danced an unorthodox, fast-paced waltz with Langley. Grant and Moser were washing dishes still but were still moving along to the beat of the old ragtime tune. Bishop, Knight, and Maddox were smoking and clapping as they sat on the sidelines.

Steele was smoking too and watched with a small grin as his two friends danced. Frost was chuckling and smiling, and Langley had a small pink blush dusting her cheeks. Every so often he raised her arm and she'd do a little spin, which would make her laugh a little. Giggle was a better term to use, but Steele knew if he used that word with her he'd probably get a fist in his chest from her in response. It was nice to see her let her hair down; she had been fighting hard with them since she joined the squad. She deserved to have fun like the rest of them.

Still, Steele was reminded of Frost's charm on women. He was positive that if he himself were dancing with Langley then, she wouldn't be giggling and blushing like she was. Frost didn't even know it, or if he did, he did a good job pretending he didn't. Smugness was not a quality of Frost, so he probably didn't know he had that effect on women. Langley was not a dainty girl either; she was tough. She may have looked the part; thin and toned, the short hair, small face, and small features. During the firefights they had together, though, she was ferocious, bellowing war cries and cycling mags from her weapon like a madwoman. To see her acting like a girl at a school dance in a cute boy's arms was as odd as it was enjoyable to watch.

The song ended and the two parted; Langley was quick to part, covering her mouth a little while she laughed.

"That was fun, right?" Frost asked as he went to get a drink of water.

"I've never danced before."

"Could have fooled me."

She blushed a little more. Steele couldn't help but snort.

"What is it?" Carris asked.

"Huh? Ah, nuttin'."

"Doesn't seem like _nuttin'_ ," Carris said with a grin, stretching the word out. Steele chuckled. She seemed to be on a track of discovery, learning words and pronunciations she had never been exposed to before. The others may not have noticed but Steele had seen her mouthing these new words, which were as foreign to her as French or Russian was to Steele. It was interesting, if not fun, to watch someone learn.

She seemed to have loosened up too, not just from the alcohol but from the occasion itself. Everyone was smiling and enjoying themselves. It would be hard to be unhappy at such a time. Or maybe it was the alcohol; she was a grown woman but it was her first time drinking. She had seven, maybe eight drinks. They weren't full; Steele had been sure to fill them halfway. Even so, it constituted a hefty amount of strong whiskey. Carris seemed to be holding it together pretty well; someone who had fought for the better part of their life had met a kind of conditioning most other folks would never imagine. Sights, sounds, smells could harden someone's stomach much more than a night of heavy drinking that ended with their face in the toilet bowl. Carris did seem flush though. Steele had been planning to get up in a few minutes but decided to stay and humor her inquiry, just to make sure she didn't end up becoming sick.

"Just watching them dance," he said with a nod towards the pair as another song started and they began to dance again.

"I'm surprised you and Frost haven't started dancing yet."

"Ah, let'em dance. He'll call me in if he wants to."

He smiled at Carris who eyed him with her blue eyes. They were quite vivid and piercing, but at that moment they seemed soft.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Nothing. You ever dance?"

"Never."

"Bet Frost could show you the moves. He's a good dancer. Learned from his older sister."

"That's alright."

"Suit yourself."

He looked back and watched Frost and Langley dance some more. He was showing her how to tango to a different tune.

"What's wrong?" Carris asked.

"Nothing's wrong."

"You seemed bothered."

"Why would I be?"

Carris stared at him for a moment, her brow slightly furrowed. She did that, he noticed, whenever she was thinking. It was becoming easy to tell when her mind was working hard.

"Would you rather be dancing with Langley?"

"Nah. They're having fun."

"Don't you want to have fun?"

"I'm having fun right here."

"Don't you like dancing?"

"Yeah."

"Wouldn't you like to dance with Langley, then?"

"Langley doesn't want to dance with me."

"Why not? You're all friends."

"We are."

"So...?"

"So nothing. She doesn't want to dance with me. Be like dancing with your annoying older brother or something like that. Frost's a better dancer than me anyways."

"Why does it matter if he's a better dance?"

Steele sighed sharply.

"What's with all the questions?"

"Curious."

"Why?"

"I think you're jealous."

"Jealous of who?"

"Frost?"

"...yeah."

"For what?"

"I'm not sure. Something though."

Steele had started to get annoyed but now he felt sort of tired. He looked back at the dancing pair. Langley was still pink in the face and Frost had that disgustingly warm smile on his face. Leaning a little closer to Carris, he began to explain.

"Frost always gets the girls to smile. I couldn't tell you the amount of times we've rescued civvies and the women among them fawned over him. He was their big hero."

"You're jealous of that?"

"A little. He just has an effect on them that I don't. Bugs me sometimes."

"I don't think you should let that bother you."

"It shouldn't, but it does. It'll never come between us if you're worried about that. I just can't make the girls smile like he can. Bastard doesn't even know he does it, either. That's the worst part I think."

Carris nodded. Steele sighed, watching them dance. Frost was better looking; he had that wolfish face with a closely cropped beard that the girls seemed to like. His hair was fine and he didn't need to try to make it look nice, though they weren't going out to any parties anytime soon. And he was charming. With the squad he could be funny, now more than ever since he had taken Steele's advice. But he'd curse and spit and talk about anything under the sun. Then, with civilians or new ranking officers, he became very respectful in a way that didn't mimic manners of the 26th Century. He always bowed a little, stooping his head and shoulders just a little in a very quick fashion. He spoke very smoothly and cleanly, swear words absent from his speech. His handshake was firm and honest. It wasn't a conscious switch; he didn't play people by being who they wanted him to be. No, he was too honest for that, too good. Truth was his greatest virtue and his greatest need. While they had never gone out to some dive bar at midnight, Steele knew that any girl they met would fall for him in an instant and Steele would sit alone at the bar, drinking and smoking. And he was okay with that, or at least he tried to convince himself he was. One of the few things he cherished about being in the squad-level of the grand military hierarchy was the equality of it. Sure, there was a sergeant to answer to, but NCOs were always in the shit with the grunts. Always fighting, always in the front lines, right in the trenches beside the corporals and privates. Steele didn't know one NCO who didn't fight like the rest. Many officers fought too; lieutenants to colonels did a lot of fighting, even some famous generals had been boots on the ground. But there were still those who command from the rear instead of leading from the front. Steele knew that's why Frost avoided promotion as best he could. He didn't want to be in a position where he was above his friends. If Frost ever did get a battlefield commission, he'd be on the front lines still, but Steele knew something would change between the squad if he attained a commissioned rank. Equality meant something to all of them; they all had strengths and weaknesses, sure, but they were all still equal. But as much as Steele loved his closest friend, sometimes when he stood next to him, he felt like a midget next to a giant, despite being the taller of the two.

It seemed silly to be jealous. But a part of Steele felt that the equality between the two friends was shattered by Frost's effortless ability to just be charming with the girls.

"Sometimes I want to hate him," he said quietly. He blinked, surprised at the words. Carris looked utterly confused.

"I thought he's your best friend."

"He is. Friends hate each other sometimes."

"I don't understand. How can friends hate each other?"

Steele scratched his chin for a moment.

"They just...do. That's a part of friendship."

"Hate is the opposite of friendship."

"It's a fleeting feeling. You just get jealous of your pals sometimes. It passes." Steele said this with a bit of firmness, believing the words. Yes, it was a fleeting feeling. After the dancing, he'd forget he was ever bothered.

"So you are jealous?"

Steele snickered stubbed the cigarette out on a plate. He tapped another cigarette from the packet he had drawn from his pocket.

"Yeah. I already said yes, didn't I?"

He lit the cigarette and put the packet and lighter away. Carris watched him take a drag and then blow a cloud of gray smoke out in front of him.

"You smoke a lot."

"Bother you?"

"No."

"You should dance, love."

"I don't think so."

"Fuckin' hell, is it my job to make serious people have some _fun_ for once in their miserable lives? I'm taking off!" Steele said with a laugh.

Steele thought about extending his hand and showing her how to dance, but he didn't feel like getting turned down. He jumped to his feet as Frost stepped off the improvised dance floor, letting Knight and Langley take over.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. My gut hurts. Gonna lay down."

Frost looked concerned momentarily.

"Want me to walk back with you?"

"Nah, bruvva. Just me gut is all; nothing to get worried about." Steele pinched Frost's cheek then patted him on the shoulder.

"I'll go with him if you're concerned, Frost," Carris offered, standing up.

"Alright."

The two walked back together, side by side, in silence. Steele continued to smoke. He stole a glance at Carris. He had to do a double take; she seemed more green than red in the face now.

"Uh...you alright there, love?"

"Yes," she said rigidly.

"You don't look well."

"I'm fine...I'm...I think I might be sick."

"I shouldn't have let you drink so much, sorry about that, love." Steele put a hand on her arm and began walking faster.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Getting you back to the room; you're about to return that booze to the owner."

"Alcohol doesn't come from toilets..."

"It's a bloody joke!"

When they were back in the room, Carris went right to the bathroom, fell on her knees in front of the toilet, leaned into the open bowl, and vomited. Steele reached forward and pulled some of her short locks back. She hurled twice more before finally drawing her head up. Steele reached over and flushed the toilet, then retrieved a cup, and filled it with water from the bathroom sink.

"Take a swig, swish it, then spit it out. Then you can have a drink. Smalls sips."

Carris nodded and did as he said. She sat on the floor, one leg drawn up and and her head leaning against the cupboard door under the sink.

"That's the first time that's happened since I was in training," Carris said, her normal color returning.

"Yeah?" Steele said, sitting down beside her.

"The instructors always worked us hard. They'd wake us up hours before the sun would rise and have us doing PT, live fire exercises, survival scenarios all before breakfast. We hardly get anything to eat. No breaks. Then we'd train into the night and get about three hours of sleep before they woke us up for the next intensive training day. One of the first times they did that, I fell down and puked so hard my throat ached."

"Blimey," Steele muttered, "that's damned rough."

Carris smiled a little.

"I've never had liquor before. It was good."

"Next time, we'll moderate you a little better."

"I hope so. I don't think I can handle it as well as you can."

"I've had practice," Steele joked with a wink.

"I want to lay down."

"In a few minutes."

"Why?"

"Trust me, you don't want to lay down just yet."

Carris nodded.

"Don't tell the others I got sick."

"I won't. I promise." Steele chuckled. "Cross my heart."

The two sat in silence for a time. Steele kept smoking. He felt her eyes on his cigarette.

"Can I try that?" she asked.

"What?"

"Can I have a smoke?"

Steele smiled.

"I wouldn't, love."

"Why not?"

"We only need one chain smoker round' here."

Carris laughed a little. Steele did too; it wasn't much of a joke. He was just laughing because she was. After a while, Carris flashed him a small smile, one that he hadn't seen her show before. And despite the poor girl having just thrown up her guts, Steele was glad to hear her say, "This is nice."

* * *

" _There were times that she seemed like a child to me. I don't mean that in a bad way. She just...hadn't been given a chance to grow up. The rest of us did, some more than others. But she never,_ _ **ever**_ _, got a chance that we did. What kind of world do we live in when a little girl can't have a normal meal with her family? Fucking bullocks."_

 _-Louis-Henry Steele, speaking of SPARTAN II, Carris-137_

* * *

 **Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you: I'm Alone: A Halo Musical. It's a jukebox musical, I guess. Yeah I hope giving you three musical numbers wasn't tedious, but I've begun to reach a point in writing the story where I'm not telling the characters what to do but the characters are telling me how to write. Is that bad? My writing professor says so but I disagree. Letting your story grow organically is a good thing. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this. I was going to be longer but I decided to to start off with a little intrigue and end with a little tenderness. It felt right, you know? Obviously there's no comment responses seeing as how I'm uploading this along with Chapter 21. (Oh also I reuploaded Chapter 18; there's a few tiny additions in there if you want to reread it, but I wouldn't say it's imperative, just letting you know)**


	23. Chapter 23: Revenge

**Make sure you read the ending quote. ;)**

* * *

Chapter 23: Revenge

* * *

It was a few days after Thanksgiving and their slipspace journey was coming to an end soon. Vivian was walking quietly through the hallways. Spending time out of Cryo during slipspace travel let the crew relax, but nearing the end of a journey Vivian found that she became restless. She couldn't tell why. Something would just wake her up and she'd need to patrol the ship, check on all the vital facilities, speak with crew members. Her endless rambles would lead her from the front of the ship to the rear and everywhere in between.

Vivian felt tired. It was getting close to half past five in the morning. She hadn't looked well in the mirror when she had gotten up two hours ago to begin her tour. Her skin had paled to the extent that the natural tan hue to her skin was almost entirely gone. Living on a starship for days on end would do that to anyone. To get bent out of shape over the loss of her natural looks seemed to be foolish in a time of war; she was the master of a warship and there she was in the mirror, pouting ever so slightly at her complexion. But underneath the uniform she was still human, still prone to her irritations and quirks and habits from her previous life. Vivian shook her head as she walked; previous life? There was no previous life. She was the same person after everything. Right?

Jasmine had voiced her concern. Vivian wasn't sleeping well and Jasmine would point out the dark bags under her eyes, much to Vivian's annoyance. But that's what friends were for, annoying you to the point where you had to shape up. For Jasmine's, Vivian's sleeping problems were a mystery. Vivian already knew the answer: she was living under the same roof of her friends' murderer and she was letting him get away with. Promises were promises; there were promises to the living and the dead. Which meant more to her? Logic and reason told her to honor the promise to the living. Grief and fury demanded she honor the promise to the dead.

 _Never forget._

How could she? Word had passed to her that Frost and his squad had their own private Thanksgiving meal. They had cooked everything themselves and danced afterwards. The thought of that monster waltzing about with his cronies made her furious. Even Nora Langley had danced with him; she couldn't be counted on as a reliable source anymore. Frost had won her over like he won over everyone. His reputation and his charm were deadly. If she ever opened up a case against him in the future, it would be hard to find someone to testify against him. Mostly because the witnesses with the most damning testimonies were all dead except for her, and any others who were there would support him without a doubt.

Perhaps Carris would be someone to ally with, or at least prevent from falling under his spell. She seemed a rigid, by-the-book type. UNSC military law most likely meant everything to her. Vivian had encountered those types during her stint at OCS; those officers treated military law with religious reverence. "Our regulations, our doctrine, our laws, are what hold our titanium worlds together," one had said. At the time, Vivian had believed that. Now, she preferred the relaxed order of her ship. Efficiency was much higher.

While at Luna Academy, Vivian invested a lengthy amount of time to study naval history as far back into the 15th Century. She learned the names of famous admirals and captains, studied the short lives of pirates, buccaneers, and corsairs, and absorbed all the great naval battles from Artemisium to Trafalgar to Midway. What had contributed most to her perception of daily ship life and law was the Golden Age of Sail, however. Learning of the terrible conditions sailors were subjected to and the violence they endured to from their captains had made her realize that a contented, eager, _happy_ crew would be far more loyal, reliable, and efficient in the end. But her decision to operate in such a way wasn't because she wanted to save her own skin from a mutinous crew or have better records than other captains-she couldn't bear to subject her crew to the discipline that some other captains displayed. She had heard of captains that tossed men in the brig or put them on dangerous details for the slightest infractions. Some even went as far to outlaw basic items; because a few men hadn't filled out an order to the specifications of a captain, the captain confiscated razors. That only lasted for a week until the XO filed a complaint and the captain was rotated to administrative duties. Other tales were far more grim; there were rumors of captains that would order floggings like in the Age of Sail. Who in this day and age would own a cat-of-nine tails was beyond Vivian. All the same, being a harsh discplanarian was no way to treat anyone, whether or not they were in the military. She had long believed that and wasn't about to shake her beliefs just because of the rank and the uniform.

Making observations of Carris during the past few days, in the mess hall and armory, Vivian noted the extreme professionalism she displayed. Or rather, _had_ displayed. At first, she had appeared accurate and pinpoint with all her motions and word choices, as if she were being evaluated by a senior officer on the parade grounds. Now, she seemed more at ease. For one thing, she was smiling a lot more. She didn't go around grinning like an idiot, but when members of Frost's squad spoke to her she would give them small smiles and would laugh. Vivian had deemed her thoroughly humorless when they had first met; how could someone be in a good mood when they had been stranded for practically two weeks on a half-glassed planet and all of their efforts amount to one destroyed starship? If she had been harboring some anger or frustration at the outcome of the mission, Frost's squad had cheered her up. She seemed more at ease and loose in her posture, though she straightened up when officers came about. Watching her on the firing range or practicing hand-to-hand combat brought back that precision and strict demeanour she displayed when she first boarded the ship. She was still rather quiet around her new colleagues, but she seemed warmer. Vivian guessed that Frost was winning her over; he made allies fast.

Groaning to herself, Vivian ran a hand down her face. She had promised Jasmine to let the matter lie undisturbed. Yet it still felt like there was an ongoing effort to win support in an invisible trial, and Frost was in the lead. He had his squad, his entire MEU, his reputation, and soon he'd have this mysterious operative. In Vivian's case, she had no one. Jasmine would continue playing the middle of the field, refusing to take a side.

She wanted to take the thoughts out of her head. She had promised and she was determined to keep it. The living had to come first. They had to. They just _had_ to. Still, she thought about sitting down and chatting with Carris, just to see what she had to say.

As Vivian neared the armory, she was surprised to hear gunfire and voices. She entered and found it mostly deserted. Everything seemed to be in order. Dumbbells were stacked neatly on their shelves, weight-lifting equipment was properly stored; everything was tidy. Stepping to the side, she noticed Frost and his team at the range. They were all crammed into one part of the range, watching Carris fire a pistol. Vivian watched for a time. The squad cracked jokes, commented on her accuracy, and told stories about firefights.

"How did you manage to lose that tooth?" Carris asked Frost.

"I get that question a lot," he said. "I got too close to an Elite and the thing nailed me right in the mouth. I nearly blacked out but I still had enough vision to see my tooth go flying away."

"Not many marines survive one-on-one encounters with Elites," she said.

"Well, lucky for me Oliver Cromwell here saved my bacon," Frost said, jerking a thumb towards Steele.

"Oliver Cromwell? Oh fuck off, bruv," Steele grunted, smoking a cigarette. "Yeah, I got to him before that Elite got his energy dagger out. That was a bad skirmish man, I had plasma flying all around while I was trying to move along that ridge."

"I watched you, man. That took balls, crouching down on the peak of a ridge, exposed, and putting a round through that Elite's head," Grant put in, "I thought for sure you'd get hit."

"I didn't though. Funny thing is, when I got over to Frost he was on his hands and knees. I thought he was about to pass out or something but this crazy bugger was looking for his tooth. I had to pull him back down the ridge. Christ, finding a tooth on a rocky ridge?"

"I would have found it."

"Yeah, right."

"Whose Oliver Cromwell?" Carris asked.

"Study history? He was a bloke who broke England's sovereignty by trying and executing Charles the First. Created a new army, led the commonwealth for a time, waged some campaigns, was called Lord Protector. He's pretty controversial though," Frost explained.

"Why's that?"

"Some say he's a revolutionary, fighting for liberty. Others think he was a genocidal dictator seeing as he killed a lot of people in Ireland and Scotland. The general consensus of the squad is that the genocidal part kinda nullifies that fighting for liberty stint. So, he's pretty much a tosser," Steele explained.

"That's putting it lightly," Bishop muttered.

"Trying to keep it light, mate," Steele said.

"Why call him that," Carris asked, nodding towards the smoking sniper. Frost and Steele exchanged a glance and were silent for a beat. Then Frost smiled.

"Just like to annoy him sometimes."

"I see."

For a time, they continued watching Carris shoot. They were in the way so Vivian couldn't see how she was doing. Eventually, six o'clock came and the squad began to disperse back to the Weaponsmith to drop off their equipment. As they turned to walk away, Frost caught Vivian's eyes. Vivian always tensed up when she saw them. Those gray eyes of his shifted colors; sometimes they were misty, other times steely, and when he was alert, they became a shining silver.

"A moment, Sergeant Frost," Vivian heard herself say. Frost's squad stopped and looked at him. Steele's face drew into a glare and he took a step towards Frost. But Frost smiled at his compatriots.

"Go on ahead and wait for me, I won't be long."

"Bruv..." Steele began in a low tone.

"It's alright," Frost whispered. The squad eyed Vivian warily and then made their way into the Weaponsmith.

Frost and Vivian stood facing one another with about fifteen feet of distance between them. Vivian had no idea what she was going to do or say. She just stared at him and he stared back. Her eyes studied the few scars on his face; were they from his encounters on Skopje? Perhaps he had been skinned by the tip of an energy sword with the Covenant in some battle. Or maybe it was bits of shrapnel soaring through the air.

"I wouldn't get attached to Carris," Vivian finally said. "She won't be on the ship for much longer. After we exit and resupply, we're jumping for Reach."

"You don't even know her," Frost said, unamused, "if you did, you know she didn't have the childhood you or I did. Or maybe just you."

He scratched his beard and then said, "I know we have our differences-"

"Differences? Excuse me? Did you really call this..." Vivian motioned between them, " _differences_?"

Frost sighed heavily.

"You know what I mean."

"Did killing my friends-five teenage girls-really leave that little of an impact on you?"

Frost glared now, his eyes turning to the color of stone.

"Would you shut up and listen to what I have to say? I'm asking that you put in a transfer order for Carris."

"What?"

"Carris is a good soldier and she's fit into the squad really well these past few days. I'd appreciate it if she could be posted to the ship."

"That's not my call; I'd have to work that out with Rear Admiral Travers. But what makes you think I'll do that? Why should I care about what you want?"

"Look, I'm just asking, okay? She'd make a good addition to my squad and the MEU. No one else in this task force has armor or skills like her. Anyone who can survive for fourteen days with little sleep, food, or water can do nothing but augment our strength as a fighting unit."

"No," Vivian said firmly, "you're out of your mind if you think I'll do anything for you. If she asks, fine, I'll consider it. But not if it comes from you."

Frost blinked, aggravated.

"What do you want from me, Vivian?" he asked bitterly, "It's not like I can bring your friends back. I had orders."

"I don't give a damn."

"No, of course you don't. But you're not going to do anything about it, are you?"

Vivian gritted her teeth. Her hands went to her side, her right hovering just a few inches from her holstered pistol. Frost was watching that same hand, but didn't move his hand down to his own. He simply stood and watched her hand. His confidence infuriated Vivian.

He turned to walk away.

"That's what I thought," he said over his shoulder.

Vivian shuddered with rage.

"I'll have my revenge one day," she growled. That made Frost stop suddenly, like a dog freezing and its ears pricking when it heard a particular sound or caught a certain scent on the wind. He didn't say anything for a few moments, but slowly turned.

"Revenge?" he said slowly in a low voice.

"Yes."

Frost stared at the floor for a few moments, almost looking confused. Then he smiled and began to laugh. It was an ominous, dark laugh. And as he did, he slowly began to approach Vivian. His booted footsteps echoed on the titanium deck and his laughter bounced off the walls. Vivian held her ground, but couldn't help but take a step back as he neared.

"You want revenge?" He repeated. " _Revenge?_ " He roughly shoved her with one hand. Vivian stumbled a little from the impact; Frost was stronger than he looked. "Revenge? You? You don't even known what the word means." He shoved her again.

He delivered one final shove which was enough to topple Vivian over onto her backside. When she looked up, she saw that he had drawn his pistol, though he wasn't aiming it at her. "Do you know who I am?" he asked. "I am _Jack the Ripper_. I'll kill anyone who wrongs a UNSC soldier, understand me? I am an avenger. I understand vengeance a lot better than you. You're delusional if you think you know what vengeance really is."

" _Avenger_?" Vivian repeated harshly. "And you think I'm delusional? You're hyped up on your own legend. What makes you think you know what vengeance is?"

Frost towards over her, clutching his pistol so hard his knuckles were white.

"I've seen the end of the world," he said, his tone menacing and dark.

"What? Does Jack the Ripper have prophetic dreams, now?" Vivian taunted.

"No, you just don't understand."

"Then make me."

"No. You don't deserve to know."

"You fucking people, you marines, keep telling me that. I don't deserve to know? What's wrong with you? First you expect me to know something, and when I don't, you refuse to tell me. If you want me to understand than fucking tell me."

Frost holstered his pistol. His eyes seemed dark and haunting and mournful and angry all at the same time, as if he was remembering something truly horrifying.

"I could. I could tell you how I came to know it. Will I, though? No. You've got to figure out that word yourself."

"What word? Revenge? I know it far better than you. You ripped five innocent people from my life. Innocent, good, compassionate people."

"You just don't get it. You won't. And it's better that you don't."

He turned and began walking away. Vivian rose to her feet, flush with anger.

"I will make you pay."

"You want to make me pay? Fine. Only when you understand that word," Frost repeated. At that point, Vivian was done listening to whatever ambiguous, philosophical bullshit he had to say. She stormed out of the armory, her mind twisting with rage and thoughts of killing that son of a bitch.

* * *

Carris watched as Frost shoved Captain Waters to the deck and unholster his pistol. She drew her own weapon and went for the door, raising it as she did, bearing the sights on the back of his head. Then she heard another _click_. Turning, she saw Steele holding a sidearm, training it on her head.

"Don't move, Carris," he said, "just don't move and I'll explain."

"Don't point that at me, Steele."

"Put yours down and I can explain."

"He's going to kill the Captain."

"No he's not. Holster your service weapon and let me explain."

"Corporal Steele, I am warning you: drop your weapon, now."

"Not until you do."

"Steele..."

"Put it away, Carris."

She turned quickly, dropping her sidearm. Her left hand snatched Steele's wrist and the other latched onto his throat. Lifting him off his feet she held him up against the wall, squeezing his wrist so hard he had to let go of the pistol. Her fingers tightened around his windpipe and he gurgled for air.

Half a dozen _clicks_ sounded behind her. She felt the cold barrel of a sidearm press against the back of her skull.

"Put. Him. Down." Bishop growled murderously. The others had all drawn pistols and had their sights on her.

Carris planned her next move. She would simultaneously drop Steele and deliver a kick to Bishop. The blow would cause him to stumble back into the squad, throwing at least two or three of them off balance. She could then use the distraction to dart forward, grabbing Moser as a shield and taking his pistol for himself. Then she could have leverage over the squad. Seconds ticked by. She had to wait. Timing was everything. One wrong move and they would put a round in her.

"Carris," Steele struggled to say. She loosened her grip a little. "You can't see their faces...but they don't want to shoot you...we're your friends...we don't want to hurt you."

"Why did you point that pistol at me, then?"

"Because...you were...pointing one at...my friend. Wouldn't...you?"

Carris contemplated for a few moments. She looked over her shoulder. Their faces were grim, sad, and scared.

"Please, put him down," Grant said, sounding like a child.

"We can talk," Langley said. Carris looked back at Steele. She knew her own face bore the same expression as theirs, just as much as she tried to fight the feelings away. She didn't want to hurt anyone.

"Carris, please..." Steele groaned.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Carris tuned to see Frost standing in the door. "All of you put your weapons down. Weapons down, safeties on, _now!_ " He raised a hand towards her. "Carris, put Lou down. He's your friend; we're all friends here. Just put him down."

His voice, although urgent, was not harsh or pleading. Carris looked over her shoulder at the others, who had quickly holstered their sidearms. She looked back at Steele, who looked straight into her eyes. He didn't look pained or frightened or angry. More than anything, he just seemed surprised.

Slowly, she eased her grip and set him back on the floor. Steele took a gasp of air and panted for a few moments. Carris remained standing in front of him, watching him recover. His uniform was ruffled by the scuffle, and her hands automatically reached out and fixed his collar and smoothed his shoulders.

"I'm sorry," she said to him gravely. Steele grinned. How could he be grinning after what she had done.

"No hard feelings, love," he said, winking. Carris felt a strange emotion and let out a short breath of air.

"Just like that?"

Steele, looking like he had just run a marathon, reached up and patted her on the shoulder.

"Just like that."

Carris sighed. He may have appeared surely and unsoldierly, but Steele had a good heart. But she wasn't about to forget what she had just witnessed. She turned to face Frost.

"Sergeant Frost, you are under arrest."

Frost blinked.

"I am?"

"For striking a senior officer and drawing a weapon on her. Relinquish your sidearm and come with me to the brig."

He blinked again, looking even more confused.

"Carris, I can explain," he began.

"Explain it to Holst."

"No, Carris, it's extremely complicated. Sit down and I can explain." Frost sighed heavily and turned to the others. "There's something you all need to hear."

Under any other circumstances, Carris would have restrained him and forcibly removed him to the brig. Major Holst, the ranking ODST, was in charge of ship security as well, and it was her duty to hand over a military criminal to him. But she was staring at the man who had led a rescue party on a burning plant to save her, the man who had extended his squad's quarters to her, who had been kind courteous, and had shown her a few things that seemed insignificant to anyone else but meant something to her. A man who had cooked her breakfast. A man she had decided was her friend. She hadn't had friends since 2525, when the war began.

"I'm listening," she said slowly.

Frost wanted to the squad to be comfortable as he explained, so they had made their way back to their barracks. An instinctual part of Carris felt that she was being led into a trap. Their quarters had lost the inviting, peaceful atmosphere that she had quickly grown accustomed to. Now, it seemed a foreign, foreboding place. Her mind, her experience, told her that this was enemy territory now. She sat rigidly on her cot; everyone else seemed more at ease, though intrigued at what Frost had to say. Maybe it was just her, which was jarring. How could these soldier forgive so easy. Waving guns around all day and night detracted the impact of what had just happened. Once everyone was seated, Frost stood in the center of the room and began to speak.

"Look, what happened out there is...look, it's complicated. That's a major understatement. Just hear me out. Do you remember when we were on Skopje? The first time, fighting the Innies? My first kills were five female rebels in that crummy town on the city outskirts. Captain Waters was there, hiding. She saw the whole thing; those five girls were her friends. She heard my name and as far as I can tell has been trying to track me down for five years. Somehow, by some...miracle...we've ended up on the same ship. When she found out, she pulled a gun on me and threatened to kill me right out there in the armory. If it wasn't for Colonel Hayes and Maddox here, she probably would have done it. At least, I think she might have. Since then, she's been trying to size me up as far as I can tell; she's inquired about me through Steele. What she's planning to do I'm not sure; investigate me, bring me to trial...maybe even kill me, I don't know."

" _Scheisse_..." Moser whispered.

"You said it," Langley whispered to him. Frost rubbed his forehead, closing his eyes for a moment.

"Hayes tried to make us bury the matter, to preserve order on the ship and I've been doing my best to follow her orders and try to keep things cordial and peaceful. But I couldn't help telling Jasmine. Jasmine, in turn, told Steele. And now I'm telling you. So much for holding up my end of the bargain. Waters...she's doing a better job than me. But she wants me dead, or behind bars, that's for certain. Still, the Covenant are the real enemy here. I have to believe that she'll remember they're the real enemy, not me."

There was a long silence. Carris looked at the others. Their faces were hard with thought. She looked up at Frost.

"Were they armed?"

"The five girls? Yes, they were armed. I had orders to kill anyone holding a weapon. I followed my orders."

Carris lowered her eyes, thinking.

"Captain Waters doesn't have much of a case to make then. If those killings fell under the rules of engagement, then she can't condemn them as illegal killings. Trying to make a case would be next to impossible, it'd be crushed before it ever reached the courtroom ."

"Correct. She knows that but I don't think she cares."

"And she drew on you?"

"Yes."

Carris folded her arms across her chest.

"Both of you could be arrested for drawing weapons on one another. There could be a trial, demotions, sentences...either of you could report the other. Why haven't you?"

"Colonel Hayes gave me an order. I'm following it. Waters can't go crying to Travers either because-"

"Because Frost has a reputation. He's Jack the Ripper." Steele said.

"Jack the Ripper, the knife fighter from Skopje. One of the other members of my unit said to me in 2538 that you were the Insurrectionists' nightmare. They still have a bounty on you."

A smile tugged at the corner of Frost's mouth.

"How sweet," he said. "But to answer your question more thoroughly, it's just because of my rep; it's an issue of political balance here on the ship. If she reports me as a murderer and tries to get me investigated, the marines in the task force will be furious and won't respect her authority. In response, the sailors will probably side with her, since they know her and are completely loyal to her. If I go tattling on her, the sailors will be read to put my head on a spike."

"I'm ready to put her head on a spike right now," Grant muttered.

"I say we go up there and frag her ass tonight," Bishop added. Frost glared at both of them.

"I won't tolerate any of that talk. I don't want any of you destabilizing and already tense situation. I can only afford one person to be at odds with the Captain, and that's me. Police that talk or you'll regret it, understand?"

Everyone nodded. Frost grunted. "Good."

Frost sighed and placed his hands on his hips. His eyes fell to the floor for a few moments. "Listen, I know you don't like this. But for the sake of the task force and for my own, keep this to yourselves. I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier; Maddox, Steele, Hayes, and myself all thought that the less people who know of it the better. I should have told you, you're my friends, and I'm sorry."

He then faced Carris. "And I'm sorry that you had to get dragged into this business. I'd like to say, on behalf of the entire squad, that there are no hard feelings. You're still welcome and we'd appreciate if you'd keep lodging with us for the duration of the journey. Right?"

He directed the affirmation to the squad. Bishop seemed aggravated but the others nodded. Carris looked at them all, and her eyes finally settled on Steele. He winked.

"Stick around, would ya? You're good company."

Carris smiled a little.

"I had you up against a wall."

"I've had worse," he joked.

Carris sighed.

"I'll stay if you'll have me. I apologize as well, I wasn't aware of the situation. Tensions were high. I hope this doesn't make the time we have left a strain on you."

"We've all had plenty of arguments and fistfights in this squad before. We forget about them in about an hour or so, so don't worry about." Knight said. He elbowed Bishop. "Right?"

"Yeah, yeah, right." Bishop grumbled. Carris nodded.

"Thank you. But do you realize what you're asking me to do? Keeping silent about two separate _criminal_ actions? Drawing weapons on fellow service members is a punishable act. Keeping quiet about two crimes is...is...wrong."

Frost exchanged glances with the rest of his squad.

"Yes, it is. I won't deny you that. But I see the need for peace and order in this task force. It's a...greater good kind of dilemma Carris. If we can keep this under wraps, then we won't have the task force divided and at each other's' throats because one of the marines and the task force commander have a history. That happens, our enemy won't be the Covenant anymore. We can't afford to be at war with one another. Surely, you can understand that."

"I can. But I don't like it."

"Neither do I," Frost admitted to her, "In my opinion, I didn't deserve to have my life threatened. But I was wrong to act the way I did earlier."

"Maybe things are even now," Steele offered, "she started one incident, you start the other. There, fiftyfifty, an eye for an eye, leveled playing fields, justice prevails and all that."

"How can you call that justice?" Carris asked the sniper. Steele smiled softly at her.

"Love..." Steele said slyly, grinning as he put a cigarette to his lips, "you don't alway need the law to find justice."

* * *

Frost trudged through the snow covered grass. There were bodies in the snow. Bare legs coated with blood. Three dozen shivering frames. He dropped his helmet and his rifle, tears running down his cheeks.

He kicked open the door. A girl looked back at him. She had pale blonde hair. The door had struck her hard and she was recovering. Frost raised his assault rifle. It shook in his hands. He saw the pistol in her hand and ordered her to drop it. He could feel his mouth forming the words but he couldn't hear them. He couldn't hear anything at all. That was until he saw her try to raise the pistol. Then he pulled the trigger and the gunfire filled his ears.

* * *

Carris heard a rustling and looked over. Frost was sitting in one of the chairs in the barracks room. Steele was also watching him. He had fallen asleep in the chair, slumped a little to the left. He had been asleep for a couple of hours after he had explained everything. The oHis right hand had begun twitching, start with his index finger. Then his entire hand began to shake. Eventually his eyes snapped open and he gasped.

"Bloody hell," Steele gasped, jumping from Frost's awakening. Frost quickly looked around, dazzled.

"Where are the girls?" he asked raggedly.

"What?" Steele asked, confused.

"Where are they?"

"You mean Nora and Carris?"

Frost blinked and rubbed his eyes. He sucked in a sharp breath and then exhaled slowly. After shutting his eyes for a few moments, he regained his composure and looked around.

"No. I was having a dream. A nightmare."

Steele blinked.

"Skopje?"

"Skopje."

"You too, then?"

"Yeah. Fuck..." Frost rubbed his forehead. "I saw them all again, all in the snow."

Steele got up from his bed and knelt in front of Frost, putting a hand on his knee.

"Bruv, it's alright. We're here now. That was five years ago. They're all okay now."

"No they're not."

"Yes, they are. Because of you, and me, and the boys, and everyone else. We made sure they were okay."

Carris cut in.

"Who's _they_?"

Steele glanced over his shoulder.

"It's personal, love. Let it lie for now."

Carris nodded. Frost wiped at his eyes.

"I'm going for a walk," he said.

"Want me to come with you?"

"No. Stay here. Relax. I just need to clear my head."

"Alright. We're exiting slipspace soon. Just thought you should know."

Frost departed. Carris wasn't looking forward to more time in slipspace. She wasn't used to being out of cryo. As much as the squad enjoyed her and she enjoyed the squad, she didn't know how to deal with boredom. A part of her worried as well that she was no longer welcomed, despite what Frost and Steele said. The others didn't seem to mind; if there was tension in the air they didn't feel it.

"Is he going to be okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, of course," Steele said, furrowing his brow and nodding. He walked over and sat beside Carris on her cot. He took out a cigarette and put it between his lips, although he did not light it. "Just queer, that."

"How's that?"

"We saw some nasty stuff on Skopje. The kind of thing that keeps you awake at night. It affected us for a while, but we eventually put it all in its place, you know? That was the first time he's had a bad dream about in...I'd say four years. Odd."

He stroked his mustache. "I am too. Weird how when you start talking about something it comes back to haunt you." He wiggled the cigarette up and down with his lips, thinking. He had the lighter in his hands, and he kept popping the cap open and then shutting it, then opening it again. "I bet Waters said something to him."

"Why would that make him have a nightmare?"

"Because I've been getting them too after I talked with her. She's a blast from the past, that one, and we never even met here there."

"What are the odds that they ended up on the ship, hm?"

"Like a kajillion to one?"

Carris shook her head. It was hard to believe. "By the way, I uh, appreciate you ain't going to Waters about it. Or bringing it up with anybody. I know we're all pretty chummy but entrusting you to that secret was asking a lot. Just, you know, means a lot to me and...stuff."

Carris smiled.

"Stuff? Again?"

"Yeah, stuff. Whaddya want from me, I'm a simple man, love."

Carris chuckled, reached over, took the lighter, and lit Steele's cigarette. She handed it back and he winked at her in thanks. Carris was beginning to enjoy that wink of his; she didn't see him doing it to anyone else.

"How old did you say you were? Twenty-one?"

"That's right. Twenty-two in February." He snickered at that. "Frost's birthday is on Christmas. How about that? Lucky bastard."

* * *

Frost knocked on the door to Jasmine's office. A moment later, the door opened. Jasmine stood in front of him, her glasses low on her nose, her long ponytail messy, and her white lab coat absent. She wore an olive drab turtleneck sweater instead.

Jasmine looked a little tired.

"Bad time?" He asked.

"No, not at all. Come in."

Frost entered and the door shut behind him. Jasmine headed towards her desk, "Want some hot chocolate or some coffee?"

"Coffee, please."

"Want some chocolate in it?"

"If I wanted chocolate, wouldn't I have asked for hot chocolate?" Frost mused with a smile. Jasmine smiled over her shoulder.

"I just know how you like your coffee."

"How do I like it?"

"Lots of cream, lots of sugar; you like yours to be sweet."

"Got me pegged."

"Chocolate would make it sweeter."

"You put chocolate in everyone's coffee?"

"Only people that I like to chat with."

"Isn't coffee a grab-and-go sort of thing?"

"Not in my family," Jasmine explained as she prepared him a mug, "in my family, if you want a warm drink on the go, you drink tea. You want to sit down and have a good chat, you drink coffee."

"I feel honored."

Jasmine walked over, still smiling. She placed the warm mug into his hand. Then she procured a small piece of chocolate and dropped it in. Frost chuckled a little.

"Thank you. What have you been up to?"

"Finished filing some reports. Just staring out the window, wasting time. Being out of cryo is nice for getting ahead on work, but once you're done..." Jasmine nodded towards the window in her office. Frost was surprised; he had been in her office quite a few times and had never seen it.

"Did you just get that installed?" he joked.

"Hm? Oh, no. It's always been there. Windows are structural weaknesses so they get covered with titanium shielding during combat operations. It's automatic; when the alarm for battle stations goes out, Decatur secures everything, so I don't need to worry about it. I never really paid much attention to it until now. Watch this."

Jasmine went to the other side of the room and turned off the lights. Frost closed his eyes for a moment. His mind grew distant for a moment; he heard screams and tools scraping against soil. He heard the muffled thumps of fists striking flesh.

He almost jumped a little when Jasmine took his hand and led him over to the window. They stood side by side and stared out through the glass. A golden stream of light passed by, filling up the room. It twirled and spun and twisted in slow motion as it went by.

"Wow," Frost murmured, impressed. It was a strangely, beautiful sight. Jasmine smiled at him; it was a pretty smile that made her face glow. Or perhaps it was just the passing lights. It was completely quiet in her office. It was peaceful. He breathed deeply, believing for a moment that he was smelling fresh alpine air instead of recycled oxygen. It reminded him of home, reminded him of the family trips they used to take into the mountains. All of the different scents from the flowerbeds of their ranch house filled his nose and made his chest swell with each breath he took. And the cold-he loved the cold air-brushing against his face, pushing his locks back, pushing against his frame. Cold had a certain scent to it. Some might have thought it silly to say so, but cold did have a smell, much like rain or snow or ice did. It was an indescribable kind of smell. You just knew it.

Then it all gave way to other memories. Frost's brief smile disappeared. Smells changed to sounds and sighs. Darkness enveloped his mind. He could hear pickaxes against rock, shovels scraping against packed soil. In the pause between each strike, he could hear the whispers of the other men. Then he heard his boots crunching in the snow. He saw skin turned blue from the cold with dried black blood coating it. And then he could hear the indescribable moaning of men, who were too exhausted, too pained to form cries for mercy, or beg for water and food. And where woods had once ringed the mind, there stood instead the stumps. And then he was barraged by all of the flashes in the dark; screaming men, flailing limbs, pistols and submachine guns cutting through the tunnel shafts.

"Nathaniel?"

Frost's eyes opened. For a moment he didn't remember where he was. He looked down at Jasmine, who had a firm grip on his upper arm. She was shaking him a little. "Nathaniel, are you alright? You look pale."

Frost sighed sadly.

"I had a nightmare just a little bit ago. Sat down and just...nodded off, I guess."

"What were they about?"

"I was back on Skopje. I haven't had dreams about it like that for a long time. Just...they were so vivid, like right after we left that planet."

"They were vivid in what way?"

"They were real, like I was there again. Endlessly replaying and replaying and replaying scenes of things that had happened during the fighting. And it would take all damn night to fall asleep back then. Sometimes I just didn't want to sleep because I didn't want to have the nightmares. I was scared of falling asleep."

He inhaled a little. Talking about it took energy but he didn't know why. Jasmine put a reassuring hand on his back, while he put a hand on his forehead. He was getting a bad headache.

"Take your time, Nathaniel."

"It's hard to talk about," he said through gritted teeth. "It's like...it's like a million ants crawling inside your head. You can't put your thoughts together. And other times it's like looking through broken glass..."

"What brought back these dreams?"

"Vivian," Frost growled, "she and I ran into each other yesterday and we got into argument. She...I dunno Jasmine, she said some things and I said some things back..."

"Things? You're going to have to be more descriptive."

"Thinking about what we were saying makes it seem kind of silly, you know?"

"Nathaniel, nothing you tell me will seem silly to me."

"Yeah, well, it will to me," Frost said, too sharply. Jasmine winced a little and removed her hand. Frost noticed and softened his expression. "Sorry. I don't mean to be rude. Already bad enough that I come barging in with my bad dreams."

Jasmine nodded. She folded her arms across her chest.

"You can keep talking," she offered, smiling. The stream of light disappeared, causing the room to darken. For a moment, Frost couldn't see her face.

"I don't know if I can. I worry that the more I talk about it, the more it'll bother me. I stopped having bad dreams a long time ago. But with Vivian...Captain Waters, on my ass, it's hard not to remember those nights on Skopje."

"Do you think what you did that night was right?"

"It was by the book."

"In a nonmilitary context, do you think it was right?"

"I didn't join to kill teenage girls. It's not like I enjoyed it. I wanted to puke for days after it happened."

"Did you, though?"  
"Huh?"

"Did you vomit?"

"No."

Light filled the room, this time a stark white. Jasmine's eyes glittered in the light. She was such a studious looking type, fitting into all of her roles so well. Trying to imagine her in any other role was impossible; she was meant to be a doctor, to spend her life at study, to heal, to learn, to teach. Watching the light pass over her smooth, paling tan skin and her shimmering eyes, her long black hair mixed with gold on the end, Frost decided there and then that he had a special respect for her. Friends were one thing, superiors, heroes, and enemies another. But someone who chose a life like hers deserved respect. He didn't know why; maybe it was because she was taking the time to listen to his sorry ass. Then again, it was her job. She was a qualified therapist. Perhaps it was just the way the light had struck her then, and in that light he saw a great deal more strength than he possessed.

"Nathaniel, you know I can't exactly help you if you don't open up about these things."

"It's in the past. I put in its place once. I can do it again."

"It's not that simple."

"It can be."

"If it is," she said, doing her best not to sound sly, "why are you here talking to me?"

 _Damn, she's good._

"Just...you know...taking stock of all my options. I'm not a nutcase. I'm not weak or anything."

"Nate, there's nothing weak about coming to speak to me about issues you're having. I understand you're in a very masculine atmosphere, but-"

"Oh no, not like that, Jasmine. What I'm trying to say is that I'm a soldier. I operate on simplicity." Frost tried to make it sound light-hearted, but Jasmine's face was drawn and intense as the light pass and darkness resumed. He cleared his throat. "Math is how I live my life. If I don't kill the enemy, the enemy kills me, or my buddies. Simple."

"Taking life can't be that simple," Jasmine said in the darkness.

"Most times when you kill, it's in a split second scenario. It's not like in the movies where the whole world stops for you. If you don't _react_ in that moment, you die. Whether or not that person training their sights on you has kids or is kid themselves, if they cured a disease, if they were a hero once, if they were once your buddy, if they're going to try and kill you, you have to pull the trigger. Failure to do so is committing suicide."

He thought about that girl, the first one he had shot before he stepped into the room and opened fire. He thought about all of the people-humans-he had shot, stabbed, strangled, beaten and...worse. He sighed, wondering if all of those scenarios had been life and death decisions.

"You can't reduce it all to math," Jasmine murmured.

"I can. That's how I buried it back then. How we all dealt with what happened on Skopje."

"Tell me about it."

A mixture of bluish-golden light return, weaving around itself. Jasmine was staring at him now, her eyes dark and focused.

"Just, you know, lots of bad stuff."

"Define this...bad stuff," Jasmine said with a little smile. Frost felt more comfortable, but the feeling soon passed.

"If you think the Covenant are monsters, you're wrong. They'll kill you quick. Well, it'll be a brutal, painful death, but it's over pretty quick. Humans? Nah. Humans are far worse. They'll leave you alive after they're done with you."

"Were you...captured? Tortured?"

"No," Frost grimaced, "but a lot of good people were. Tortured."

"Is that what bothers you?"

Frost's eyes fell to his boots. Streams of light passed by, once again leaving them in darkness.

"Yes."

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"  
"No."

"Why?"

"The more I think about it, talk about it, the more I worry that I'll just make the problem worse. Maybe not talking about it is for the best."

"I can assure you that you are sorely mistaken. As your doctor, and your friend, I'd advise you to start coming here regularly for therapeutic sessions. Getting these issues out into the open can only help you."

"I don't know, Jasmine."

"I won't twist your hand."

Frost nodded. He wrung his hands together, thinking.

"You know, for friends we still don't know that much about each other."

"Really? Sometimes I feel like I've known you for years."

"You don't exactly go a-strolling with other marines on the ship, do you?" Frost said, and for some reason instantly regretted the sentence. Light filled up the room and he could see that she was blushing. He felt his own cheeks heating up a little. He cleared his throat. "So, tell me something about you that I don't know."

Jasmine thought for a moment.

"I have synesthesia. Mirror-touch synesthesia."

"What is that?"

"It's a condition observed in hyper-empathetic individuals. Essentially, my mirror-neurons are far more active than they normally would be. For instance, if your friend was in a bad mood, you'd probably sympathize with them, yes? I can _feel_ their mood, their emotional pain, like it was my own. It's also not just reserved for emotion. There's a physical aspect as well. Do you know how when you see someone hit their funny bone, and you get an instinctive ache there? You do? Mine is far more advanced. When I was young, I saw a man get hit by a car that ended up breaking both his legs and twisting them in a terrible way. I felt his pain, like my own legs were breaking. I almost passed out."

"Fuck..."

"Took some time but I've been able to control the feeling. It's difficult sometimes. When I help with the wounded after a battle, seeing them burned and bloodied and screaming, I sometimes feel that pain and that fear and agony. I've had to walk out a few times, just to calm down. It's almost like sensory overload."

"I can understand that. On the battlefield, you've got guns firing, explosions, plasma, voices in your earpieces, guys yelling around you, aliens barking, vehicles driving around, aircraft overhead. It can get to you, make you shut down. If it doesn't, then you just get a couple of bloody eardrums. But why did you become a doctor then, knowing that you'd be exposed to all of that?"

Jasmine shrugged.

"Both of my parents were doctors. I wanted to help people. I wanted to do something more than work as a civilian physician. I wanted control. I wanted to give back. Take your pick. All of the above."

Darkness filled the room again. Frost sighed.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" he asked.

"I mind very much."

"Oh. Gotcha. Sorry."

"Smoking's bad for you."

Frost laughed as the light returned, quickly this time. He turned to face her.

"Soldiering is pretty dangerous too."

"In more ways than one. But in my opinion, you have more to worry about from smoking than from combat."

Frost grinned.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Jasmine flashed him a sideways smirk.

"I meant it as one."

They both chuckled. Jasmine had a tender look in her eyes then; something compassionate and concerned. "I'd appreciate it if you did talk about your experiences. I want to help you, Nathaniel."

"Thanks, Jas, I'll keep it in mind. I want to try and work through it on my own, like I did before. But if it gets troublesome, I'll come here."

"Alright."  
"And uh...if you have troubles, you can, you know, talk to me about them too. If you want."

 _Jesus..._

Jasmine raised an eyebrow.

"Thank you..."

Quiet resumed. Frost inhaled deeply and then turned.

"I think I'll go."

"Wait. Vivian, yesterday, you didn't hurt her?"

"No. Just, shoved her a little. She fell over."

Jasmine nodded but her expression stiffened.

"Please, don't put your hands on her again."

Frost was about to grow indignant. Vivian was the one who had initiated the confrontation; almost everything had started because of her. She had drawn a firearm on him, blamed him at every opportunity, and was no doubt devising some scheme to get him and his squad killed. And here was Jasmine, telling _him_ to step back? It seemed unfair. But he thought about it. Jasmine was looking out for her friend-for both of them. Being in the middle was immensely difficult, Frost imagined. He didn't want to make it worse.

"I won't, you have my word."  
"Thank you."

"Unless she forces my hand, that is."

"That's...understandable, if not so reassuring."

"I'm trying to stay hopeful that things will smooth over. But I don't think she'll let go." He shrugged. "How could she? I mean, in her eyes, I got away with it. Those girls...maybe they didn't deserve what befell them."

"Maybe?"

"They were about to become turncloaks."

"They weren't in our military."

"They are citizens of the UEG. They were defectors; defecting in a period such as this, with an enemy like the Covenant on our doorstep, makes it even worse."

Jasmine nodded.

"That's the math of it, I suppose," she said.

"What do you think?"

"I just told you."

"No, about what I did to Vivian's friends." He sighed. "Vivian's friends. Hell, I don't even know their names."

Jasmine pushed her glasses back up her nose and she looked suddenly sad.

"Sometimes I don't think she even remembers their names."

Just then, the lights outside disappeared. Both noticed the sudden absence, and Frost saw stars instead of blank space. Their slipspace jump had concluded.

"Guess we're here. One more jump and we're done," Jasmine sighed as she went to the switch and turned the lights back on.

"Yeah. Maybe this planet won't be so bad. I'll catch you later, Jasmine. Have a meal with us some time again."

As Frost went to the door, it opened, revealing Vivian. They were practically face to face. Frost observed her smooth, heart-shaped, narrow face. She had the kind of lips that sometimes seemed a little pink, and sometimes disappeared into the color of her face. It gave them the appearance of being a bit more plump, even though they were somewhat slim. Her freckles dusted the upper part of her face and her dirty blonde hair was in a neat bun. Her emerald green eyes shimmered in surprise for a moment, before glowing with anger. Whenever she saw him, she seemed to shake with fury and indignation as her hands curled into fists.

Frost flashed her a grin and brushed by. He remembered a song and began to sing:

" _And oh, you look so tired,_

 _But tonight you presumed too much,_

 _Too much, too much._

 _And if it's the last_

 _Thing I ever do_

 _I'm gonna get you..._

 _Crash into my arms-"_

An alarm began to ring; it was the signal for all hands to go to battle stations. Frost stopped and looked around for a moment before turning to face Vivian, who was still in the doorway to Jasmine's office. She looked perplexed until Decatur's voice flooded the intercom.

"Captain Waters, you are needed on the bridge. We are being hailed for assistance."

"Copy, on my way," Vivian put a finger to her earpiece. "All hands, all hands, this is the Captain speaking. Man your battle stations, repeat, battle stations. I want all aircraft ready to scramble, ODSTs get to your pods, marines, assemble in the hangar. Go!"

Vivian turned to face Jasmine, "Jas, get your medical team ready. I want the med bays prepared for whatever the hell's in store for us." Then she whirled around to face Frost. "And you, get your ass to the hangar, now!"

* * *

Vivian had sprinted to the bridge and was panting slightly when she got there. The alarm had creased as confirmation lights sparked up across the screens and panels on the bridge, signifying that the crew were at their stations.

Immediately, she went to her chair. Before anyone spoke to her, her eyes locked onto the planet in front of them. Surrounding it was a massive field of debris, drifting aimlessly through space. Remnants of Covenant vessels scraped and bumped against the burnt titanium of UNSC ships.

"We missed some kind of party," Tsang muttered.

"Shut up. There are UNSC wrecks out there too," Bassot growled.

Unable to strain her eyes further and find any mobile ships, Vivian checked her monitor. She found at least half a dozen ships; four frigates, a carrier, and a destroyer, staged at several points over the planet.

"We are getting hailed by ground forces on the colony in front of us," Decatur said, pointing with his hat, "its name is Mors."

"Patch them in. Colony world Mors, this is Captain Vivian Waters of the _I'm Alone_ , state your situation."

"Damn glad to see you picked up our distress beacon, Captain," said an exhausted voice. "This is Major General Sacco of the 27th Infantry Division."

"We've received no distress beacons; we've spent the past week or so in slipspace."

"Guess we're just lucky. We had a Covenant fleet come storming in about five days ago. A rescue fleet arrived and took out the fleet, but they were almost annihilated in the process. We've gotten no more enemy ships but they managed to land a sizeable enemy force on the planet."

"Estimated size?"

"We're looking at estimates of around eighty-thousand enemy units, with air, armored, and artillery support."

"Fuck me, that's the equivalent of two MEF's," Bassot whispered.

Major General Sacco continued.

"They've got one large base in a valley with three supporting firebases; sending you map information now."

A second later, grids and maps appeared on the large screen hanging in the bridge. The main base was situated in the center of a triangularly shaped valley; the lines of the triangle were made up of grassy ridges. At each point of the triangle was one of the firebases. Vivian grimaced; the Covenant had chosen an excellent defensive point. They had the high ground and their main facility was out of sight if the UNSC attacked uphill. For boots on the ground to even get eyes on it, they'd have to take the ridges, which mean seizing all three firebases. Images of each firebase appeared; they were heavily defended. Each one had at least a battery of five heavy artillery guns complemented by anti-air and anti-armor assets, not to mention a horde of troops and other equipment. As for the main base, it was already far into development. There appeared to be a refueling and refitting station for aircraft, buildings, supply dumps, and inter-weaving defensive perimeters consisting of walls, bunkers, and towers.

Another image appeared.

"What's this you're sending me, General?"

"That is Camp Havens. It was a large forward operating base we had set up in the case of invasion. It's situated on the grasslands between the Triangle and the capital city of the colony, Calhoun City. Original defensive designs assumed that the Covenant would want areas such as the Triangle for staging areas, so Havens serves as a buffer zone between that staging area and the city. Covenant overran it last night and have been beefing up defenses. I had three regiments defending it but we're running low on everything down here."

"What do you need?"

"More than anything: bodies. I need as many troops as you can give me. Out of around forty-thousand troops, I have a little over half that are combat effective. We're planning a pincer movement on the Triangle and if I divert more than one or two regiments to retake Havens, we'll be too undermanned for a major counteroffensive on the Triangle. If you can get Havens back, it means that we'll be able to hit the Triangle with overwhelming force. Other than that, I need ammunition and air support. I need as much ordnance dropped on enemy positions at the Triangle _before_ my troops advance."

Vivian studied the maps and troop allocations.

"How many men did you have stationed in the capital city itself?"

"I've got at least two thousand troops, twenty-seven hundred if you count the troops that survived the attack on Havens."

 _Only seven hundred got away from Havens? Three regiments equals over nine-thousand men._

Vivian continued to study and formulate and idea. They would need as much muscle as they need for both the assault on the Triangle and Camp Havens. The key would be knowing how to concentrate and divide forces effectively. One wrong allocation could spell disaster for the enter counteroffensive. Attrition was the name of the game.

"General Sacco, wait one." Vivian put a finger to her earpiece. "Colonel Hayes, Major Holst, Captain Ngouabi, I need you on the bridge."

It wasn't long before Major Holst and his second, Captain De Vois appeared. Hayes was right behind them with several of his supporting staff. They were all already in full gear, armed to the teeth.

Vivian relayed the situation to them, showing them each image. "We need to take Camp Havens. But Sacco needs support. For this to go smoothly, we need to divide our forces." Both parties chattered and conferred and formulated a battle plan.

"We can augment Sacco's assault on the Triangle," Holst said, pointing to an area on the map. "They've got a group coming in on the right and on the left. Drop me and my ODSTs here, we can push straight in from the bottom of the Triangle."

"I suggest a pincer move on Camp Havens as well," Hayes began, "draw the army garrison from the city. The Covenant won't be attacking it anytime soon. Attach some marines to their force and have an infantry push from the east into the camp. From the west, we'll have a mechanized assault with marine infantry to walk them in. Both sides will perform a rolling advance, meaning that as they squeeze the Covenant from west and east, they'll also cap their escape routes to the north and south. We'll encircle them and wipe them out."

"What if they concentrate and attempted a breakthrough?" Vivian asked.

"The marines will have plenty of Hornets to support them. The Army garrison in the city will have their own Falcons as well. That's a sizeable air element for attacking Camp Havens. Just for insurance, though, I'll keep one squadron of Longswords and one squadron of Broadswords on standby."

Vivian nodded. It was a sound strategy. Once Havens was secured, they could leave a small garrison and divert the troops to support the assault on the Triangle.

"Alright, let's make it happen. Hayes, how many marines are you adding to the Army element?"

"The entire Vanguard; my best troops."

* * *

Carris had donned her armor with the help of the team. She was glad to be back in it. Her body felt cool and controlled as she walked with a modified MA5B in her right hand and her helmet in her left. Frost and his squad were already up ahead waiting to board a Pelican. The entire hangar was buzzing. Everyone seemed excited rather than apprehensive. Finally, they had gotten the fight they had been raring for. Seeing marines eager for close action was a new experience for her. But seeing all of the smiling, laughing, and energetic faces around her, she couldn't help but feel a bit more energized herself.

When she got close to the squad, Frost put a hand up.

"Hey, you sure you want to come with us? You don't have to."

"I'm sure."

"Well, I won't complain."

"Yeah!" Grant piped up. "Fight with us, it's a good life!"

Carris smiled as she put her helmet on and climbed in. As the others piled in after her, they heard a pair of clumsy feet heading their way. Katz, the young war correspondent came up. He was wearing a ballistic vest with the word PRESS on it in big white letters.

"Whatcha want, small fry?" Steele asked, standing in the rear compartment door of the Pelican next to Frost.

"Can I come with you? I want to get some photos of the battle; see what it's like."

"Buddy, we're in for a slog of a fight and you look like you're about ten years old. I don't think you ought to come along."

Carris could see Frost's reservation. Katz didn't have the slightest bit of stubble on his cheeks and his features were surprisingly young. She was surprised to hear they had such a young correspondent onboard.

Steele snickered.

"Nah, let'em come along."

"Alright. You just keep your head down and stay out of the way. We're not babysitting you," Frost said as he helped the correspondent in. "Alright, Jasper, get us down there!"

* * *

" _I think only in the strange world that makes up the military, could we be pointing guns at one another and then an hour later be joking around again. Maybe it's not the military; maybe it's just those jarheads I fell for. I put a man up against a wall, strangling him, and he still called me 'love,' after. A smart man would have sent me packing. I guess he really is as dumb as he looks"_

 _-Spartan Carris-137, speaking of her squad and Louis-Henry Steele after the war_

* * *

 **Betcha didn't think there'd be another one today. Surprise! I saved it so I could respond to some comments. So let's respond to some comments shall we.**

 **Alpha HighBreed: LEAD SINGER OF A BOY BAND!? How dare you sir? (- If you could read that in the voice of a posh, offended 19th English lord, that'd be great). I'd have you know I chose a song by the famous Al Jolson, the memorable monkey song from 'The Jungle Book,' and a song from 'Fiddler on the Roof,' one of the most famous musicals ever! And from this chapter I chose a song called 'Jack the Ripper,' by Morrissey (most likely Frost's theme song now, either that or 'If You Were There, Beware," by the Arctic Monkeys. Joking aside, I'm sure you picked up on the figurative usage of the songs meant. They're relevant in long term and short term theme, trust me. And to answer your question, a real life MEU consists of 2,200 troops. Colonel Hayes inflated the count to 4,400. Over the course of five years the count is now somewhere above 3,500 to 3,700; I stated it somewhere earlier in the story. The MEU makes up the majority of the task force's complement, with about a thousand or so on the** _ **I'm Alone**_ **, another thousand on** _ **Batavia**_ **, and the rest are divided between the two frigates and the destroyer. There are marines from another unit that originally belonged to the** _ **Best of the Best**_ **, which have now been folded into the 89th. So, essentially, the Vanguard portion of the MEU and the majority of the command staff are located on the** _ **I'm Alone**_ **and the rest are spread out among the ships. As for the Halo Wars vehicles...you bet your ass I'm going to add those in. I consider those to be a part of the canon (Wolverines and Rhinos were featured earlier in the story). They'll work their way in again.**

 **Yep, I noticed that the bromance between Frost and Steele gets a little, you know. I plan on making that a point of humor throughout the story. But for all potential shippers out there (points around at a non-existent crowd) they ain't gonna be a thing. And yeah, it's a big deal that Carris is sociable. Think about it, when does Master Chief ever say a word to other marines aside from orders? Spartans are their own distinct military caste, with little interaction. If you really think about it, can you imagine the impact of such seclusion would have on their social skills? They'd be practically zero. And I'd like to know that thought you were going to finish before getting...kidnapped...how's that going? You gonna be okay? I can come get you if you need help...**

 **Thanks for the tip about the line; totally missed that. I hope a triple asterisk will lessen the confusion. And I'd check out the books; they're pretty good, though they sometimes conflict with the game's canon. And brother, you can't do this to me, you gotta let me know what's going on in that head of yours. And I'm gonna PM you later my friend, I've got news for you. :D It's good to hear from you Alpha, it truly is a delight to read your comments.**

 **MightBeGone: MBG! My friend! I'm glad you're liking the interaction between Carris and Steele; you can go ahead and ship them. Will it ever turn into something in the story...? I'll never tell. ;) And you called it; calm before the storm. I think it's a nice pattern, if a little predictable, don't you think? Helps balance between the Halo action we enjoy and the development and internal struggles of our characters outside of combat. I think the peaks and troughs help me write, help you guys read, and overall keep the story interesting. Tell me what you think though; should I stick to it or maybe try to spice it up a little more often? I like the fact that you and the other readers are very perceptive but I do what you guys to be a little surprised each chapter, like a good series on Netflix or HBO or something. That'd be something, huh? My story becoming a big-name game-adaptation series? If that happened, man, I could just die happy. Anyways, fill me in on your thoughts; it's always good to have you around my friend.**


	24. Chapter 24: The Battle of Camp Havens

Chapter 24: The Battle of Camp Havens

* * *

The grasslands seemed to stretch on without end. A cool wind flew back and forth over the plains, causing the lush green grass to ripple like ocean water. On particularly strong gusts, and as the clouds parted for a moment, the swaying grass would catch the glint of the sun, giving it a white streak.

Camp Havens was the only interruption in this flatland, aside from elongated trench that Frost and the joint Army-Marine assault force occupied. Havens was more than just a firebase; it appeared more like a sandbag fortress. Specs indicated that it had trench networks that were at least waist-deep, with concrete bunkers and platforms for hardpoints along the lines. Sandbags lined the edges of the trenchworks and the pillboxes. Seated on the singular small rise in the land, there was a tiered element to the firebase, with inner, square-shaped defensive networks on the higher land within the base perimeter.

Of course, the Covenant had provided some additions to the base, as well as some subtractions. For the most part, the original hardpoints had been decimated. Pillboxes were smoldering ruins, belching black smoke into the air. Barbed wire surrounding the perimeter had been reduced to torn up tangles, which was a boon for them; they wouldn't be caught working their way through the wire, like some Great War era soldiers in Western Europe. While the Covvies hadn't erected energy shields, they had indeed put practical defensive walls in place of weak points in the line. Through the scope, Frost could see the dark purple sheen of the tall barriers, glinting in the sun.

Something that worried and excited him was that he couldn't see any Covenant on the platforms or poking their heads above the barriers. The mechanized element of the assault was on the other side of the base and they had made a very grand entrance. The idea was to draw as many Covenant troops away from the side the infantry element would assault. Their task force was out of range of the aliens' motion trackers, and had been able to slip in the fleeting darkness of morning. A gray morning it was, with clouds dominating the sky, challenging the sun as it dared to break through. Frost hoped the strategy had worked, otherwise the Covenant were just waiting for them to get close enough to open up with their heavier weapons.

"What's this bloke thinking?" Steele muttered. Frost looked over his shoulder, back down the shallow slope of the ditch. His squad was huddled together at the bottom, as hundreds of marines and thousands of Army troops squatted down on either side of them. Carris stood out like a sore thumb in her armor.

Steele continued, smoking with one hand and holding his sniper rifle barrel against his shoulder with the other. "He's gonna send us with no armor, no air support, not even a fuckin' Warthog, against an entrenched position? The last time I checked, it wasn't 1916."

"Funny, I was just thinking that," Frost said, sliding back down the short slope. "Can't see any Covenant."

"That might be a good sign," Lieutenant Conroy said. Conroy was a trim man with a shaggy beard and equally thick hair that peeked out from under his helmet. He wore black sunglasses over his eyes. He put a finger to his earpiece. "Major, it's Conroy. Spotters aren't seeing any signs of the Covenant on our side. What do you have on your end, over?"

The Major, a man by the name of Pulaski, laughed over the TACCOM.

"Boy, Conroy, you should see them over here. Those Covvies look like they're having a panic-attack. They're scrambling to get on the wall. Commencing attack now, give us two mikes, and then proceed with the assault. Over and out."

Conroy grinned, leaned over, and bumped his fist against Frost's shoulder.

"Two mikes," he said, then called to the others, "two mikes!"

The cry went down the line in both direction. Frost looked his squad over. Their expression held the mixture of emotions that coursed through an individual before combat. Hatred, towards the enemy. Fear of death. Sadness, at the prospect of losing comrades. Eagerness, from the adrenaline pumping through their bodies. Frost knew it was in all of them, because he felt it all too.

Carris was the only one he couldn't read, for obvious reasons. She was entirely motionless, crouched down beside Steele, holding her modified MA5B. Frost scratched his beard, thinking.

"Carris, I think you ought to move further down the line."

She looked up without a word. Frost pointed at a few squads to his left, "Down there are some of the survivors from the attack on Havens. They're pretty beat up. We can't have a weak link in this assault, so back them up when we break through the defenses. Once we've got a foothold, come find us, okay?"

She nodded, her helmet bobbing. She turned a little towards Steele, who offered a nod.

"See you on the other side, love."

Carris gave him a quick thumbs-up, before she moved through the sea of olive drab. Frost smiled.

Time passed quickly. The commanding officer of the Army element in the assault, Colonel Viuu, stood up.

"Once I blow the whistle, everyone goes over the top! Keep your intervals, stick with your sections, and rip those Covvie bastards to pieces!"

Frost and the marines gave a short cheer, one that the Army personnel did not partake in. It wasn't just the survivors who looked battered; all of them did. They had been taken out of the line and put on reserve in the city, as they had done the most fighting up to that point. Thankfully, the city had been unscathed during the orbital engagement and concurrent invasion, meaning the Army group had been able to get at least a day of rest. But one day off the line was only a slight reprieve. Their faces were ashen, some were shaking, some were praying quietly, a few jumped at the sound of the Scorpion cannons on the other side of Camp Havens, and a few lost control of their bowels. Frost felt sorry of them. Fighting on this unimaginable scale could burn anyone out; sometimes it took mere minutes of fighting Covenant invaders to exhaust an entire battlegroup. After five years, Frost was positive he didn't feel burnt out. He couldn't say the same for everyone in the MEU, but his team had always kept their heads even in the worst situations. It made him wonder when their breaking points would come-when his would come.

Colonel Viuu blew the whistle. Frost scrambled up to the top of the slope, but someone grabbed his arm.

"Hold it! Platoon, halt!" Lieutenant Conroy hollered. Frost, feeling quite stupid standing in plain sight at the top of the ditch, looked back down. His squad had been right behind him, but the Army personnel had not bunched.

"What the fuck is this!?" Frost growled angrily as he skidded back down. Colonel Viuu and other officers were moving among their men, barking at them, reprimanding, insulting, and berating them as they snatched them by their vests and their collars.

"Didn't you hear the fucking whistle!?"

"Why aren't you moving, private!?"

"Get on your feet unless you want me to court martial your sorry ass!"

"You want those marines on the other side to get slaughtered! They need you!"

Finally, one of the soldiers spoke up.

"We're all gonna die if we charge head on!"

"Yeah, they're just waiting for us. They'll mow us down with plasma cannons before we even get close to the forications."

"I'm not committing suicide following some asshole colonel's half-baked idea of an assault."

While the officers continued to rally their men, Frost shook his head. He took off his backpack and let it drop on the ground. Next, he took off his first aid kid, then the pouches on his waist and thighs carrying miscellaneous items. There would be no use for IR beacons, NVGs; he even tossed away his rations and canteen. He continued to strip off his excess gear.

"Uh, mate, whatcha doing?" Steele asked, standing in front of him.

"They don't fucking get it, man. It's so fuckin' simple. We get up, charge, and kill them all. What's so fucking hard about that?"

"Come on man, they ain't like us, they ain't done what've done."

"We follow orders, don't we? Remember what Teo used to say? Follow orders or we die?"

Steele scoffed.

"I'm still alive after five years and I think I've ignored half the fuckin' orders I've ever been given."

"Yeah," Frost said with a nervous laugh.

"And remember what Ocampo used to say when Teo would tell us that?"

"Following orders sometimes means you die anyways," Frost, finally dropped the last of his extra pouches. Finally, all he carried with him were his weapons, his armor, ammunition, and grenades. He took off his helmet exposing his hair, now unkempt, wet with seat, and falling around his face. Taking the thin, black bandanna from around his neck, he tied it around his head, keeping his hair from falling down. He took his helmet back but didn't put it back on his head. He made sure his assault rifle was slung around his shoulder and then quickly jogged up to the top of the slope again.

"Whoa, bruv, whoa..." Steele said, coming after him. He slipped a little, falling to one knee; he reached up and clutched Frost's pant leg. "Man, what are you _doing_?"

Frost looked down and smiled a quick, nervous smile.

"Somebody's got to show them how to follow orders."

"What...?"

Frost raised his helmet high in the air, waving it.

"All brave soldiers, all braver soldiers!" he cried. All heads turned to face him. Even the officers paused.

A moment of dreadful silence gripped them all. Frost took a few short breaths. He looked at his bewildered companions, at the surprised soldiers, and Katz, frantically taking photographs.

Looking at them all, Frost shouted as loud as he could, " _Après moi_!"

With that, Frost placed his helmet back on his head, turned around with his rifle in his hands, and began sprinting in the direction of Camp Havens.

* * *

Frost's pant leg was wrenched away as he turned and took off running. Steele stood there, shocked for a few moments.

"Fuckin' hell!" he swore as he stripped off his extra gear and dumped his backpack. He kept looking back up; each time he did, Frost was further away. The others were also taking off their extra equipment, so they could run faster. Steele was the first one done, and as soon as he was, he began running after his friend.

* * *

Carris had heard yelling further down the line. When she turned to look, she saw a figure running off towards Camp Havens. The fleeting shape seemed familiar.

 _Is that Frost?_

She looked back towards the squad. As soon as she did, she saw Steele scrambling over the top of the ditch, sniper rifle in hand, running at full tilt. As soon as she saw him, she got up and began running towards him. Bounding as fast as she could, she soon overtook the others.

* * *

Langley was the fourth one out of the ditch, after Steele, Grant, and then Bishop. Other marines had done the same and were following them too. She would have dropped the radio from her back, but she knew they would need it once they breached the enemy line. As she ran, she was surprised to see the war correspondent Katz, trying to keep pace with them. His hair was a mess, his face had was coated with a sheen of sweat, and he was huffing and puffing as if he hadn't done any running in his life. She felt almost sorry for him. But she was soon distracted as she heard a thunderous sound; she looked over her shoulder and saw a human ocean of olive drab dressed men and women running towards her.

* * *

 _I am Jack the Ripper and nobody knows me._

Frost kept running. His feet pounded against the grass, his breath came out in what almost sounded like growls. Everything to his left and right was a gray-green blurr. All his eyes were focused on was a smalls section of Camp Haven's perimeter. It was a small section of Covenant barriers, with a space between them just wide enough for him to squeeze through.

 _I am Jack the Ripper. Nobody knows me._

He didn't dare look behind him. The last thing he wanted to do was peer over his shoulder to see nobody coming after him. If that was the case, he'd feel mighty foolish as he stormed over the barricade all by his lonesome. For his valiant yet utterly stupid act, they'd probably award him another medal. A posthumous Medal of Honor maybe; he wondered how much that ridiculous hunk of metal would soothe his family's heartache.

 _I am Jack the Ripper. Nobody knows me._

There was no use thinking about them. He couldn't think about the future, nor about the past. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else mattered besides getting to that wall and getting through and killing any Covenant soldier he came across. It wasn't just about getting those reluctant soldiers moving; it was his choice. He wanted to fight his own way, start this battle the way he wanted to. Even his potential death had been his choice. This was it, perhaps, the moment his life had been leading up. From birth, all his childhood, years of warfare, had come down to these next few moments.

 _I am Jack the Ripper, nobody knows me, nobody knows me._ _Nobody knows me!_

Frost bounded over the sandbags and through the crack in the barriers. He had forgotten that there was a trench on the other side, and it took all his strength to prevent the momentum from pitching him into it. But as he looked down he was greeted by the sight of a blue-armored Elite, looking up in what he could only described as dumbfounded surprise.

With a terrific war cry, Frost letting go of his rifle, letting it hang by its strap. He drew his knife in the same instant and leaped down. As the Elite raised its arms to brace itself for the impact, Frost felt the serrated blade sink into the alien's neck. Scrambling and clawing, its roars changed into gurgles as blood leaked from its neck and its irregular jaw. The large alien had been shaking wildly, like a dog trying to shake off rainwater. Frost had clung on for dear life, feeling his brain rattle inside his skull. But the Elite ceased its shaking and sank to the ground, falling onto its side.

Withdrawing his bloodied knife, Frost rose to his feet and climbed out of the trench. He came face to face with a Jackal, who squawked at the sight of him. Frost wasted no time and whipped the knife up; the blade sank into the underside of the Jackal's jaw. He could see the tip of the blade piercing through the bottom of its mouth, as the stunned Jackal's tried to shriek. Staring it dead in the eyes with a look of fury, Frost ripped the blade out, punched the lanky alien as hard as he could, then jammed the blade in the side of its head.

Frost freed the blade and went to another approaching Jackals. As he did, he observed his surroundings. The ground on the other side of the barriers was still grassy, but their were black patches of scorched soil and grass, where plasma fire had raked the defenders. There were craters and bodies, and a surprisingly small amount of Covenant defenders. Frost tackled the Jackal to the ground, knocking away its plasma pistol, before driving the serrated blade right into its chest half a dozen times. Purple blood splashed onto his breastplate, soaked his fingerless gloves, and coated the knife as he freed it.

He heard squealing and barking nearby. Frost jumped to his feet, seeing a squad of Grunts trying to rally. Sheathing the blade in its scabbard, Frost took his assault rifle into his hands and unleashed a long burst, sweeping the barrel in a semicircle. Frantically, the Grunts tried to flee in those few moments but their light armor was shredded by bullets and their blue blood began to splatter onto the ground. As Frost dumped the empty clip, there were at almost ten dead Grunts on the ground.

More alien voices filled the air. He turned and saw an Elite running for him with an energy sword. A moment later, Carris leaped over the barrier and charged at the Elite. She slammed her shoulder into it with so much force that the Elite dropped its sword and was thrown onto the ground. Carris wasted no time; she planted her foot on the Elite's neck and emptied half of the drum magazine into the beast's gut.

"More coming," she said calmly.

"Back to back," Frost ordered. Carris turned around, as did Frost; he stepped back until his he felt himself pressed right up against Carris's armor. A stream of Grunts appeared, charging at the pair. Frost fired in three-round bursts, dropping one Grunt after the other. Carris fired in longer bursts; Frost could see the red dots on his motion tracker disappearing each time she fired.

When an Elite appeared, a sniper round struck it. The bullet tore through the middle of its head, and a shower of skull and brain came out the other side as the bullet exited. Frost looked at the barrier and saw Steele standing there with his sniper rifle. The other members of the squad piled over and pushed through the barrier, followed by the other marines, led by Conroy, and then a wave of Army troops passed over, hollering at the top of their lungs.

As they began to storm through the camp, Steele jogged over, pointing angrily.

"What the fuck was that, mate!?"

"I showed them how to do it," Frost said with a little grin.

"You could have gotten yourself killed!"

"Where's that correspondent," Frost asked. Steele, out of breath and extremely aggravated, through his free arm into the air.

"This fuckin' guy!" he cried to no one in particular, heading off towards the fighting. "Fuckin' hell, Christ almighty, this fuckin' guy!"

Knight, who was standing by, pointed to Katz, who was a short distance away. The correspondent, was on his side, panting heavily, behind a mound of displaced sandbags. Frost went over to him, grabbed him by the rear side of his vest collar, and yanked to his feet.

"Up and at'em, Katz," he said cheerfully, "you want your photographs, you have to come with me."

Katz's eyes were very wide and his breath was ragged. As he stood up, he dropped his camera into the soft ground. Frost stooped over and picked up, putting it back into his hands.

"You stay a little bit behind us, okay? Keep your head down, find solid cover, and move fast if you have to. Come on."

The squad moved out, catching up with Steele, who had taken position in a sandbag emplacement on the inside of the camp. The center of the camp's tiered structure was in ruin; sandbags had been flung all over the place, turrets had been destroyed, and the few buildings present were nothing but splinters. Tents surrounding the tiered center had been trampled and torn apart, with a few poles remaining fix in place pointing in every direction, like decaying skeletons. Covenant were moving about all over the place, finding cover, creating entrenched positions, digging in. From their position, Frost and his squad could see the distinctive shapes of Scorpions rolling over distant defenses on the other side of the base.

Plasma fire been to increase in intensity, forcing them to duck down. Frost looked around, trying to get a grip on his surroundings. Army troops were returning fire as best they could, but the volume of fire was getting heavier by the minute. More soldiers were forced to the ground, crawling and slithering into foxholes and trenches, while others remained exposed or behind sandbag emplacements.

"We need to tip the scales," Steele said as he struggled to get another shot off. Frost ducked back down, looking for options.

"There, look!" Frost said, pointing.

There was a large, concrete cube platform about fifty yards from their position. It only came about ten feet off the ground, but it was surrounded by sandbags, including a perimeter that lined all four sides. Leaning on top of the sandbag wall on top of the platform was an M247GP machine gun that had been knocked from its stand. "We get that turret, we'll be able to lay down suppressive fire and catch the Covenant in the center of the base in a crossfire. Listen up everyone!"

Frost looked his squad. "Steele and I are going for that turret. I want you all to remain here and provide covering fire. Get some heavy gunners and start fortifying this position. I want this to be a hardpoint in five mikes! When we get that machine gun running, the Covenant may counterattack, so this may be the major kinetic point."

"You're going to be exposed up there," Carris pointed out.

"There's Army troops on the other side of that platform pushing through with the troops on our side. If we get into trouble, we'll have reinforcements on both our flanks. Alright, open fire, Steele, let's go."

Frost and Steele took off running down the long defensive line, passing soldiers as they returned fire or were hit by plasma. Grenades detonated, plasma bolts sizzled by, bullets whizzed through the air. Men were screaming in anger and in pain. Voices shouted in his earpiece. Eventually, the pair were able to reach the platform, traverse a pile of wreckage and discarded sandbags and climb their way onto the platform.

Steele dropped his sniper rifle and detached what remained of the turret stand from the M247, and balanced the barrel on the sandbags it was resting on. Frost grabbed a box of ammunition for the machine gun from a nearby supply crate, but it would attached.

"What's the problem? Come on, we need to start firing!" Steele shouted.

"The clip won't fucking attach!"

"Take out the belt, feed it manually!"

Frost did so, opening the top of the weapon and placing the first bullet of the bullet in the proper spot. Steele slammed the top of it down and began firing in short bursts. Frost began pointing out targets, patting the back of Steele's helmet with the palm of his hand when he wanted him to turn in a certain direction. Bullets swept the Covenant positions and bodies began to pile up. The noose was beginning to draw tighter; the infantry assault was slowly but surely advancing, the mechanized assault was grinding the Covenant defenders to powder. Steele kept firing and Frost kept feeding the weapon, pausing only to fetch a new belt. Soon, he could hardly hear anything but the sound of the machine gun firing.

* * *

Carris fired her SAW, cycling the drum magazines as quickly as she could. Every few moments, she found herself stealing a quick look at Frost and Steele up on the platform. She could see their hunched shoulders and their helmeted heads, shuddering as Steele fired the machine gun. Frost was feeding the weapon manually, and would tap Steele's helmet and point at targets. From where she was, she could see Frost's beard and Steele's mustache and both of their clenched white teeth.

Ten minutes passed, then twenty. The advance was grinding slowly but finely. Army troops and marines would assault a Covenant hardpoint in the criss-crossing defensive lines they had driving. They'd toss grenades, perform miniature pincer maneuvers, and storm the positions. The Covenant fought hard and made many squads pay dearly in lives lost, but they were giving ground. She could see troopers duking it out with Jackals, suicide Grunts raising their grenades and charging into foxholes, and Elites swinging their swords before being riddled with lead.

As she reloaded, a series of quick movements caught her eye. Skirmishers were darting forward, avoiding confrontation, heading towards Frost's and Steele's position. First, it was only a group of around five. Then, they were joined by another five. Then another five, and another five, and another five. Carris realized they were going to seize the position, silence the gun, and create a bulge in the assault force's tentative perimeter.

"Frost, Steele, you have Skirmishers heading for your position. Shift your fire to your right, to your immediate three o'clock."

There was no reply. She watched as they continued to fire into the main Covenant force in front of them. The Skirmishers were growing in number, toting plasma pistols, needlers, and needle rifles. A few even carried carbines, which were usually reserved for Jackals.

Carris hailed them again, "Frost, Steele, do you copy? You have a large enemy force heading towards your position. Shift your fire, shift your fire!"

They didn't respond. Maybe their eardrums had been blown out by the sound of the machine gun. It was a loud, jarring weapon, once that could equally hurt the eardrums and cancel out other sounds. But she knew that if she couldn't get their attention, they'd be overrun in an matter of seconds. She looked around for something, anything, that could catch their eye.

Moser was using a battle rifle.

"Switch!" Carris said, dropping her own rifle and holding her hands open. Moser stopped firing and immediately tossed the weapon over to her. Carris snatched it and in the same moment turned back around, aimed through the scope, and fired three three-round bursts; one went over their heads, and the next two struck the sandbags they were leaning on. That caught their attention; both were started by the rounds coming their way, and began looking around. Carris waved her hand and she saw their eyes lock on her. "Skirmishers!" she yelled over the SQUADCOM, "Skirmishers to your three o'clock!"

Frost was the first to stand up and go over to the other side; Carris watched him draw his knife. The fleeting sun caught the blade and a quick glint flashed against her visor. The first Skirmisher ambled over the top, and Frost immediately grabbed it by the arm and jammed the blade into its chest. Another alien jumped up and Frost slashed its throat. A third came at him, and he grappled with it for a moment before stabbing it in the gut. At the same time, a fourth Skirmisher used its strength to jump onto the platform; by this point, Steele had grabbed his sniper rifle and he was holding it by its long barrel. He swung it and clubbed the Skirmisher over the head. When it toppled onto the ground, he brought the rifle back down on its head.

Carris watched as the pair fought side by side, stabbing, punching, kicking, and smashing the aggressing aliens as they jumped onto the platform. They were holding their own, at first. As more Skirmishers began to claw and jump into their position, they began to fall back. Steele's swinging became faster, and Frost had begun to use his helmet as a melee weapon.

Handing the battle rifle back to Moser, she snatched up her own MA5B and began running over as fast as she could. She covered the distance in a matter of seconds, bounding in her advanced armor. With one leap, she jumped onto the platform behind the retreating marines. Frost had grabbed his assault rifle and was now firing point-blank into a growing crowd of Skirmishers. Alien blooded had soaked the sandbags and the concrete under their feet. Frost was moving backwards very slowly, and Steele, holding his sniper rifle with one hand, which took a great deal of effort, and pulling Frost back by his arm.

Taking the initiative, Carris stepped in front of them and held the trigger down. In a sweeping motion, she mowed down several waves of Skirmishers. The bodies began to pile up.

"Pull back," she said calmly.

"No," Frost said, finishing his reload and stepping up beside Carris. He started to fire. "We need to hold this position. Everyone, get your asses up here," he hollered over the SQUADCOM.

Once the Skirmishers had been fought off, the squad had filled into the position and were providing covering fire for the entire advance. Carris slid her MA5B onto the back of her armor and picked up the M247. Standing up in the open and holding the machine gun at waist level, she riddled multiple Covenant positions with suppressive fire. In the distance, the tanks began to approach. As each minute passed by, they came closer, and closer, grinding over dead Covenant troops, rolling over their positions, blasting away at occupied bunkers, and raking retreating aliens with their machine gun turrets. Infantrymen systematically seized Covenant positions. Carris just kept firing until the machine gun ran out of ammunition.

"Hold fire, hold fire," Frost said, waving his hand, 'there's too many of our people in front of us."

"Should we move up?" asked Steele.

"Nope, watch."

The Covenant had been caught in the massive pincer movement. Encircled, they were scrambling to try and find an escape. Some were in large packs, others were separated. Infantrymen and armor closed in around them, picking them off with accurate rifle fire. The crowd of aliens grew thinner and thinner. Grunts were bashed to death by rifle stocks, wounded Jackals were crushed underneath tank treads. A noose the color of olive drab squeezed tighter around the Covenant's neck. Carris watched as the purple, blue, red, and yellow crowd finally disappeared in a sea of olive drab.

Silence gripped the battlefield, save for a few isolated gunshots. Carris turned to face Steele; the sniper was sitting on the sandbag wall, his helmet tipped back. He had a cigarette gingerly placed between his lips, with one hand cupped around it as he lit it. Putting it away and taking a lot drag, he looked over the battlefield with a squint and smile.

"Good show, lads, good show."

He winked at Carris and held out his fist. Carris lightly bumped her's against his. She had no idea if she was talking to them, their fellow soldiers below them, or the dead Covenant soldiers.

* * *

Jasmine walked onto the bridge. Vivian was working with Ngouabi and other members of the bridge staff. They were standing in front of one of the large screens, handing data pads to one another, talking over one another over the comms.

Six and half hours had passed since Camp Havens had been retaken. Shoring up of the defenses was slow going. But the Vanguard of the 89th MEU had remained with a small Army garrison, so they were making some progress. All of the mechanized aspects and the rest of the joint Army-Marine task force had rolled out to support the Triangle. As for the Triangle, the three Covenant firebases had been seized, but at high price. Over three thousand Army troops had been killed, and four thousand had been wounded. Pelicans had been ferrying wounded to hospitals in the city, but the hospitals, both civilian and military, had become overcrowded. Fleets of Pelicans had begun to ferry the wounded up to the ships. Despite the multitude of casualties, the medical bays were still not being filled as much as they could. One might have considered that a good prospect; there were not as many wounded coming in and the medical facilities and staffers would be overloaded. Jasmine had misgivings though; she couldn't get a straight answer from anyone as to why Pelicans were not coming as frequently as they were previously. Assault forces were still trying to wipe the Covenant out in the Triangle, meaning that the casualties could only be mounting. To get answers, she had gone to the bridge.

Waiting until there appeared a lull in the bustling, Jasmine approached Vivian from behind. Vivian looked very different at that point. During their many private conversations, she was the same old Vivian; when she wasn't dealing with her past, she could be humorous, understanding, and a verbal sparring partner. Here on the bridge, she stood firm like a statue. Her voice command respect and attention. Determination dominated her face, authority radiated from her body.

She tapped Vivian on the back of the shoulder. The master of the vessel looked over her shoulder, then turned around.

"What's up, Jas?"

"The Pelicans aren't coming. Is there a hold up?"

"We haven't achieved total air superiority. Banshees are still giving us hell. We've lost some transports."

"Transports carrying wounded?"

"Yes."

"How many?"

"Jasmine..."

"How many?"

"Eleven. Eight crash-landed and the survivors were rescued, two exploded in mid-air, and one crashed but was overrun before ground forces reached it."

"That's somewhere between fifty and a hundred casualties. Jesus Christ, how long until we have air superiority?"

Vivian shrugged and shook her head.

"I don't have an answer for you."

"We can't risk anymore CASEVACs from the Triangle." Jasmine pulled her data pad from her lab coat's pocket, synced with the battle grids, and focused in on Camp Havens. "What we need is to establish a casualty collection point at Havens. The area is secure, so all of the Pelicans pick up any wounded there. A field hospital should also be established to treat critical casualties."

Vivian nodded.

"I'll get it done."

"Right, I'll prepare a team."

"Whoa, wait Jasmine. You're going down there?"

"Yes. My subordinates have the situation under control here on the _I'm Alone_. I can bring a medical team with all of the necessary equipment to set up a field hospital."

"Camp Havens could be counterattacked. We can't lose the chief medical officer."

"Havens is secure enough."

"No, it is not. Jasmine, I'm getting reports by the minute. Defenses aren't finished, Covenant are slipping through the UNSC forces fighting for the Triangle, a counterattack could happen in the next thirty minutes, the next hour, or even tomorrow, we don't know when. I have air units scrambling to refuel and rearm because Covenant air assets are giving them hell. I am telling you that you are not going down there."

Vivian was not speaking harshly. Her voice was concerned. "Please, Jas, don't make this an order."

Jasmine closed her eyes for a moment. She heard concern in his sincere voice. More so, she pictured all of the women and men in uniform, torn, bloody, screaming in agony, waiting for a CASEVAC. How many would die waiting for surgery, or even waiting for a Pelican. Who was she, to sit up on the _I'm Alone_ , free from danger, while they suffered?

"I have to go down there, Viv. I can't leave those men and women to suffer alone. I can't leave my staff to handle the matter without me. I'm their leader, I have to go. I want to."

Vivian sighed her firm posture seemed to deflate. Jasmine put a hand on her shoulder. "Viv, some of those people down there are _ours_. Their our marines, our ODSTs; ours. They need us, they need me, right now. Let me go to them."

"If we lose you, how many will die because you aren't there to save them?"

Jasmine smiled.

"I don't plan on getting lost, Viv."

When she had landed, Frost was not to be seen. None of his squad were present as combat engineers, marines, and GIs arrived to offload equipment. They erected a new city of tents, medical equipment and surgical tables were transferred into them. As soon as they were finished sanitizing the medical tents, seated them on floorboards, set up the equipment, wounded started to pour in. Jasmine had rushed to the entrance to the main medical tent to find a GI walking in with a blood coming out of a gash his stomach. Another man came in missing a leg. A female soldier had lost both of her hands. Soldier after soldier was carried in, coated with blood or covered with plasma burns. Walking wounded were often despondent, trudging along until someone pulled them into the tent. Casualties on the stretchers often writhed and screamed with pain.

Hours passed. Her white lab coat and the exposed part of her sweater became stained with blood. There had been no time to change into scrubs. She must have gone through at least fifty different pairs of gloves. Sweat gleamed on her face on the clean white light they had set up in the tents. All of her clothes felt like they were clinging to her. One patient after another was put in front of her. Cleaning her tools was impossible; they had to rotate sets of tools, sending a used set to be sterilized while a new set was opened up. Blood would leak onto the floorboards and more than one doctor or nurse slipped and gained a large red streak on their pants or on the back of their uniform. Several times, Jasmine couldn't see; when she would push up her glasses, she'd get blood on them. When that happened, she'd have to have an attendant quickly take them off and clean them.

And the smell. The smell was horrible. She thought she had gotten used to it, those few times in the medical bay of the _I'm Alone_. Blood, burned flesh, infected wounds that smelled like moldy cheese, she had already become adjusted to them. Down on the ground, however, the smells were amplified tenfold. As well, the smell of gunpowder, vomit, dead bodies, burning vehicles, and dead Covenant aliens, which smelled much worse than dead humans, mixed together with the scents she thought she had become accustomed too. It took everything in her power not to throw up.

Jasmine was so lost in her work, digging for carbine rifle projectiles and applying radiation treatment, sawing off ruined legs and arms and hands, applying burn cream on flesh so charred it was a blackened, cracked mess, she had no idea when night fell. When the last patient worked on was carted away, a hand grabbed her and shook her by the shoulder.

"Doctor Ebrahimi," said one of her staff, "your shift is over. It's been over for an hour. You need to go wash and rest."

"But the wounded-"

"We have the situation under control. Fighting at the Triangle is still ongoing but the amount of wounded coming back has lessened. Please, go and rest."

Exhausted from hours of nonstop surgery, Jasmine tossed her bloodied surgical gloves away and walked out of the tent. Cold wind brushed against her face and she inhaled, hoping that it would clear the smell from her nostrils. It did not. Slowly, she trudged to where a tent had been set up for the medical staff to sleep. When she walked in, it was pitch black. Nurses, doctors, and other staff members were asleep in their cots, some still wearing their stained clothing. Some hadn't even made it to the beds; a few were slumped back in chairs, a few had even curled up on the floor with a blanket. Jasmine made her way to the rear of the tent, where there was a washroom lit by a dull yellow lightbulb. There were cleaned out oil drums filled with water, as well as buckets of varying sizes. About half were too filled with washed off blood to use, so she settled for a pail of clean water. Jasmine stripped out of her coat, sweater, and pants, which were all splashed with blood that had dried and turned from dark red to brown. Sitting on the floorboards, she felt cold as the wind whistled in and out of the tent. It didn't help that all she was wearing was her undershirt and a pair of military issue underwear. Scrubbing the blood from her clothing was an ordeal, as was getting it off of her skin. Mainly it was on her forearms; she thought there would be some on her hands. She had forgotten about the gloves, but they had been so covered each time she had operated that she was sure the blood had soaked through.

After a while, she just gave up. Some of the blood just would come out and hand washing them would never do the job. A pile of discarded, bloody clothing caught her eyes, so she tossed her outfit into it. She had thought ahead and brought two extra outfits. Shuffling over to where her cot was at the mouth of the tent, with her boots in one hand, and her socks in the other, Jasmine opened up her foot locker and retrieved a new coat, sweater, and a pair of pants. She changed into them, save for the lab coat. Sliding into the olive turtleneck sweater, Jasmine then sat down with her back to the entrance to put her socks back on.

"You should be wearing body armor out here."

Jasmine jumped and dropped her socks. She looked over her shoulder and saw a shadowy figure standing in the tent. It took a few moments of studying the figure to realize it was Frost.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"I just walked up."

Jasmine had listened to dozens of soldiers and staffers pass by; they had made a racket. Frost hadn't made a sound.

Frost stepped into the tent. He was still shrouded in darkness, but some of the light from rear wash room caught him. Jasmine saw dried alien blood on his uniform and part of his face, which was dirty. For some reason, she felt a little nervous as he slowly stepped in front of her and crouched down. "You okay?"

"I've been on my feet for...God, I don't know how long. I lost track of how many wounded I operated on." Jasmine said as she put her socks on.

Frost nodded. She could see him more clearly now, but a shadow cast from his helmet concealed his eyes still.

"You ought to have stayed on the ship."

"No. This was my idea. I'm the chief medical officer and I should be down here with my people."

Frost chuckled.

"You'd make a good combat leader." Frost put her boots on for her and then laced them up. As he did, he said, "What happened if you get hit down here? Hm? Who's going to operate on you?"

"My staff," Jasmine answered, irritated. "Vivian already gave me a lecture."

"Yeah, well, she's right. We can't lose the medical chief."

"I already have chosen a replacement if that happens."

Frost tied the last lace quickly and so tightly that Jasmine winced. "They don't have to be that tight."

"You want'em tight. You don't want to slip or stumble if you have to run. Listen, you're the head doctor. You're not expendable." Frost pointed to himself. " _I'm_ expendable. I'm a marine, my job is to come down here and fight like the devil. Part of the risk is getting killed. Your job doesn't come with a combat risk."

"Of course it does. I'm a soldier too," Jasmine said.

"Not to me," Frost sighed as he stood up, "but there's no persuading you to go up to the _I'm Alone_ , is there?"

"Not a chance."

Frost said nothing for a while. He just stood there, looked down at Jasmine. Jasmine felt very small under his gaze, until he extended his hand down to her.

"Want to see something cool?"

Jasmine didn't say anything, she just slipped her hand into his and allowed him to pull her onto her feet.

He led her back outside, into the cold night. The night sky was a dark purple-blue, with numerous white dots burning in breadth. Jasmine, still being led by the hand, found herself taken down muddy pathways between tents, weaving between foxholes filled with snoring soldiers. Some sat under canvas sheets propped up by poles, huddled around small fire pits. Jasmine just kept her eyes on Frost's back, his outstretched arm reaching back, clutching her hand gently in his. It was like being taken through a dream; the ground had no weight, no structure, beneath her feet, certain sounds and smells suddenly seemed absent, voices were quiet and distorted.

Suddenly, they came to a stop at the corner of a tent. Frost let go of her hand and pointed. Ahead of them, near a half-demolished wooden shack, was a large group of marines. Around a large fire, a few were playing mournful songs on guitars, while the others sang.

"Who're they?" Jasmine whispered.

"Some of my friends in the 89th. They're Russian. After a battle, they play music, and sing, and dance."

Jasmine watched, entranced by the sorrowful melody that the Russians sang in their mother tongue. Their bodies swayed a little, a few had their arms around a companion or two, and their faces seemed so young and distant from the battle they had partaken in earlier that day. It was as if the war had been completely forgotten.

Then, as the song ended, a few that had been sitting jumped to their feet. Those holding guitars started to play a faster, more upbeat song. A few began to dance, then a few more, and then all of them started. They twirled, cartwheeled, stamped their feet, clapped their hands.

A smile crept onto her face. It was a mystifying yet beautiful sight. She looked up at Frost, on her left, who looked down at her with a sad smile.

Somehow, Jasmine had been able to sleep once Frost returned her to her cot. It was the deepest sleep she had ever had. One that had no dreams, no interruptions, just a constant blackness. Of course, she was inevitably woken up. Instead of heading to the medical tent, she found herself taking charge of the evacuation of the wounded. Casualties that had been treated throughout the night and had been stabilized were being transferred from the medical tents on the western side of the camp to the LZ on the eastern side, which had been cleared so that multiple Pelicans could land and dust off.

With a data pad in hand, she set about cataloguing the names of the wounded, the number that were placed on each Pelican, types of wounds, and how many flights were taking off at a time. Every time a med-flight would leave for the ships residing in orbit, she would sent a report to the _I'm Alone's_ combat center on the bridge. It was a time consuming process. Hours once more passed as she focused on her work. Jasmine was glad to be busy with administrative duties rather than medical duties for a change. With all the time they spent traveling in slipspace, she had become extremely bored dealing with reports that summed up the same thing day after day after day. There was hardly anyone to treat during those times. Certainly, there were wounded to take care after battles, as there were some who had been worse off than others. Some soldiers needed physical therapy and adjusting to robotic prosthetic limbs. Jasmine was skilled in robot prosthetics but she was leaving many duties to her staff; many were experienced veterans of military medicine, yet a large portion of the medical staff who, while highly skilled, needed to gain more experience. Jasmine sometimes laughed at that thought; she was fresh from Luna too, and she didn't have much experience. Well, she had some. Plenty of times, opportunities opened up for medical officers still in training to go out and operate on actual wounded personnel trickling through the system from distant battles. Not many medical officers wanted to take the time to partake, as they were concerned about balancing their training. Jasmine had taken the risk and it had paid off.

By mid-afternoon, over a dozen flights of Pelicans had come and gone. Jasmine stood in the LZ, tapping away on her data pad. It was still chilly because of the wind and the gray clouds that had hung in the sky since she had arrived had her concerned. Rain could making the living conditions in the camp, which were already poor, much worse. Most of the tents were reserved for the wounded and the medical staff. Army soldiers and marines were living in trenches, foxholes, and ramshackle shacks, as well as the open air. Rain would muddy the ground even further. She sent a request with her latest report for more tents, sleeping bags, food, water, extra clothing, and blankets. Blankets were the biggest issue. Before they they had parted way the previous night, Frost had implored Jasmine did get more blankets. Most had been given to the wounded, leaving only a few for the garrison. She had promised to help them.

Jasmine headed back to the western area. Fog was beginning to roll in. The Triangle, which was just some ridges in the distance, become invisible in the thick, gray fog. Explosions would create an orange glow in the gray blanket every so often. The report of the big guns made her gut tighten.

As she stepped away from the tent city and took in her surroundings, she heard a strange noise.

"Banshees!" a cry rang out. "Incoming! Find cover!"

Jasmine looked to the sky. Just as she did, streaks of rapid-fire blue plasma riddled the ground. Large, green bolts descended from above and smashed into the camp grounds. Banshees swooped in from all over, firing down.

Running from tent to tent, Jasmine shouted orders.

"Evacuate all the wounded!" she cried. "Get them into the trenchworks and foxholes! Move, move, move!"

They were lucky; with all of the med-flights coming in, the amount of wounded in the camp had been decreased. There were no critical cases and no ongoing surgeries, as the battle up at the Triangle was beginning to stabilize.

Jasmine kept running to each tent, yelling orders. All of her staff would run out with the wounded, diving into cover alongside GIs and marines. She stayed in the open, directing everyone to safe spot. With the tents empty and most of the garrison in cover, Jasmine realized, as she dodged plasma fire, she was the only one not in cover. But she refused to get into a foxhole. She wasn't going to until she had checked every tent for wounded. Racing from tent to tent, she would call for anyone inside, and if she got no answer, she would go onto the next. The inner part of the tents were usually organized and well spaced, so it was impossible to miss anyone by sight if they didn't respond to her voice.

When she was absolutely certain that the tents were clear, Jasmine turned to find cover. Banshees were still firing into the tents; some had been shot to ribbons, a few were on fire, and a few had been reduced to smoldering craters. A part of her was already worrying about the medical equipment that had been lost.

Jasmine was running as fast she could. But she heard a Banshee soaring by overhead, heard the tell-tale _whump_ of its projectile cannon, and felt a massive concussion behind her. As she was forced forward, she let out a pained cry. It felt was thought a thousand hot needles had just pin pricked her back.

Falling onto her stomach, Jasmine groaned from the pain. She had been knocked somewhat senseless by the concussion from the plasma projectile's impact. She didn't need to see her back to know what happened; plasma burns. She had been burned from her tailbone all the way up to her should blades. The pain was bad and she almost vomited from the smell of her own blistered skin. Yes, it was blistered, she realized. The burns, for the most part, were second degree burns. Blistering and some skin loss; she could feel the spots where the skin had been especially scorched, as they hurt worse than the others. Her entire back felt strange alongside and she could feel the disfigurement.

She needed to get to one of the medical tents and find the cream they used for such burns. But just before she was about to start dragging herself to the nearest tent, she heard an odd squawking sound. Jumping over an unoccupied part of the western defensive line were a trio of Skirmishers. They were toting needle rifles and looked around. Jasmine remained as still as she could; it took all of her strength to remain quiet despite the pain gripping her back. The three bird-like looking aliens were looking around, as if they were taking stock of the situation. There were no UNSC troops in sight.

Jasmine stayed still. They still thought she was a dead body. One wrong twitch and they would see and she would be dead. A minute passed, and the three aliens still just stood there. Were they just playing with her? Did they know? Her pistol was still in its holster, maybe she could quickly grab it and take them out. No, they'd shoot her before she could even get it out of the holster.

Jasmine, with the side of her face pressed into the dirt, saw something move in the fog covering the ruins of the camp. At first, the figure disappeared a few times. Then there was a shadow in the fog, moving towards her. As it approached, she spotted the iconic armor of a UNSC marine. He was running without a weapon, or at least that's what it looked like at first. There was a large knife in his hand. The sprinting figure drew closer and Jasmine finally realized who it was: Frost.

The Skirmishers didn't see him until it was too late. Without making a sound, Frost tackled the first Skirmisher to the ground and drove the knife into its face several times. When the one standing right beside the turned to fire, Frost let go of the knife, leaving it in the dead alien's face, and smacked the barrel of the needle rifle away. He landed several solid punches to the second Skirmisher's face, before he tripped it, and curb stomped it right on its jaw. The last one had been trying to line up a shot, but Frost was too fast. He drew his pistol with lightning speed and fired one shot, hitting the nimble beast right in the head. It dropped to the ground. Frost then fired another round into the second Skirmisher, just for good measure. Holstering his sidearm and sheathing his knife, he went to her.

"Oh my God," he said, "I'll, I'll get you someone. Hold on."

"No, no," Jasmine groaned through gritted teeth. "Pick me up and bring me to the nearest medical tent."

"Counterattack!" a cry rang out, "Covenant counterattack! Man the line!" Soldiers emerged from their foxholes and ran to the sandbag wall, setting up machine guns and opening up ammo crates.

Frost bent over and picked Jasmine up. He hefted her across her shoulders and began jogging to a tent. The movement was painful and the cold air made the burns on her back wrose. As he moved, he couldn't help but jostle her. Her glasses ended up falling off her nose.

"My glasses," she said weakly. Frost stepped back with her still on his shoulders, bent his knees, and picked them up. They had landed in a patch of grass, so they weren't muddy.

"Oh shit, oh shit..." Frost kept murmured to himself.

Finally, they reached an undamaged empty surgery tent. Frost put Jasmine stomach-down on one of the tables gently as he could.

"There's no time to get one of the doctors, I need you to do it," Jasmine said through gritted teeth, trying to deal with the pain.

"Okay, okay, okay, okay..." Frost panted, "Okay, what do I do first?"

"First, I need you to...hey, Nate, look at me, I need you to calm down first. Okay? Just take a couple of deep breaths."

"Okay."

"Deep breaths, slowly."

"Okay, okay."

"Slowly."

Frost did as he was told. As he did, he took off his helmet and his gloves. Jasmine nodded.

"There are some blue medical gloves on the table over there. Sanitize your hands and put them on."

Frost did so and went back over to her.

"Now what?"

"I need you to tell me how my back looks. My clothes feel pretty burned through, I can feel air on my skin. If there's any clothing left on my back though, cut it away. There are some scissors-"

Frost took out his knife and with a few swipes of his blade, cut away the remainder of burnt clothing from her back. "You're doing fine, Nate," Jasmine said, "now tell me how it looks."

"There are some, uh, some blotches. There's two at the bottom, a big on, on, uh, on the left side of your back, and a medium one at the base of your neck. There's blisters everywhere else. There's some weird black shapes in the blotches."

"Damn. Okay, Nate, that means my sweater melted in a few spots. There are a pair of forceps on the stand to your left. Use that to take out the pieces."

Frost did so. He didn't have a nurse's touch, and his hands were shaking. But he managed to remove the melted bits of sweater.

"I got them out."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, yeah I am."

"Okay. You're doing great. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

"Good. Now we need to make sure the wounds are clean. I need you to apply antibiotic cream. After that, get the burn cream. Apply that to my entire back; double for the blotches. Once that's done, we'll apply the bandages."

"Do you want pain meds?"

"No, save that for the other wounded. I need my head clear."

Jasmine, laying on her stomach, looking out the entrance of the tent. She could see marines and GIs manning the sandbag wall side by side. Covenant infantry forces were attacking _en masse_ , thankfully with armor support. Their air support had departed. It was all she could watch while Frost applied the antibiotic cream. It was excruciating; all she could describe the new pain as was another kind of burning. When Frost applied the burn cream, she was still in pain from the touch, but the cream itself was cool and soothing. It didn't alleviate all of her agony, but it helped. Once her entire back was coated, she propped herself up.

"We're almost done, okay Nate?"

"Okay."

Jasmine looked down. While her lab coat, sweater, and undershirt had been burned through in the back, the unburned remnants remained on her arms and torso. If someone had looked at her from the front, they wouldn't have guessed her entire back was exposed.

Waiting until a wave of pain passed, Jasmine inhaled and looked at Frost.

"We need to bandage my back. We need to wrap them around my entire torso all the way down to my stomach. Help me take off my shirt."

"But-"

"Nate, just do it, this is no time to-" Jasmine stopped herself from snapping. She smiled kindly. "It's okay, Nate. Just help me do it. We're almost done."

Frost nodded. He looked very young then, not like the man she had spoken to last night. It was like he was a scared child almost, unsure of himself, unsure of what to do.]

As he carefully removed the coat, two of her staff members rushed in.

"Ma'am, are you alright?"

"Do you need help?"

"I've got second degree burns on my back. Sergeant Frost is going to help me bandage them."

"We'll take it from here," said one, stepping forward.

"No!" Jasmine said sternly, "I want Sergeant Frost to do it. You two get back out there and start getting the wounded to the LZ. I want them out of here."

"Yes, ma'am."

With that, both of her staffers departed. Frost had paused during the exchange. Jasmine smiled at him.

"Keep going."

Frost took off what remained until her entire torso was exposed. Jasmine would have felt embarrassed to be half-naked in front of a friend such as him if she wasn't in pain. She watched his eyes avoid her bare breasts as he went to get a roll of bandages.

"Do, do I have your permission to-"

Jasmine laughed.

"Are you seriously asking for permission to put your hands..." she sighed. He was trying to be gentlemanly. "Yes, you have my permission." He nodded and took off the gloves, as the gloves were now slick with burn cream. His bare hands began to delicately wrap the stark white bandages from her tailbone, up the small of her back, then to the middle. His shaking hands paused as he brought the bandages around to her chest. Jasmine reached out, took his hands, and helped him wrap them around her. After that, they covered the last few spots. Jasmine breathed a sigh of relief. Frost was red in the face and sweating.

"Thank you, Nate," she said, shaking from the pain.

"You can't sit there in bandages," Frost said. He took off his armor and vest, unzipped his light green, digital camouflage shirt and began to delicately help her into it.

"I can find something."

"No time."

Jasmine didn't fight him. When it was on all the way, he zipped it up for her. His torso armor and pauldrons remained on the floor. He picked up his bandolier of ammunition and threw it over his shoulder. He was now left wearing an olive drab t-shirt. After putting his helmet and gloves back on. Frost stood there, staring into Vivian's eyes for a few moments, panting.

"I was scared shitless," he said finally.

"I know."

"I lost my senses a bit. I have medical training but..."

"Nate, it happens. When a friend is hurt, you can't help but scramble to help them and forget a few things. It could happen to anyone."

He nodded.

"Just glad you're okay."

An explosion went off behind them at the defensive line. Frost looked over his shoulder. Jasmine looked past to him and was shocked. There was a horde of Covenant slowly approached the sandbags. The defenders were outnumbered; they were frantically tossing grenades, firing grenade launchers and rocket launchers. Hundreds of Covenant were falling by the second, filling the open field ahead of them with bodies, but hundreds more took their place.

Frost looked back at Jasmine then. She saw that his face was ashen. He didn't look scared anymore, just grim.

He knelt in front of her and put a hand on her knee.

"Take out that sidearm."

Jasmine reached down and retrieved the pistol. Frost nodded. "You know how to use that, right?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now listen to me very carefully. I want you to sit here and not move. I don't know if we can hold the camp."

"Nate-"

"Listen to me-"

"Nate-"

"Listen to me, _listen to me_. I don't know if we can hold. If we can, we'll need you to treat the wounded. But if we can't..." he took a sharp breath. "Jasmine, if you see even one Covenant soldier break through, if you see even one slip past us, that means we're done for. When you see that, _if_ you see that, you turn around and run to the LZ. You run as fast as you can, and you don't stop for anyone. Not for the wounded, not for your staff, not for anyone. You run until you get into a Pelican, and if they won't let you on, you put that gun in their face."

He got a little closer then. "And if you get surrounded by Covenant, if they destroy the Pelicans, don't try to go down fighting. They'll kill you quick but it'll be a painful, painful death. You get surrounded, you put the barrel of that pistol in your mouth and shoot yourself, understand?"

Jasmine stared at him, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly open. He was frightening her, more than she was when those Skirmishers had been standing over her. But she nodded all the same, understanding the gravity of his words. That's when it all sank in. She was in the war now. She wasn't on the _I'm Alone_ feeling the ship shudder as Vivian destroyed Covenant ships. She was down on the planet, with the Covenant forces at the gates, and there was a chance that she was going to die. This was a war she was in, not some job on a starship.

Frost put a hand on her shoulder.

"You understand?" he asked again.

"Yes."

"Okay, I'm going to be just over there, alright?" he pointed to the defensive line, where his squad was. She could see Carris in her armor and Steele firing that sniper rifle. The others were also firing and ducking down to reload.

"Okay."

Frost gave her a quick smile.

"I'll talk to you soon, Jasmine."

He stood up and ran over to the firing line.

"Wait!" Jasmine called, "Nate, your armor!"

He either didn't hear or didn't care. Jasmine remained sitting on the table, like he had told her to do. She watched the battle unfold. The Covenant were now within melee distance. The marines and their Army cousins had formed a wall along the sandbags, and were now fighting back with knives, shovels, hatchets and other melee weapons. Elites armed with energy swords and daggers would appear, threatening to break through. Luckily, a shotgunner would appear to take them out with one or two blasts from their weapon. Suicide grunts would make the defenders retreat for a moment, but after the blue plasma explosion, they would refill the gap before the Covenant could exploit the breach. Every time a soldier fell, Jasmine winced. It was so quick, the way a man would die. If she blinked, someone would fall. It was as if a gust of wind, carrying death itself, would sweep through a soldier, snatching their soul away, and he would crumble to ground as if there was nothing left inside him. Wounded men would stagger away, a hand clamped over a bleeding eye, both hands pressed on a gut wound, limping from a leg wound, dragging themselves. Medics and corpsmen would quickly treat them and whisk them away. Some of them refused to be evacuated; soldiers with with bandaged eyes, legs, and arms would hobble back over with their weapons and continue firing.

Hours ticked by. Rain began to fall, causing the fog to turn into patches of mist that would float along the battlefield. Jasmine remained frozen to her spot on the tale. They were doing everything they could, all along the western line, to prevent the Covenant from breaking through. Soon, UNSC troops were on the other side of the sandbag wall, digging trenches and foxholes as they fought. They would fight off the Covenant with melee weapons, then dig while the soldiers behind the sandbag walls covered them. When the Covenant charged again, they'd fight them with everything they had again. Jasmine saw men screaming and howling as they fought; their eyes bulged, they bared their teeth like vicious animals, they clawed and bit and punched and kicked and strangled. She could see Frost with his knife, fighting like a madman. In one hand was that blade and in the other was his helmet. He would bash a Skirmisher with the helmet and then finish them with the knife. Her eyes remained fixated on him. Sometimes he would disappear in a throng of humans and Covenant, lost in the mass of bodies, and then would appear, flailing and stabbing and screaming.

Night fell once more. More soldiers from the rear of the camp were brought up. More wounded joined the line. Streams of personnel ferried ammunition crates to the western line. Jasmine couldn't take it anymore. She jumped to her feet and walked over to the line, pistol raised. A gap opened up between Steele and Bishop and she squeezed in, emptying the clip into a crowd of Grunts that were approaching the half-dug foxholes right in front of the sandbags. Muzzle flashes and streaks of plasma lit up the night. She couldn't even see if she was killing anyone. The ground was covered with bodies. She couldn't even see the grass beneath them, there was just a field of dead Covenant throwing themselves at the UNSC defenders. Bodies were slumped over the sandbags, were being used as cover in the foxholes by the marines. She kept firing.

"What the fuck are you doing!?" Jasmine was pulled to the side and found herself face to face with Frost. His wet face was blackened with mud, his t-shirt was ripped in several spots, and his forearms were coated with alien blood of various colors.

Jasmine couldn't answer. She was out of breath, practically in shock from her face taste of ground combat, and the pain still gripping her back. Frost turned her back around; she guessed he was allowing her to stay on the line.

A flare was fired upwards and it lit up the night. Hundreds, thousands of bodies littered the field in front of her. It was a field of the dead. She fired at a group of Grunts and killed two.

Killing was something she thought she'd never have to do, or at least she thought. Still, she had prepared for it, prepared for a time when she would have to take another life. Maybe it wouldn't be at the end of a pistol, perhaps it would be when she made her first mistake in a surgery. One wrong nick and she'd cut an artery, causing the patient to bleed to death. Or it was something different. She had heard tales of soldiers who knew they weren't going to survive, who knew their last few moments in life would be tormented by unbearable pain. Those soldiers had asked the doctors standing over them to put them out of their misery. And what could a doctor do but listen to a dying man's last wish? Who wanted to spend their last breaths suffering? At least they could to choose. So the doctor would fill up a syringe with a heavy amount of pain medicine, inject the soldier, and watch them fall asleep, forever. Taking life like that terrified Jasmine. The very thought made her wanted to retch. But as she watched those two shrieking aliens drop dead onto the bodies of their companions, she felt no shock, no shame, no fear, no amazement at what she had done. All she did was line up another shot as best she could.

More flares, more bullets, more bodies. The night dragged on. Suddenly, the Covenant appeared to pull back.

"Cease fire, they're treating!" someone called.

"No," Frost muttered, his voice ragged, "look."

A wall of light appeared. Jackals were standing side by side, locking their shields together in a phalanx. Their shield wall held no vulnerabilities; there were no convenient spaces to fire through. Even their feet were safe behind their wall. When the massive phalanx, three shields tall, was fully formed, it slowly began to move forward.

"Explosives!" Frost cried, "We need explosives! Does anybody have any grenades left?"

"Negative! No frags!"

"No frags here!"

"Out!"

"Rockets, grenade launchers!"

"Out! Nothing! What the fuck are we going to do!?"

"Focus fire! Pick a shield and unload onto it."

Focusing their fire only worked so well. Jackals were weak enemies; the only threat they posed other than their marksmanship skills with their ability to work in groups and use their shields. Covenant wrist gauntlets provided a small but powerful shield. It took a at least a full clip or more from an MA5C to weaken one, or a considerable amount of melee damage. When a shield was depleted, it only took a few rounds to drop the exposed user. But as soon as one fell, another took its place. The phalanx was guarding more Jackals behind them, who would rush forward to fill the gap. They were learning, adapting. If they got close, the Grunts, Skirmishers, and Elites behind them would over the line and they would be dead. Jasmine didn't have to be a marine to figure that one out. With no explosives, it'd be impossible to derail the line, or at least she thought.

"Going to have to do this the old fashioned way," Frost said. "Listen up! Get your melee weapons ready and close quarters weapons. SMGs, shotguns, assault rifles, and pistols. We're going to break through their phalanx before it gets close."

He turned to Jasmine. "You stay right here and cover us."

"Nate-"

"Stay."

Frost was holding a battle rifle instead of an assault rifle. He had snatched it up during the fighting. He now handed it to Jasmine, taking her pistol. "Everyone ready!"  
"Hoo-ah!" came a massive cry down the line.

" _Après moi_!"

As he jumped over the sandbag wall, Frost took his knife and clenched the hilt between his teeth, as if he were a pirate about to board a prize by the swing of a rope. Jasmine watched the events unfolded. Frost led the charge of what could only be over a thousand marines and GIs against the Covenant phalanx. They threw their weight against the shields, firing rapid fire weapons and shotguns point blank, creating breaches in the shield wall. When the gaps opened up, Frost and his troops swarmed in. Jasmine watched in the light of multiple flares as they slashed and stabbed Jackals and Skirmishers. In a matter of minutes, all along the western line, the phalanx was broken down. The blue and red lights of their shields winked away and the marines and GIs were standing on piles of alien corpses, shooting and stabbing still. Grunts ran all around, shocked by the charge. Elites were swarmed by groups of soldiers, five or ten at a time, were viciously tackled and pulled to the ground, and were pummeled to death. Retreating Jackals were ripped apart by blades and blunt objects. Men were fighting tooth and nail, tripping over the field of corpses.

"Fall back, here they come again!"

All of the UNSC personnel, now that the phalanx had been obliterated, returned to the foxholes and the sandbag wall. The Covenant had recovered and another wave was coming. Jasmine braced herself, wondering if they could hold. She looked to Frost, who stood beside her. Despite everything, he stood firm and diligent. He hadn't faltered once. He didn't look like a little boy now. He looked _alive_. His silver eyes were gleaming, his face was utterly focused yet full of life. The flares went out, shrouding them in darkness once more.

The Covenant came rushing at them, screaming and shrieking in their strange language...until dozens of fiery explosions ripped through them. Jasmine and the rest looked to their lefts as another flare was launched. Charging through the rain and the mist was a large formation of Scorpions.

"Those beautiful sonsabitches!" someone cried.

"It's Emery!"

A red haired tanker appeared as the tanks halted in front of their position, firing their machine guns into the broken up horde of attacking Covenant. The Covenant's spirit was broken, and they were now retreating to the north. The red-haired tanker, Energy, as the others knew him, waved a hand.

"Let's finish them off!"

A triumphant cheer filled the air and the troops charged over the sandbag walls and out of their foxholes. Jasmine found herself dragged along with them, in a sea of of olive drab and camouflage, and was hoisted on top of Energy's tank, alongside Frost and his squad. She was too tired to stand though; as the tanks began rolling forward after the fleeing Covenant, she fell backwards, sitting on one of the large armor components on top of the rear tread. The Scorpions cut swathes through the mass of aliens and the troops on top of them began firing down into them. Men and women laughed and hooted and hollered and roared as they fired indiscriminately, mowing down the aliens. Hundreds upon hundreds were gunned down or grinded to bits beneath Scorpion treads. Jasmine watched and watched. The soldiers around her, Frost and his squad included, resembled animals once again. Their mouths were wide open, their eyes were wide, they were screaming, they were eagerly, happily, shooting at their enemies. All of that fear they had felt had culminated into anger and joy, joy at having survived, anger at the Covenant for trying to kill them, and the emotions intertwined on their faces. They fired until their primary weapons were empty, and they wouldn't stop to reload; they'd draw their sidearms and continue to fire. They screamed and laughed, firing away. The rain continued to fall and the mist continued to swirl, making the yellow muzzle flashes appear ghostly as the cold gray light of dawn finally appeared.

* * *

" _I took some of the most iconic photographs in my time with the task force during that battle. Sergeant Frost standing on top of the barricade, the Scorpions breaking through the mist at dawn...they're amazing pictures, let me tell you. But I look at them now and remember how terrified I was, how terrified we all were. That's something these pictures will never show you."_

-Matthew Katz, speaking of the Battle of Camp Havens

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Well, this was a lot of fun to write. I hope you enjoyed it. I was able to catch a break and devote some time to typing. Probably not gonna have another chapter anytime soon though, so hopefully the length could make it a bit more bearable. If there are a few mistakes don't be surprised, I was typing this pretty fast and the look my fiancee is giving me (you know, that angry 'why haven't you made dinner yet' look) is telling me I don't have time to edit.**

 **Onto the comments, then. Let's see...**

 **chase8999: Uh, brother, listen, you need a longer break than that. I have no idea what kind of infernal device you're making in there but I just have a bad feeling about it...just don't blow anything/anyone up? Okay? Seriously? Please? Pretty please with sugar lumps on top? Well maybe not sugar lumps, but maybe...ah forget it look just don't KILL anyone!**


	25. Chapter 25: A Legend's Last Stand

Chapter 25: A Legend's Last Stand

* * *

The rain had finally stopped. Camp Havens was now a blasted battleground. There was hardly a tent left standing, most of the sandbags had been demolished, and the tiered structure in the center had been completely flattened by the aerial attack prior to the infantry assault. An hour and a half had passed since the Scorpions had arrived. Marines and army troops were now resting all over the place. Some were huddled around the tanks, trying to warm up from the heat their engines gave off. Many were in the foxholes, under blankets and canvas sheets, asleep side by side. Some had managed to construct a few measly sheds and shacks, that were more or less just four pieces of wood put into place with a sheet of metal or wood balanced on the posts as a roof. Others had tied up thinner poles and draped a canvas sheet over them. There was no concentrated group, everyone was scattered around the inside of the camp. No one was outside; the Covenant dead were still out there, unmoved, bloated, soaked with rainwater, covering the entire field. Each little group of marines or troopers sat around a small fire, which danced in the breeze.

Jasmine was with Frost and his squad, resting underneath a canvas sheet on three poles. Grant was sitting beside Moser, with his arms folded on his knees and his head lowered. Moser was laying on his side, practically curled around Grant, sleeping on his helmet. Bishop and Maddox were sitting shoulder to shoulder against a small supply crate they had pushed under the canvas; they were under the same blanket with their heads leaning against the other, sleeping. Knight was lying down near them, holding a picture of his wife and son in one hand. He stared at it, his hand shaking a little. Langley was next to him, sitting up, staring off into the middle distance. Frost was sitting beside Steele, his head on his knees, asleep. Steele was awake and smoking. Carris was sitting with her back to Steele's left, acting as a wind barrier. The armored operative did not move. She had removed her helmet though, and her black locks swayed in the breeze. Her expression was unreadable. Jasmine walked over, holding a pair of canteens.

"Took a bit of scrounging, but I found some clean water."

She handed one canteen to Steele, and the other she gave to Langley. Members of the squad who had been sleeping woke up, took a sip, and then went back to sleep. Frost was the last one to take a swig from a canteen and handed it back to Jasmine as she sat down beside him.

"How's your back?"

"Hurts. I think the bandages are wet. I tried to find some but the wind knocked over the last few tents in the night. It's impossible to find anything."

"We'll get you back on the first Pelican and get you back to the _I'm Alone_. They'll fix you up."

Frost seemed to think for a moment.

"I saw you getting all those people out of the tents. That was one of the bravest things I ever saw."

"Anybody else would have done the same."

"I didn't see anybody else racing through plasma bolts to usher people from the tents."

Jasmine said nothing. She was just glad no one had been caught in the tents.

Silence returned to the camp. Every so often someone coughed, or a wounded soldier would moan, followed by a hushed voice. A brief conversation sprung up here and there.

"Hey, Frost," Steele said suddenly.

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember the time when we were on that planet...uh...Romy?"

"The one with all the taigas? Colder than anywhere else we've ever been? Yeah."

"Remember how we came across that snowy town and were stuck there because of the weather?"

"Yep."

"Remember how there was only one toilet in the house we were in, and the pipes were only unfrozen for an hour each day? And there was twenty-seven of us in that house?"  
"Yeah, and if you tried to flush when the pipes were frozen the toilet would clog. Everyone would rush to the bathroom at midday because that's when the pipes were unfrozen, and everyone would try to take a shit in thirty seconds."

"Man, that house fucking _reeked_ , eh bruv?"

"Yeah."

Both men laughed. Jasmine grimaced at the thought.

Katz walked up to them. He was filthy and looked thoroughly exhausted. His camera hung around his neck by its strap and he was slouched over. Dirt clung to his thick hair which spilled over his face. Jasmine and the squad looked up at him as he knelt by the fire.

"Hey, lad," Steele greeted, "how'd you fair in the night?"

"I keep wanting to throw up but I don't have anything in my stomach."

"Yep," Frost said, matter-of-factly, "that'll pass soon."

"I kindly doubt that," Jasmine muttered, feeling quite sick herself. That made Frost laugh as he took off his helmet and bandana. Katz flopped onto his side right next to the fire and fell asleep almost at once. "Poor guy."

She regretted the statement instantly. It had been a reaction, said without thought. But here she was sympathizing with the correspondent who hadn't done any fighting, while soldiers who fought like devils and worked like horses sat around her. If her words had annoyed anyone, she couldn't tell. Maybe they were too drained to care. Or maybe they felt the same way about Katz. Frost didn't seem the type of man to get too upset over words. Everyone had their limits, of course, but he seemed to her a paragon of virtue. Not a total saint however; as much as she tried to play the neutral party, there was a part of her that remembered that he had killed five teenage girls when he was a teenager himself. A war crime? No, but another kind of crime in itself. Life was too precious now for humans to be warring among themselves. Yet, despite all that, Frost was a man who managed to smile, who managed to inspire, who had patched her up with a little guidance. There was something strange and mysterious about him that Jasmine just couldn't place. As he sat there with a somber smile on his face, she tried to figure him out. On his dirty, bearded, tired face, she saw acceptance. Acceptance of what? Perhaps this life, his duty as a soldier, or something even further than that. In his cool gray eyes, in his little comfortable, precise movements, Jasmine saw some measure of confidence. Cold confidence, a kind that showed her that he was never going to die in battle. Men and women died like dogs by the day, savaged by their Covenant enemies. Most new recruits didn't last the year. This man, though, this man, had survived for five years, against humans and aliens both. All the wounds he had sustained hadn't been enough to stop him. His body wasn't becoming weaker with time and wounds; it got stronger and more resilient. He was something else altogether, different from the common soldier. Hell, different from the rest of his oddball companions in the 89th MEU. Vivian had told her what Hayes had said of Frost. Yes, he was honorable, that was for sure. Brave, too. But he truly was the best of them all. And as awed as she was, there was a part of her that was made somewhat nervous by that. What would this deity-like soldier, so harmonious in body and mind on the battlefield, do when he got home? How did he use his time when he wasn't fighting? Training only got someone so far. Vivian's perception of him was skewed, obviously, but she talked of him as if he were a rabid animal looking for someone or something to sink its teeth into. A man of war with no battles to fight in? What would happen to him? What would he do? Jasmine remembered a poem she had once read: _I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix_. She saw him, imagined, him skulking down a city street with that characteristic way he walked; his arms swinging slightly, his hands balled into tight fists, his gray eyes dark and distant. When he walked alone, he appeared liable to strike anyone who dared to look at him the wrong way. A time bomb ready to explode at any moment, that's what he would turn into. Unless whatever was in his head was taken out. Like all problems, current and potential, there was a source. Jasmine, on those blood stained grassy flatlands covered with the dead, she decided that she would help him. Skopje seemed to be the foundation of where all this pent-up fury he unleashed on the battlefield came from. If she was to prevent that anger from following him into his post-war life, she'd have to figure out a way to get what had ever happened on that planet out of his mind.

"You alright, Jas?" Frost asked.

Jasmine was broken from her thoughts.

"Huh?"  
"You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm alright. Just thinking."

"Thinking about what? You were staring at me for so long I thought you'd burn a hole right through my forehead."

Jasmine became a little red in the face. She didn't realize she had been so lost in her own thoughts that he had caught her staring. Hopefully, he didn't take that the wrong way. If he did, Frost didn't show it. "You could never stare at my second older sister for too long, she'd get paranoid and get angry at you."

She was relieved that he had taken the conversation away from her. Perhaps he had seen how embarrassed she looked. Frost seemed a gentleman in that way; too good-natured to really embarrass someone. She admired that. "My sister, her name's Sadie, she's always been super creative, but she was so shy about her art. She'd lose her temper real quick if you tried to look at her work. Her wrath, that's something you never want to face."

"Were you close with her?"

"I was close with all four of my sisters, but I think out of the whole family, she felt closer to me than anyone else."

"I'm sure she misses you."

"I don't know; I don't write them much anymore."

"That's unfortunate."

"You warm enough?"

"Yes." Jasmine was still wearing his combat jacket. It was still wet from the rainfall. All the same, she was still warm. "Would you like it back? You must be cold wearing just that undershirt."

"I'm good."

"Doesn't the cold bother you?"

"I like the cold."

He flashed her a smile, one that was no longer sad. Rather, it was warm. Jasmine couldn't help but smile back.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Why do you wear that paint on your face?"

"Oh, the war paint." Frost chuckled. His face was dirty and the paint had run a little, but Jasmine could still see the shape of the gray paint; three diagonal, jagged lines across his face. Frost shrugged, "I just do, y'know. Lots of marines do it. Oh, I just forgot. I have your glasses."

He reached into a pouch on his belt. "Geez, I hope they're not broken. I was..." He trailed off. Jasmine knew what he meant. All night long, he had fought wildly. It was not a complete wildness, however. A certain mechanical efficiency complemented it. Savage yet accurate. While a student of medicine, Jasmine had a proclivity towards poetry and other literature, more so than history. History that departed from the realm of medicine did not interest her any further than a piece of trivia momentarily delivered to her and just as quickly gone from her mind, but she had been forced to read enough at school to understand the wars of the past. There were warriors, men who fought with emotion, with brutality, with raw power. And then there were soldiers, trained, precise, and cold in their actions. Frost was the melding of the two, part soldier, part warrior. What did that make him? Maybe he had a word, but she wasn't going to ask then. Something told her, that as much as a mystery he was to her, he had himself all figured out. Jasmine couldn't be certain, but her gut told her that Frost knew too that he was never going to die at the hands of the Covenant. He'd live to see the end of the war, even if they lost. Civilian life, with all its difficulties and complexities from the simple mathematics of warfare, may not prove too difficult for Jack the Ripper after all. Jasmine sighed; she hadn't even started her brilliant plan to help this man and she was already second-guessing herself. She promised herself that she'd stick to her guns, her first instincts.

Frost pulled the pair of glasses out of the pouch. Much to their relief, the glasses were undamaged. Before Jasmine could reach over to take them, he turned them around and delicately placed them back over her eyes. He even pushed them back up the bridge of her nose like she did. "Ah, there," he said. Jasmine laughed a little.

"Thank you."

"What do you wear them for? Seeing far away or up close?"

"Just in general."

"You were using that pistol just fine last night."

She had forgotten about the aliens she had killed. They had just been Grunts, the lowest of the low in the Covenant hierarchy.

"I never thought I'd have to kill someone. I trained for it, I had to, but I never thought I'd actually end up pulling the trigger. I thought it'd be different, though."

"Different?"

"I thought I'd feel sick or disgusted with myself. But...I don't feel anything. I thought taking life was something grave, something that changed you, but..."

Frost shook his head.

"It's different. Killing Covvies is easy. They're genocidal, they've killed millions of our people, and they look like monsters from a nightmare. It's easy. People, on the other hand..."

Jasmine had looked away for a moment, but her eyes returned to the veteran soldier when he trailed off. His mouth was cocked in a thoughtful way and his brow was slightly furrowed. Then he clucked his tongue and shook his head a little. "Mm, never mind." He gave her another smile, "It's a fine morning. No need to spoil it."

"I think you're right."

Sometimes, Jasmine forgot that she was friends with the man who had killed the five compatriots of her closest companion. What a strange world she lived in, she thought, in which friends of friends were enemies.

* * *

Vivian didn't wait for the Pelican to finish touching down before she hopped out the rear compartment. Immediately, her nose was met with the smells of the battlefield; spilled guts, drying blood, bloated bodies beginning to decay, fire. The scent of blood and gunpowder was the most familiar. She remembered it from that night so long ago. Just faintest whiff caused memories to flash through her mind. It took a great deal of energy to fight them off. Pushing the past away, she focused on the present: finding Jasmine.

More reinforcements had shown up in the last hour; a carrier group from Reach had arrived. Fresh marines descended to the planet and began to man the defenses of the camp, help load wounded personnel onto the Pelicans, and bring fresh supplies for the beleaguered defenders. Most of the medical staff that had landed on the planet with Jasmine had been evacuated during the battle, as well as most of the wounded, but she knew there was more. All night long her concern had mounted; she took every opportunity to rush to the hangar to see if Jasmine would be climbing off of the next Pelican. Radio transmissions during the battle had been brief and confusing; every time she had asked for Jasmine, she couldn't get a straight answer. Her reports had stopped just before the attack. Now, with the situation at the Triangle reducing to mopping up, she could search for her friend.

She found the majority of the defenders situated in the open spaces of the camp. They were a sad looking bunch. Mud clung to their wet, bloodied uniforms. Soldiers were sleeping in terrible conditions and most were exposed to the wind.

With her was General Sacco, who had flown to the _I'm Alone_ to deliver his report in person. She was surprised that a general had come to see her personally, as if he had to answer to her. But he had insisted on it and shook his head in amazement.

"Get these men some help, please General," Vivian said quietly. Sacco wasted no time; he directed marines and GIs over to them. Medical aid was administered, casualties were evacuated, food and water were passed out, blankets laid over sleeping troops.

Vivian helped soldier after soldier to their feet, making sure they go everything they needed. She asked after Jasmine, and was pointed to a familiar group. Vivian scrutinized Frost and his squad, equally tired and filthy as the rest. As she walked over, Jasmine spotted her.

"Viv!"

"Jas," Vivian rushed over, ready to fling her arms around her friend. Jasmine stopped her.

"Be gentle if you're gonna hug me. I'm wounded."

"What? How?"

Vivian was about to push her aside and sock Frost. How could he have let her get hurt? Jasmine shook her head.

"I was hit by one of those cannons on a Banshee. I've got second degree burns all along my back. Frost got my out of there and treated me."

Vivian nodded slowly. She saw the name 'Frost' in black letters on the left side of the combat jacket was wearing. Jasmine sighed. "Go easy, Viv."

With Jasmine a few steps behind her, Vivian stood in front of Frost. Before she could get a word out, General Sacco joined them. Sacco was a man in his forties, tall, fit, bald, and with a thick beard.

"I heard some maniac marine charged Camp Havens all by his lonesome," he said with a smile. Frost stood up slowly.

"Yes, sir," he said rigidly.

"And that some sergeant led the defense all night long, too. That you too?"

Frost said nothing for a few moments.

"There were officers, sir."

"Yeah, but I didn't hear any stories about them barking orders, breaking phalanxes, or fighting like a madman."

General Sacco extended his hand. "Well done, son."

Frost gingerly took it.

"Thank you, sir."

"I'll be speaking to your commanding officer. You saved a lot of my people, defending this camp. You deserve a medal."

"I didn't do it alone, sir."

"I know that," Sacco said, giving Frost a thump on the side of his shoulder. "Your squad did a hell of thing. And you," Sacco turned and pointed at Jasmine, "you're the crazy doctor who decided to run through Banshee fire to get everyone into cover. Brass balls, I tell you, brass balls. Both of you saved a lot of lives and you have my thanks."

Vivian looked at Jasmine, who shrugged a little. Sacco looked around. "Did I interrupt something?"

"I need to address my men," Vivian said.

"Oh, of course. I'll oversee the rest of the cleanup operation."

Sacco walked off with his combat staff, leaving the group alone. Vivian glared at Frost.

"Vivian tells me you helped her with her wounds."

"She just told me what to do and how to do it."

Frost appeared apprehensive, like she was going to punch him. His eyes were wary of her. Vivian did want to hit him. She wanted to do more. Speaking with him was like pulling teeth. He was insufferable, the way he spoke, the way he looked, everything about him.

"Petty Officer Carris," Vivian said. Carris quickly stood up at attention in her armor. Vivian studied her pale face for a moment, then said, "I heard that you were a force multiplier during the fighting these past two days. I'd like to extend an offer to you."

"Yes, ma'am?"

"We'll take you back to Reach to speak with your superiors. If you should so choose, however, I have opened a posting for someone of your expertise in my battle group."

Carris blinked for a moment. Vivian cleared her throat. "Uh, so, if you want to transfer, just say the word and I'll have our mission handler work out the details."

"Thank you, ma'am. I'll have to give it some thought," Carris said.

"Of course."

Vivian turned her attention back to Frost. A wave of disbelief passed over his face, followed by realization. He smiled a little.

"Thank you, Captain Waters," he said quietly.

Vivian grimaced and leaned forward.

"Listen to me," she whispered in his ear, "this doesn't change anything. This is only because of Jasmine."

She began to withdraw, but lingered as another thought came to her. "If she ever tries to get on the ground again, don't let her."

"Understood, ma'am," Frost growled. Vivian stepped back. "Your Warthog has been dropped off. All able-bodied troops, Army and marines, are to report to the city garrison. Unfortunately, there is still a sizeable Covenant presence on the planet."

"I thought we took the Triangle," Steele grumbled as he finally rose to his feet.

"We did, but the right flank was scattered and a large force of Covenant were able to slip the lines. We've been unable to track their progress, they disappeared in the night."

"Orbital fuckin' scanners, 26th-fuckin'-century technology, and we still lost the fuckers?" Maddox mumbled.

"We need as many troops as possible at the ready. You'll be provided with bunks, hot food, water, and showers at their garrison. Fresh troops will maintain a presence here and go searching for the Covenant."

"We don't get a lift?" Bishop asked, sniffing as he wiped his nose on his bare forearms.

"You have a Warthog. I need the Pelicans to ferry reinforcements, supplies, and wounded. I take it you can still drive."

Frost nodded and gave a little wave.

"Let's go squad," he said, and he led them back towards the deployment zone.

* * *

As soon as the squad began walking to the deployment zone, Jasmine instinctively began to follow. A gentle hand took her by the upper arm.

"Where do you think you're going?" Vivian asked.

"With them?"

"You need to get back on the _I'm Alone_ for treatment."

"Oh. Right."

Vivian laughed kindly.

"Did you forget that you're wounded?"

"I guess I got kind of used to walking around with the pain," Jasmine said. Then, uneasily, she asked, "Can't I just see them off? They've taken care of me."

Jasmine watched her old friend sigh, her features sagging a little. Then, her emerald eyes glowed a little.

"Alright, go on, I'll meet you at the LZ."

Jasmine had jogged after the squad and found them still hobbling to their Warthog. Aside from Carris, they all walked like a pack of elderly folks. Who wouldn't after such a terrible night? But she lingered instead of trotting up to them, following slowly behind them at a few yards distance. She just wanted to listen for a moment.

"Do you want me to drive?" Frost asked Steele.

"Yeah, could you?"

"Sure."

"Anyone else feel like they want to hurl?" Knight asked.

"You always feel like you want to puke after a big battle," Maddox grumbled.

"What do you want me from?" Knight retorted, "I'm older than all of you."

"You're not even thirty yet!" Moser laughed.

"Carris is thirty-one," Steele said, "she looks no worse for wear."

"Women age better than men," Langley said, half-teasing.

"Bull-fucking-shit!" snorted Bishop, "My auntie is five years older than my uncle and he looks like he just hit thirty-five instead of fifty-five."

"Your _auntie_?" Grant teased, drawing the word out, "What are you, seven years old or somethin'?"

"You want me to clout you over the fuckin' ear?"

"Oh, I'm so scared."

"Knock it off fellas," Frost said like a tired father trying to police his unruly kids.

"Do you think you can sing on the ride back?" Grant asked.

"Only if you all sing with me," Frost said, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. He was holding his helmet and then his bandanna, the former in his right hand and the latter in his left. They were only a few paces from the Warthog. Jasmine called out to them.

"Nate!"

The veteran soldier paused and turned around, facing her completely. A gust of wind struck them then. It wasn't too powerful, but enough to tousle his hair to the side. To Jasmine, it seemed that an invisible hand had reached out and swept his brown hair to the side. Despite the dried mud on his bearded cheeks, the bags under his eyes, and the grime on his uniform, something about him then struck her as handsome. A quiet, soldierly, attractiveness. She felt silly wondering what she looked like then, wearing his coat; she felt her own thick hair thrown about to the side as well, and she was shivering a little.

He didn't say a word, he just looked at her with cloudy gray eyes that matched those in the sky above. Jasmine had entirely forgotten what she had wanted to say, what she had wanted to do. So she said, someone blurting, "I'll make sure to take your armor back up to the ship."

Frost smiled that same boyish smile, exposing his missing tooth.

"Thanks."

Before the silence could fall between them again, Jasmine spoke again.

"Thank you. For yesterday."

"You're welcome," he said, earnestly. He seemed like he wanted to say more, but instead he held his tongue. Jasmine guessed he wanted to say something humble, like telling her she treated wounded all the time, trying to denote his own actions. She was glad he didn't.

After another moment, he said, "You'd best be on your way. Those burns aren't going to treat themselves."

"I guess so."

"Goodbye, Jasmine."

"Goodbye."

Frost turned on his heel and walked over to the driver's side of the Warthog. The rest of the squad were already piling in.

"Here, you sit in the passenger seat, love," Steele said.

"You can have it," Carris responded.

"Nah, I'll sit here," Steele said, planting himself on the raised dividing bar between the driver and passenger seat, straddling it. Carris didn't argue and climbed in, holding her helmet in her lap. Bishop turned the turret around and leaned on the tri-barrel, while Maddox slumped over the rear of the machine gun. Knight sat on the bridge between the open cab of the Warthog and the truck bed, his back facing the cab. Langley sat at the right side, resting her chin on her folded arms which sat on the edge of the truck bed. Moser sat on the left side, laying down on the actual bed with his legs stretched out over the side. Grant sat at the rear, with his legs dangling over the side. The motley crew almost looked goofy, piled together in that Warthog, like they were part of a circus act. But to Jasmine, there was something charming about them. She couldn't quite place it; there wasn't one word that sprung up to define the sight before her or the individuals residing in her view.

Frost started the Warthog up, driving slowly to an entrance of the camp that was nearby. As he did, he began to sing:

" _Poor old Johnny Ray,_

 _Sounded sad upon the radio,_

 _But he moved a million hearts in mono,_

 _Our mothers cried, sang along, who'd blame them,_

 _You're grown..._

 _So grown...now I must say more than ever,_

 _Come on Eileen!"_

And then his entire squad, save Carris, joined into the song:

" _Too ra loo ra too ra loo rye aye,_

 _And we can sing just like our fathers..._

 _Come on Eileen, oh I swear, what he means_

 _At this moment, you mean everything,_

 _You in that dress, my thoughts I confess,_

 _Verge on dirty,_

 _Ah, come on Eileen..."_

Jasmine watched them join a convoy of Warthogs of varying types carrying haggard marines and exhausted Army troopers. As the convoy trundled away, Jasmine didn't take her eyes off the squad, and listened to their singing until their voices faded away.

* * *

"Frost, Frost, wake up."

Frost felt himself being shaken and sat up quickly. After the squad had eaten and cleaned up, they had been taken to the garrison's barracks to rest. They had been given a selection of cots and had all flopped down to rest. At least, Frost knew he did. The last thing he could remember was dropping his kit and falling face down on the pillow.

He rubbed his eyes and looked at Grant, who had a hand on his shoulder. The barracks, a large white room with a barren concrete floor and hundreds of beds and footlockers, was filled with sleeping, snoring men. Only a few lights were on.

"Covenant?" Frost asked. He knew the answer before Grant gave it.

"No, not Covvies. But they still haven't found the ones that had slipped away."

"Right. If it was Covenant, there would have been an alarm. That's how our Army cousins do it..." He yawned. "What's the matter then? Out with it," he said light-heartedly with a smile.

"I can't find Steele."

Frost's eyes snapped open.

"What do you mean you can't find Steele?"

"After we hit the showers and came here, I saw Steele walking out of the room. I caught a few hours sleep and when I woke up, I couldn't see him. I've looked everywhere but I can't find him. All of his gear is here except for his boots and uniform."

"Ah, fuck. Okay, I'll go look for him. You stay here, don't tell the guys anything or they'll get worried."

"Alright."

Frost had been loaned an olive drab over shirt and undershirt, which he slipped on before putting on his boots, making sure his pistol was holstered, and heading out of the barracks.

The garrison was a typical city-based UNSC complex. There was an airfield with numerous hangars and helipads. A barracks, usually consisting of a few rectangular structures. An armory and supply dumb was situated within the high walls complemented with guard towers. Vehicles were parked neatly at the motor pool; a few garages also stood nearby. There was a parade ground and and a training area consisting of basic PT courses and firing ranges. There was a lot of concrete and titanium armor plating and lots of open space within the actual walls. Frost had seen plenty in his time, though he had spent more time sleeping on starships than on planetside bases.

He spotted a group of soldiers milling around the motor pool. A few were talking with one another. With no other leads, Frost chose them as his first stop.

"Hey," he said as he jogged up. The soldiers, unfamiliar to him, all grinned.

"Jack the Ripper," they greeted warmly, "how can we help?"

Their manners were not disingenuous. Frost, quite aware of his long-standing nickname and reputation, sometimes forgot that people he had never even met knew of him.

"Have you seen a blonde haired English guy around? He's a bit taller than me, sort of lanky in his middle. If he was wearing his helmet, he's got black sniper goggles attached."

The others stared blankly at him. Frost wracked his brain. "He's kind of an asshole? Tells stupid jokes?"

"Oh. I saw him, mate," said another soldier. "Heard him, actually. He was talking to one the gate guards."

"What was he doing at the gate?"

"Fuck if I know, mate."

"Alright, thanks."

Frost turned and headed for the gate. They had been granted passes to enter the city-once the battle was over. Until then, they needed to be on standby. Rules meant nothing to Steele though, at least military rules. If his absence was discovered by a senior officer, or the military police, which would be much worse, he'd get into deep trouble with Hayes.

"Frost."

He turned and spotted Carris heading towards him. She was still in her armor, with her helmet tucked under her arm. "I heard that Steele is missing."

"Let's not say that just yet. Those yokels over there told me he was chatting with the gate guard."

"He'll be considered absent without leave. So will you, if you go after him."

"Well, someone's gotta go get him. Wherever he is."

"Let me help you."

"Fine."

The pair walked up one of the Army guards who was smoking a cigarette. He was leaning against a concrete barrier and had a scars on his face. Frost nodded at him, "Hey, buddy, you talk to an English guy with a mustache and blonde hair earlier?"

"Yep, I did."

"What did he want?"

"Well," the guard cleared his throat, glancing warily at Carris, "he was asking me where uh...he could find...um...easy women."

"Easy women?" Carris remarked. Frost groaned, running a hand down his face.

"Where did you direct him?"

"There's a bunch of clubs and bars near the central park around here," the guard pointed over at the side of the booth, where a map of the city had been imprinted. "It's the western road leading to the green. That's the best spot to pick up chicks."

"Yeah, thanks," Frost paused a beat, "how the hell did he get out? We're supposed to be on base."

The guard shrugged.

"Maybe I'm a nice guy and let him through because he said please."

Frost stared back, unconvinced.

"Name your price."

"Three packs of smokes, two bars of chocolate, and...how about that knife on your belt."

Before Frost could say anything, Carris reached forward quickly with her free hand, picking the guard up by his shirt collar, and lifted him several feet off the ground.

"Let. Us. Through." She commanded quietly.

"What the fuck!?" the guard squirmed in her grasp, "Put me down!"  
Frost adapted quickly.

"Only if you let us through and you give us back whatever my missing soldier gave you."

"Fuck you!"

"Yesterday I watched this operative here crush a Jackals head beneath her boot. _Splat_. Brains and blood everywhere. And I watched her throw a Grunt like a football. Damn thing nearly flew into space."

"Alright, goddammit, alright!"

Carris put the guard back on his feet. He was sweating profusely now. He handed Frost the chocolate and cigarette packets that Steele had given him. Satisfied, Frost jerked a thumb towards the motor pool.

"Let's grab a Warthog and head out."

The drive hadn't taken too long. Frost and Carris were now driving slowly down the city street the guard had directed them to. Numerous signs of varying colors on the sides of buildings flashed and glittered. People milled about in night attire despite the fact the sun was just beginning to set.

"Look at these people," Frost muttered to Carris, "it's as if there hadn't been a battle at all."

Most times when the Covenant attacked, planets were completely evacuated. People would rush to the spaceports, pushing and shoving and screaming. Invasion reduced them to wild animals; Frost had seen kids used as bargaining chips and elderly people trampled in stampedes. Wealthy individuals waved pearl necklaces, diamond jewelry, and other ornate items to get on board. Others simply waved wads of money, as if that would get them up the ramp faster or before others. One time, Frost had see a young woman take off the large diamond engagement ring she was wearing to get on board, as if the meaning behind it meant nothing. Bribery sometimes work, more in the early days of the war than currently. Starships specifically reserved or designated for evacuation situations were manned with crews that were subjected to an extreme vetting process. Anyone who was willing to take a bribe or bend the rules was kicked out, leaving highly strict evacuation crews. Still, some panicked during an invasion and tried to leave early, which usually got the entire ship destroyed. Occurrences such as those were becoming rarer.

"They should have been evacuated," Carris stated plainly, her eyes running over the oddly dressed individuals roaming the sidewalks.

"People are getting used to this war," Frost murmured, "that's not good. Getting complacent makes us weak, more predictable. People need to be afraid and ready. If I were in charge, I would have evacuated the Outer Colonies and wiped every trace of the Inner Colonies and Earth from planetary databases."

"A cleaner version of the scorched earth policy," Carris commented with a nod, "not entirely unsound."

Even after hundreds of years, there was still a collective human knowledge of what scorched earth policies were. Their greatest historical debuts had occurred in Russia, first when Napoleonic France invaded and then well over a century later, when Nazi Germany blitzkrieg-ed across the border, shattering their non-aggression pact. Both would-be conquering nations found a land on fire, if one were being extravagant.

"I'm not saying we destroy our planets. The Covenant do that anyways. Why the brass haven't evacuated the Outer Colony population and fortified the Inner Colonies is beyond me."

"Earth is the heart of humanity, our political, social, cultural, and military foundation. The Inner Colonies are our industrial heartland. The brass are stalling," Carris shook her head. "Every time the Covenant stop to invade and glass an Outer Colony world, that derails their progress towards the heart. I wouldn't go so far to say that they're sacrificing planets and people, but..."

"Sounds like you've been listening to Steele."

"You don't approve of his lack of trust to our superiors."

Frost sighed.

"Trust is important. Absolute faith is dangerous."

He pulled over to a bar that had caught his eye. Before he jumped out, he said to Carris, "Steele's a good soldier, despite everything he does to make people think he isn't. He's always had a disrespect towards the upper echelon though; anybody who isn't boots on the grounds, and even then, he's not whole trustful of them."

"Why?"

"That's just the way he is."

"You two make fine friends for total opposites."

"Total?" Frost grinned.

"He told me not too long ago you need to see the truth in things."

Frost blinked, surprised. But he recovered quickly enough.

"I believe in what I do. That doesn't mean I trust the brass entirely. It's good to take things with a grain of salt. Now, come on."

They walked onto the sidewalk, Carris's armor earning many strange looks from passerby's. Next to the door of the bar was a woman who looked to be in her thirties, wearing a little bit of makeup and wearing a short skirt. Frost went over to her.

"Excuse me," he said politely. The woman looked him up and down and smiled, taking a puff on her cigarette.

"Hi there, soldier," she said in a smooth, oily voice. "Want to buy a girl a drink?"

"Hi," Frost cleared his throat, "are you aware of any...services...for men around here?"

The woman blinked.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about."

"You know," Frost cleared his throat again, feeling hot in the face, " _services_ , for men...who have uh...been away for a while."

The woman's eyes widened a little bit.

"Oh..." she grinned then, and took his hand. "If that's what you're looking for." She started leading him to a door to a crummy looking apartment building that was right next to the bar.

"Uh, no, no, I'm not looking to be serviced," Frost said, keeping his boots firmly planted on the sidewalk.

The girl seemed confused.

"Then why are you asking?"

"I have a friend that needs to get back on base. I was told he came to this street looking for women. Have you see him? He's blonde, has a mustache, good-looking, bit taller than me, English accent, tells bad jokes and can be kind of a prick?"

"I think I saw someone like that-hey you can't go in there without paying."

Frost had shoved past her but she quickly darted in front of him, blocking the door. Frost smiled, almost sweetly.

"Miss, don't try this with me. I just fought in a battle that lasted all night to save this planet and I killed probably over a hundred aliens. If that's not enough for you, I have a gun and a knife, so why don't you just let me through so I don't have to pull those out."

The girl blinked and then stepped aside.

"You're an asshole."

"You're lucky I don't burn this joint to the ground," Frost growled as he shoved the door open. Carris was right behind him, following him into the dimly lit foyer.

"Would you really burn it down?"

"No way," Frost said, "just need to act tough right now. I want to grab Steele and get the hell out of here, this place makes my skin crawl."

"Did you pay?"

Frost turned to see a guy sitting behind the check-in desk. He went over to the desk and planted both hands on it. The man, who had been distracted by a magazine, glared up at him. He had dark, receding hair and a scraggly goatee.

"Looking for a soldier; British guy, tall, mustache, blonde hair, loudmouth."

"I'm not obliged to give out information about customers."

"Carris, smash his head in."

The man yelped as Carris yanked him over the counter, threw him on the floor, and raised her boot.

"Room B4, second floor!" the man cried, covering his head with his arms.

"Thank you," Frost grunted, "let's go, C."

The pair went up the stairs to the second floor. Frost smiled over his shoulder.

"You're getting the hang of it."

"Just following your lead."

"We ought to fight crime together. Make for a good comic or something."

Carris chuckled.

When they got to the room, Frost could hear moaning and grunting on the other side. He sighed and tried to turn the handle, which was locked.

"Fucking occupied!" came Steele's voice. Frost groaned in irritation.

"Should we tell him its us?" Carris whispered.

"Nope," Frost answered, and kicked the door open. He stepped in as the girl in the bed beside Steele shrieked and hid her naked body under the sheets. Steele had jumped in surprise and was now reaching over for his pistol.

"Who the fuck are you!?" the girl cried.

"We're the fun police," Frost said. Directing his gaze towards Frost, he put on his biggest shit-eating smile. "Hi, Lou! We've come to pick you up!"

"What the fuck, bruv!" Steele hollered. "Why didn't you just say it was you?!"

"Because that wouldn't have been very funny. Get your clothes on and let's go."

"Why? There something happening?"

"No. We just missed you, that's all." Frost's smile faded. "You could get into deep shit doing this."

Steele waved a hand dismissively at him as he pulled back the sheets, exposing himself, sat on the edge of the bed, and lit a cigarette. "We're not supposed to mess around with whores, Steele."

"Hey! I'm not a whore."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Frost said, "is prostitue a better word? You take money for sex, that means you're a whore. Do me a favor and shut up."

"You're in a sour mood," Steele said casually.

"Damn right I am. You sneak off base and I have to risk mine and Carris's ass and waste our time looking for you. How many times have I had to bring your sorry ass back from dives like this?"

"I was gonna come back once I was done. Jesus, mate, you don't even have the decency to let a guy _finish_."

Frost ran a hand down his face.

"You know better, Steele! She's a whore, she could have an STD for all we know!"

"Actually, they're calling them STI's now. Have been for a for a while, mate."

"You're not even wearing a fucking condom!"

"She's on the pill."

"Jesus-fucking-Christ!" Frost threw up his arms. "Just get dressed and let's go." He pointed at the girl, still under the sheets. "And you! Did he give you the money or did he give the pimp the money?"

"Wha-"

"How much did he have to pay? Because we're getting every penny back."

"Hey!" the girl shouted, pointing accusingly at him. "That's not fair, there's no refunds for this."

Steele stood up then, his dog tags jingling around his neck.

"What's wrong with you, bruv?" He asked angrily, stepping closer to Frost. "You're really going to stiff this girl on the payment? That's damn cold-hearted."

"Damn right. Look at her, she barely looks a day past nineteen."

"I'm twenty-one!"

"You should be in college or something," Frost yelled.

"Oh really? I should? What're you, my dad?" The girl got out of the bed and began to dress. Frost averted his gaze. "You think because you wear that uniform you can talk down to me? Fuck you. You have no idea what it's like to live out here. People can barely scratch out a living in the Outer Colonies. Unless you have a farm or some fancy city job, you're going to be living on dirt. No place will hire me because I had to drop out when my parents died. It's either do this or starve. Don't fucking judge me!"

Still topless, the girl stormed out. Steele shook his head.

"Damn, bruvva."

Frost groaned, rubbing his forehead as a massive headache began to fester.

"Just get your clothes on, get your boots on, and let's get the fuck out of here."

* * *

Carris had stayed silent during the entire ordeal. She watched as Frost waited impatiently and Steele slid his clothes back on at a snail's place.

"I don't know why you'd waste your back pay on whores."

"Visiting whores is military tradition, mate."

"Don't pull that shit, it's not funny. I'm not in the mood. You should be saving that money for after the war."

"Oh, and when's the war gonna end, Nate? Hm? Next week? Tomorrow? _Now?!_ You know something I don't, mister all-knowing?"

"I'm just thinking about the future, Lou."

"Future? Since when did we give a damn about the future. We're soldiers; the only goddamn thing we should be thinking of is _now_. The goddamn present."

"Oh, the present?"

"Yeah. And you know what I was thinking? We almost got overrun last night. They're gonna shower us with medals and awards and have a big fucking ceremony. But you know we almost didn't make it. If they broke through we would have been dead. And I was thinking that if I almost died last night, there's a chance I'll die next week, or tomorrow, or hell, maybe even a few seconds. So, before I die, I wanted to have just one more fuck. What's so bad about that, huh?"

"Some way to spend your money before you die," Frost said mockingly.

"The fuck do you know? You've never even been with a women. I've never even seen you glance at a porno mag! You're probably don't even wank, man!"

Frost groaned and shook his head.

"Don't make this about me."

"You don't know what it's like to have your knackers busting, mate. Soon as you're with a woman just one time, you'll understand." Steele threw his arms up into the air. "Bloody hell, man! Fuck the future, fuck the past! We're soldiers, we live in the present!"

"I'm not listening to this. I'm waiting outside. Carris, makes sure he has everything and then bring him downstairs." Frost began to depart but stopped in the doorway. He whirled around and pointed at Steele. "You're pissing in a cup once we're back on the _I'm Alone_! I won't have any of my squad members catch some disease because they couldn't keep their fuckin' hormones in check."

With that, he stormed out. Carris turned to face Steele. The sniper had finished pulling his trousers back on, had slid his socks on, and was now sitting on the bed lacing up his boots. A cigarette dangled from his mouth.

She wanted to say something, assert an opinion, but she wasn't sure what her opinion was. It veered towards Frost's side of the argument but Steele had a made a fair point. Carris understood both sides. Fearing that saying something might set him off, she instead kept silent. Instead, Steele began to speak.

"Frost's angry because he's worried. He doesn't want me catching some damned illness or something. Wants me combat effective and healthy."

"He's trying to look out for you," Carris said softly.

"Yeah, I know. Have to remind me-self when we bicker like this. Like an old married couple sometimes," he finished lacing one boot and stopped to take a drag on the cigarette. He chuckled nervously and shot Carris a look that almost seemed embarrassed. "Sorry you had to come along, love."

"You're sorry?"

He held his arms out.

"Sure this isn't a pleasant sight for ya."

Carris said nothing. Steele sighed, scratching his cheek nervously. "I hope you ain't ashamed of me or something."

Carris blinked. She had been with the squad for only a short time. It had been time well-spent, yes, but short nonetheless. Their company and humor and conversations and singing had become endearing things to her. Every morning she had woken up with an excited feeling inside her that she had never experienced before, as she knew they were going to do something new and strange and entertaining. Friends. She was afraid of using that word, as she had never had friends before. Not outside the Spartans, at least. Since she had met the squad, she had started to view her fellow Spartans as a family. A phrase that Grant had used during a conversation they had came to her mind. " _No, no. Family doesn't count. Family's supposed to love you unconditionally. Anyone outside the family is a whole different ball game."_ How true that seemed now. For the first time in her life, she felt, she thought, that she had made friends. No matter how the word felt in her mouth, or how it seemed in her head, that was the only word she could use to describe them. Not once had she called them her friends though. She had expressed how she had begun to enjoy them, and they certainly made it clear they enjoyed her. Yet, the word 'friend' had yet to be said in her presence. Something told her then, as Steele sat nervously in front of her, shirtless and abashed, that they were indeed friends.

"Why would I be ashamed of you?"

"Well, you know, folks don't think too highly of those who visit prostitutes..."

"I wouldn't know anything about that." Carris walked over and knelt in front of him. "Can I tell you something?"

Steele, looking perplexed, leaned over and stubbed the cigarette out in an ashtray on the nightstand.

"Yeah, love?"

Carris sighed a little. His voice was quieter now, sweet and soft and fragile and intrigued and concerned and about a thousand other things that Carris couldn't find words for. Something about the way he spoke in a low voice, not in a whisper but not in a normal tone, shed his uncaring attitude.

"Before I tell you, will you promise not to tell anyone?"

Steele smiled.

"Cross my heart."

"I was conscripted when I was seven years old. I grew up with the other kids in a camp where we did nothing but train and study military doctrine. We never learned anything but that. We didn't learn about what alcohol does to the body, or about phrases people use when they talk, or about how people might think differently on the same subject. We didn't learn about a lot of things. And I've spent most of my life being a soldier, by myself; I barely picked up any of that along the way. I don't know any of _this_." She gestured with her free hand around the room. "I can't judge you. And even if I could, I won't."

"Why?"

"Because...we're friends."

The corner of Steele's mouth twitched, and then slowly smiled.

"Friends, eh? I like that." The smile disappeared then. "What about your old unit?"

Carris had forgotten about them in that moment. Waters had extended to her an invitation to join the task force. But what about the other Spartans? Surely, word had been sent that she would be returning to their fold. What was more important, sticking with her squad, her friends, or returning to her family? Carris looked away, her expression almost pained.

"I...I don't know. But-"

She paused as she heard raised voices being exchanged downstairs. One of them she clearly recognized as Frost's. Steele heard as well.

"Aw...fuck," he grunted. Quickly, he finished with his boots, then pulled on his undershirt and jacket, not even tucking them in. "Come on, the muscle is probably down there."

"Frost won't have any trouble with them," Carris said.

"No, he won't. But..." Steele searched for the words, his hands jittering like he was holding something hot. "We, we just can't let him fight."

"Why?"

"Because, when he fights actual _people_ , he, uh...he, just gets a little mad."

"Angry?"

"No, love, not just angry."

Carris and Steele hurried down the stairs. When they got downstairs, they saw the man who had been at the desk flanked by two large, muscular men. The girl Steele had been with was behind him.

"No, they paid. They didn't take the money back. It's fine," she explained.

"Doesn't matter," said the desk man, "they come in here, threaten me, bust down a door, scare my employee, and interrupted my business, they need to pay up."

"I'm not paying you jack shit, friend-o," Frost said, his gray eyes dark and burning, his body tense, and his voice a deep growl.

"If you don't pay, you fight. Pick one."

Frost straightened himself up. Carris saw his hand slowly going for his knife. Steele did too apparently, as he pushed by everyone and stood in front of Frost, grabbing his wrist.

"Bruv, don't fight'em. Just let me pay them."

"We can take them easy."

"If _you_ fight them, you'll _kill_ them."

Carris wasn't going to stand there and listen. Still behind the pimp and the two muscle-heads, she tapped the one on the left. He turned around.

"What the fuck do you-"

Carris took her helmet and smashed it across his jaw. Teeth and blood went flying from is mouth as he fell to the sidewalk. He clutched his face and wailed. The other swung a punch, but Carris grabbed it with her free hand. She tightened her grip, causing the man to fall to his knees and scream as his hand was crushed in her grasp. Once she heard all of his fingers break, she let go and pushed him to the sidewalk. The pimp looked up at her, his eyes filled with fear.

"What the fuck...you fucking freak!"

Before Carris could take him down, Steele marched forward and grabbed the man by the collar.

"What you just call her, mate?"

"What-"

Steele kneed the man in the crotch several times and then threw him on the sidewalk hard. He kicked him in the gut once for good measure.

"Right," he said, wiping his hands together, "that solves that, shall we go?"

"Wait," Frost said, walking back into the whorehouse. When he returned, he was holding a large wad of cash in both hands. He went over to the girl who had been with Frost, who was standing there in terror, and stuffed both wads into her handbag. "Go home and don't come back to this place."

Steele chuckled.

"We robbin' them? Nice."

He bent over and took the wallet out of the pimp's pocket, and handed all the cash he had to her as well. Before he got into the Warthog, he knelt down over the pimp. "You come after this girl, we'll come after you. You hear me?"

The girl, terrified by the violence she had witnessed, amazed at the money that she had just been given, couldn't say a word. Carris looked at her for a few moments. She was an attractive young woman, with auburn hair that shone in the fleeting, orange sunlight. Her face had fine features and she wore only a dusting of makeup that made her dark eyes look even smokier.

Carris stepped over to her. The girl looked up slowly, shuddering ever so slightly.

"You want some control in your life?" Carris asked. "Then enlist."

With that, she got into the Warthog, and they drove off back to base.

* * *

Jasmine felt stupid lying on her stomach in one of the isolation rooms on the _I'm Alone_. Her staff had insisted that, she being the chief medical officer, she get a private room. Despite her protests at wanting to save the room for someone who actually needed it, and her want to be among the other wounded in the medical bay, they wouldn't listen. All of their fretting over her second degree burns was almost embarrassing. They applied more antibiotic cream and burn gel, then wrapped her again in bandages. Now, she had nothing to do but lay in the room, by herself, and rest.

Not once had Jasmine considered that she might once be on one of the medical cots. Perspective was a splendid thing; she found herself looking up, trusting these medical operatives in white lab coats and military scrubs to take care of her. Trust was as important to medicine as it was to daily life. Without it, Jasmine believed, a wounded soldier might give up. It was imperative that when a casualty looked up at the team about to operate on him, that he or she trusted them to heal them, ease their suffering. On that bed, she trusted them and she was proud of her personnel. Training had prepared them, that was for sure, but their own perseverance, their own tenacity, that's what made her want to shed a an inspired tear. They were magnificent.

"I brought you some books. Maybe you can find a comfortable angle to read them."

Vivian set a few of her non-medical books on the stand next to the bed before sitting down beside the bed. "How are you?"

"Good, actually. The pain is down."

"Good."

Vivian picked up one of the books and began reading. Jasmine looked at her for a moment. The master of the _I'm Alone_ looked tired but contented. Little dark bags that had been forming under her eyes for days now had disappeared, her hair was neat, and her face was beginning to glow like it used to.

"You're getting so pale, Viv."

"I know."

"When we first met, you were almost as tan as me."

"Yeah. Now look at us. Nobody would know that you're half Spanish, half Iranian."

Jasmine chuckled.

"I like that we can still gripe about things like we used to."

"Me too. We have to, otherwise we'd lose our minds."

Vivian turned the page and continued reading, a small smile on her face. Jasmine closed her eyes, listening to her friend's quiet breathing. Having the presence of a friend in the room made the boredom of recuperation much more bearable.

Time passed. Vivian kept reading. Jasmine's mind wandered. Soon, she began to titter with laughter. Her companion eyed her with curiosity. "What's so funny...?"

"I was just thinking of Nate."

Vivian inhaled sharply.

"Yeah?"

"You should have seen his face when he was wrapping the bandages around my chest. He looked utterly petrified."

"Why?"

"Because I had to take everything off. He really hasn't seen a girl naked before. I had to help him."

"Middle of a combat zone, he should have quit fussing. He's a grown man."

Jasmine sighed.

"Grown up," she said out loud, "sometimes it doesn't feel that way."

"I know," Vivian murmured. "Sometimes-"

The door slid open. One of the staffers from the bridge appeared.

"Captain, we need you on the bridge right now. Something's happening."

Despite everyone telling her to stay, Jasmine followed Vivian to the bridge. She was wearing Frost's combat jacket, which was now dry. On the bridge, all of the officers and personnel were buzzing with confusions and urgency. Vivian took control of the situation in seconds.

"Everyone get back to your stations, keep your eyes on your console and your data. Sitrep."

"Ma'am, we've got massive movement around Calhoun City. Scans are almost complete."

Jasmine looked at Vivian, who was still as a statue as she watched the tactical screen. She knew what she was thinking. After the secondary reinforcements arrived, there had been numerous air and ground task forces tearing across the planet. Some had landed on the far side, combing the planet for the missing Covenant. Their communication had been so sporadic that it had been difficult to keep track of them. Such operational issues arose when there was more than one unified group. Marines and Army troopers were mixed together on the planet, and with commanders holding the rank of general running the show, they were bound to do whatever they thought was best. Which was expected, but breakdown in communications could occur when ground commander's suffered from tactical tunnel vision.

"It could be some of the untagged reinforcements," Jasmine whispered.

"No, it's Covenant. If it were UNSC, they'd be more organized in approach and not in battle formations." Vivian jumped into her command seat. "We're not waiting for the scans. Net call, net call; all available units on Mors, return to Calhoun City. Covenant assault imminent. Send all assets to Calhoun City, now!"

Just as the scans finished, revealing that the masses on the map were indeed Covenant infantry, the comms began to be bombarded with distressed voices. In a span of forty minutes, checkpoints in the city, scouts, and radio controllers reported an overwhelming infantry assault on the city. Covenant troops had light and heavy vehicles with them. Jasmine winced; they must have evacuated during the closing hours of the Battle at the Triangle. Or they had been clandestinely moved an entirely different task force while the UNSC had been distracted at Havens and the Triangle. The Covenant were slippery like that; they could hide themselves from orbital scans with certain devices, could move unseen and undetected over long tracts of land. Despite all their shiny armor, their growling voices, and their cumbersome vehicles, they were masters of stealth. A bombardment from orbit could never prove enough to kill an entire invading force of them. They could dig in and slip away, and the last thing the UNSC wanted was even a few rogue aliens on a colony world. Not to mention, despite the fact the Covenant were burning worlds like it was going out of style, the upper echelon of the UNSC tried to refrain from bombing their own planets. Their minds were already thinking far ahead, when re-colonization would take place. The less terraforming they had to do, the better. Jasmine found their far-sighted ideas foolish in a war such as this. All of those top brass nestled comfortably at Reach or on Earth were had no idea was it was like on the ground or in space. Their time had been spent fighting rebels, which was an entirely different type of war.

"How many troops do we have garrisoned in the city as of this moment?" Vivian asked.

"The garrison relieved from Camp Havens; about a thousand men from the 89th and a few thousand Army troops," Tsang answered.

"Damn it," Vivian rubbed her chin, "they've barely had a half-day's rest."

"Calhoun City has an extensive automated defense network," Tsang explained. "That'll give the defenders a fighting chance."

Jasmine looked at Vivian, who winced.

"Turrets will only get them so far..." she continued to think. "The turrets will tear Covenant infantrymen to pieces. Why would they risk an all out attack on the city when they could be attacking UNSC forces in the field..."

Vivian stood up then. "The turrets must have a control center, where they would monitor and power the guns. Zero in on its location."

In a few moments the location appeared on the large tactical screen. Red blips in the cityscape were massing around the building, which stood in a small, gated compound. Vivian slammed her fist down on her station. "I knew it! They're going to knock out the control center."

Jasmine pieced it together quickly. Without power to the guns, the entire defense network would shut down. Without the guns...the entire civilian populace would be massacred and the troops in the city wouldn't be able to protect them all. Evac ships were already descending to the city, but they would quickly be overrun without the turrets protecting them.

"They've only got a small contingent of troops at that control center. They'll be overrun." Vivian said, then put a finger to her earpiece. "Any units in Calhoun City close to the turret control center? They're in danger of falling."

Report after report came in: negative. Too many streets were locked down by traffic jams caused by civilians trying to flee one way and UNSC troops heading the other. Other streets were war zones, which troops were pinned down in the open. Platoons, entire companies of Army troops radioed in just before they were silenced and their yellow blips disappeared from the map. Aircraft were having difficulty providing cover to the troops in the city; they were forced to hover low and slow which made them sitting ducks for Covenant ground fire. Falcons were dropping from the sky like flies. Crash zones caused garrison units to be diverted to rescue survivors.

Jasmine watched in silent terror as red blips filled up the city streets. Many large clots of the red dots were still massing at the control center. Vivian had a sheen of sweat on her forehead. "Any units at all? Anyone?"

That's when a large yellow dot caught Jasmine's eye on the map. A familiar voice dominated the comms suddenly.

"This is Sergeant Frost! I've got my squad and a hell of a lot of ordinance, we're diverting and moving fast in a Warthog to the control center. We could use some air cover while we push in. Over. "

Vivian blinked in surprise, but her face tightened in determination.

"You don't have much time, Sergeant. I need you to floor it and get inside the control center. Defend the generator at all costs. Over."

"Solid copy."

"I'll work on getting you reinforcements, out. General Sacco, come in-"

"Ma'am, you should be using the proper call signs," Decatur said.

"We don't have time for that, Decatur. General Sacco, do you read?"

"Sacco here, I'm back at the Triangle trying to reorganize my troops. I'll be pulling all of them back and we'll make a bee-line for the city. Over."

"How long will that take, over?"

"An hour, tops, but-"

"An hour!?" Vivian yelled. "Sir, I have troops trapped in the city and civilians dying in scores. I don't care how much organizing you have to do; grab some ammo, get in your vehicles, and get the _fuck_ over there. Out."

"Captain, he's a higher rank than you..." Decatur began.

"I don't give a damn," Vivian muttered. Jasmine watched her gaze return to the large tactical screen. Everyone's eyes were on Frost's yellow dot. The dot plowed through what looked like oceans of red, busted through the compound's main gates, and stopped right in front of the main entrance. Their comms had been patched in and they were all listening in.

* * *

"Carris, stay on that gun until it's out of ammo. Steele, stay here and provide cover for her. Maddox, rig some charges on the Hog, we'll use it as a barricade for this entrance. Langley, get on the horn and start calling in gun runs. We're the only unit in this area."

Frost and the rest of the squad had rushed into the small lobby of the building. They hunkered down behind the wall to the right of the entrance.

"What about civvies?" she asked.

"Covenant are all over this area. The civilians here are either all dead or heading to the spaceports. You tell those Shortswords to keep firebombing the streets around here until the Covenant stop coming."

Frost looked around. Shattered glass littered the floor and there were dozens of bodies.

"Moser, Grant, with me. There may be Covenant inside. Let's make sure this building is clear. Bishop, Knight, barricade windows and doors. Maddox, once you're done with the charge, help them."

Frost led Moser and Grant in a sweep of the first floor. Dead Covenant mixed with dead Army troops and technicians. Deciding against a sweep of the second floor, as the building was too large and any Covenant up there would have the advantage. His mind was already swirling with a plan. Defending the entire building with only one squad would be next to impossible, even with Carris and her armor. All of the terminals and panels on the first and second floors were not important; Maddox with all of his technical acumen would be able to reroute the control of the turrets to the terminals in the basement where the generator was located. Turning the basement into a death trap for any attackers was the only way they could prevent the building from falling and to keep themselves alive.

After the first sweep, Frost ordered Maddox went to the central terminal on the first floor and diverted all control into the basement. Bishop and Knight took every single piece of moveable objects to the doors and windows. When the chaingun ran out of ammo, Carris and Steele entered the buildings, allowing Maddox to detonate the charge on the Warthog. Ushering the squad into the basement, Frost began to contemplate. They had just pulled into the garrison compound when the Covenant began to attack. Officers directed the troops to the armory; everyone suited back up, grabbed as much ammo and weaponry as they could, and embarked on the vehicles. Forming a defense inside a city was nearly impossible; skyscrapers were impossible to occupy with even a hundred men, city streets could be turned into death traps for the defenders and the attackers, and no matter how many bodies they put into the field, they'd never be able to hold every intersection. The inner city base and the spaceport were the only areas to form a unified defense. Most of the civilians and the garrison had gone there; the first ones out were either trapped or slaughtered as they tried to ride out and meet the invaders. Scores of civilians had been slaughtered; on the ride to the turret control center, Frost had seen mounds of bodies discarded by the Covenant.

Whether the city would last the night, Frost was unsure. Could it be retaken? Yes. From the chatter he was receiving over the net, Sacco and the other field commanders were pooling their troops and vehicles and were trying to get to the city. If it fell to the enemy fore they got there, they could counterattack and take it back. Although, that meant all of the civilians and defenders who hadn't been able to escape would be dead by that point. As the others set about shoring up defenses in the generator room, Frost found a secluded spot and sat down. He tipped his helmet up a little and pinched the bridge of his nose. The basement they now inhabited was could end up being their tomb and he had led them straight into it. Some master tactician he was; some leader, some friend, forcing them there. When he walked back to the others, they were still working diligently. They weren't blind; they knew what could end up happening down in the basement. Typical siege. They'd hole themselves up in the most defendable spot, make the Covenant pay dearly, but in the end, run out of ammo and be slaughtered as they fought hand-to-hand.

"You good, bruv?" Steele asked, giving Frost a thump on the shoulder. Frost sighed.

"You must be perceptive."

"Whatcha you mean?"

"What you were saying earlier, in the whorehouse. You were smart to take that chance while you could."

Steele shook his head.

"Whatever you're thinking of bruvva, why don't you just get it out of your head, eh?" He smiled. "Tell you what, once we get outta here, we should hit one of those hole-in-the-wall places I saw on the streets."

"Nobody'll be back in there."

"We know how to bloody cook!" Steele chortled. "Now come on!"

Frost followed Steele as they took stock. There were only two staircases into the basement, and Maddox had rigged another charge to collapse the ceiling onto it, rendering it impassable. All of the booby traps they could devise could be placed in the other staircase. Aside from the usual weapons they carried, they had brought more ammunition than normal, and the building had a decent armory. Every crate with ammunition, grenades, or other equipment was brought down. As for weapons, the arsenal was overflowing with shotguns and SMGs, perfect for close quarters combat. The dead had been stripped of ammunition and their weapons as well, morbid as it was to loot a corpse. There had been no survivors, but they had been able to kill the first wave. Frost had found the last man with an empty pistol surrounded by an entire squad of deceased Grunts.

The basement itself was quite small. It was square shape with a machine room to keep the building running to the right from the only passable staircase, and the other functions controlled in another room to the left. Both rooms contained their ammunition; the last thing they needed was a plasma grenade to detonate their ammunition, causing a china reaction that would kill them and obliterate the basement. Within the square was another room, which contained the massive generators that powered the city-wide turret system. The walls were made up of large glass windows, so they took all of the empty crates and furniture such as spare desks and made a chest high barrier in front of the window wall facing the stairs. It would protect the generator from any plasma bolts that were fired in as well as giving them a decent amount of cover. Other hardpoints were created with empty crates at the base of the staircase, where there was a small landing, giving them distance from the booby trapped grenades they had left on the first floor and on the staircase itself. While not as impenetrable as Frost would have preferred, it would serve its purpose well enough.

"Alright, Langley, give me the handheld, I'm making a call."

* * *

Vivian paced the bridge. She wasn't nervous, just tense. Her eyes kept darting back to the tactical screen, where she watched the yellow marks on the map slowly move towards Calhoun City. UNSC forces inside the city had congealed at the spaceports at the south end of the city and the garrison's compound to the southwest. On the map blue force tracking map-a name she found humorous at times as UNSC marked friendly forces with yellow-they came up as two bulky masses of yellow. The only other yellow dots to be found in the city was a small one at the turret control center.

He was there. Yes, he was there alright. Ready to sacrifice him and his entire squad for the greater good. Vivian wanted to feel a semblance of satisfaction; Jack the Ripper, the murderer, the knife-fighter, the monster, would meet his end. Certainly, he'd receive much more honor than he deserved, but as long as the bastard turned up dead at the end of this, it was fine by her.

That's how she wanted to think, wanted to feel. But something made her think twice. Every so often she'd look over at Jasmine. Jasmine was standing stock still, her eyes never leaving the tactical screen. Anyone who followed her gaze could see that she was watching Frost's squad's dot. Her presence on the bridge made Vivian feel different; not nervous but constricted. It felt to her as though every move she would make would effect Frost's position.

And there was a part of her, the side of her that purely military, that felt furious and grieved and frustrated to leave soldiers out to dry. There was nothing she could do. Nothing! Any actions she could take were limited and would have to be requested by Frost.

"How long until reinforcements can get to the city?" Jasmine asked suddenly.

"It's been almost an hour," Vivian answered, "Sacco's trying to move a large number of troops and armor to one point. Easier said than done; a smaller force is easier to order around and keep track of. We've got cumbersome units all over the field and orders can get mixed up.

"And how long until they reach...the control center?"

"Considering the reinforcements will have to fight their way through, and the Covenant are dug in like ticks now, it may take some time."

"They'll die."

 _Good. They ought to get it over with._

"We don't know that yet," Vivian said, emotionless.

"Look at all the red...isn't there anybody you can send?"

 _I'm not risking anyone for that murderer._

"We don't have any reserves."

" _I'm Alone_ , come in, this is Frost."

Everyone on the bridge visibly tensed up. Frost's voice, filling the entire bridge, was unusually serious; cold and dark, like a nighttime snowfall.

"Go ahead, Sergeant," Vivian said.

"We've fortified the basement of the control center. There's only one way in or out. We've got plenty of ammunition and weapons to hold out for a while. The turrets in this area have been holding them off for a while but I think they're getting ready for an attack. We didn't find any survivors."

"Sergeant, you won't be getting anything in the shape of reinforcements for over an hour."

"Can you give me an estimate?"

Vivian looked at the map. She looked at how far away any UNSC forces were, and how slow they were moving. She looked at the clouds of red on the map.

"No, I can't. Covenant are entrenched in the city and reinforcements are a long ways off." Vivian sighed. "You may have to pull an all nighter again."

There was a long pause. Silence gripped the bridge. Even Decatur didn't move. Vivian couldn't wait.

"I need a no bullshit assessment right now, Frost. Can you do it?"

Another period of silence. Finally, in a low voice, he responded. Perhaps he had moved away from his squad.

"I don't think we'll be able to hold."

Vivian glanced at Jasmine, who was hiding her despair well. One of her hands hung limply by her side while the other clutched the collar of Frost's jacket. Rubbing her forehead, Vivian looked at the floor.

"I'm giving you one chance to bug out. Talk with your squad, take a vote, I don't care, you make a decision if you want to pull out of there right now."

"Wait, one." Less than thirty seconds passed before the reply came. "Yep, just got a resounding no on that offer, myself included. We know what we're getting into down here."

Vivian saw Jasmine shut her eyes and shake her head. Before she could say anything, Frost continued.

"Ever heard of Sergeant Yakov Pavlov?"

"Can't say that I have."

"Pavlov was a Soviet soldier during the Second World War. Led a small unit that held a strategically placed apartment building for sixty days against overwhelming odds. They called the building 'Pavlov's House,' after him."

"You won't be in there for sixty days, Sergeant, I assure you."

"Nah, that's not the point. If we hold out in time for reinforcements, I want this building renamed to 'Frost's House.'"

Quiet laughter fill the bridge. Vivian did her best not to smile. She imagined him standing there with the handheld, that smile on his face. Laughter was sweet in the face of death, she supposed. Nothing could raise a soldier's morale like a dumb joke.

"I'm sure Hayes can have a word with the mayor after this is over," Vivian answered. "Good luck, Sergeant."

"Frost, out."

Jasmine went over to Vivian.

"You need to be straight with me right now," she whispered. Anger was rare of Jasmine, Vivian knew, but the urgency in her voice meant she could boil over at any moment. "I know he happened to be in the area, but are you holding back reinforcements because you want him to die?"

"Jas, you've been staring at the map since you came onto the bridge. Do you see anyone I can send over there? Are their troops that I don't know about that I can deploy? You tell me, Jasmine, where are these reinforcements you think I have?"

"You have to do something," Jasmine said, almost pleading. "I could have died down there. He saved my life. We can't leave him."

"Jasmine-"  
"Do you want him dead?"  
"Of course I do," Vivian hissed, "but I made a promise to you, didn't I?"

Before they could exchange another word, a voice interrupted them.

"I'll go."

Vivian turned around saw Captain De Vos standing in her full ODST attire, her M7 SMG with the optical sight and suppressor in one hand and her helmet in the other. De Vos had returned to the _I'm Alone_ three hours ago to provide a report and take care of logistics. The ODSTs in the field, led by Holst, were having trouble being supplied.

All eyes had turned to orange haired ODST XO. She stood firmly. Vivian approached her.

"What do you mean you'll go?"

"Let me grab some extra ammo and I'll drop into the compound, give them another fighting hand."

"Captain De Vos, you do understand that Sergeant Frost is preparing for a last stand?"

"Yes," said the rigid Belgian officer.

"Reinforcements are a long ways off, you'll have no support on the ground..."

"I understand."

Vivian grimaced. She needed every good soldier she could get her hands on. One of the drawbacks about the task force was that it had a limited number of combat personnel. Victories and successful missions had followed them since they had left Reach, but over time it would begin to drain them of manpower. Ammunition could be replaced. Food could be replaced. Vehicles and aircraft could be replaced. Veteran soldiers could not be replaced. Tactical expertise, experience, bravery, battle prowess, these were all traits of the veterans. Lucky for her, the 89th MEU and Holst's ODSTs were all battle proven. The more she lost from both groups, the less effective they'd be on the ground. Casualties had been light so far; many wounded had wounds that could be treated on the ship and they could be return to duty in a few weeks or even less. Worse wounds held men in the infirmaries for longer durations of time but they could return eventually as well. Soldier who had debilitating injuries or had their minds broken had to be sent away. And the dead ones spoke for themselves. No matter how well a battle went, she would lose people. Losing people made them weaker. Losing someone like De Vos would be a major blow.

De Vos was a well-known, popular, and effective leader and soldier. At the age of sixteen, she had enlisted with the Army and was sent to the Outer Colonies. At seventeen, she joined the Army Airborne, which was no small accomplishment. When she was eighteen, she became a Pathfinder in the Airborne. Becoming a Pathfinder required a good sense of maps, direction, and tactical coordination. She made a name for herself by dropping in ahead of Army counterattacks and lighting up drop zones for Airborne units. During this time she earned a battlefield commission and later volunteered for the ODSTs. Her skills led her to being the right hand of the distinguished Major Holst.

All of that experienced showed in her eyes, green like her armor. Vivian sighed. There was no choice in the matter. A non-military type would have said there was; she just needed to put her foot down and order De Vos not to go. But a soldier volunteering for a suicide mission was someone you couldn't say no to.

"Sosa, bring us over the turret control center." Vivian ordered, then turned back to De Vos. "Captain De Vos, prepare to drop."

De Vos saluted smartly and marched off to the HEV bay.

"Brass balls," Bassot murmured.

"Shut up," Tsang grunted.

"Sergeant Frost, I have an ODST preparing to jump into the compound. We're going to send her right through the roof. Be prepared to nab her and get back into the basement. Over."

"No disrespect, Captain, but does she know what's going on down here? Over."

"She does. Over."

She heard him sigh on the other end.

"I'll take whoever I can get. Just make sure-" there was an explosion. "Here they come!" Frost cried. "Captain, we're going to leave our comms channel open. When you hear someone say, 'last man,' drop a MAC on top of the compound! I repeat, when you hear 'last man,' drop a-Steele, look out-"

Vivian watched as Jasmine took out her earpiece and hurriedly left the bridge. She heard Frost and his squad members yelling over the comms, accompanied by gunshots, explosions, and every so often the barking of an alien. As twenty minutes passed, she slammed her fist on her station. Everyone looked over at her in shock.

"That cuts it," she growled. She changed frequencies, deciding to exercise her operational command, "All UNSC frigates in the AO, enter atmosphere and start supporting the troops in Calhoun City."

"Ma'am, I thought we needed all ships on standby in case the Covenant show up," Tsang said.

"They aren't going to show up." Vivian assured him. "I want a two frigates at the spaceport, two frigates at the army garrison. _Lion's Den_ , _Determined Guardian_ , I want you over Frost's position."

"Ma'am, we're over the turret control center," Sosa reported some minutes later. Once more, Vivian changed frequencies.

"Captain De Vos, are you ready."

"Mean and green, Captain Waters."

"Drop."

* * *

A descending HEV was better than any roller coaster, De Vos had decided a long time ago. Originally, she had thought jumping from a Pelican at ten thousand feet and falling in a parachute was. After that, performing a high-altitude, low-opening jump from thirty thousand feet was the best adrenaline rush. Yet, it was beaten by an inch by the HEV. HEV's rattled the occupant's entire frame, made their insides roil and roll, made their mind go fuzzy just a little. During combat jumps, Covenant AA would try to take them down. Streams of blue plasma would fly by and green explosive bolts would make the HEV shudder. Nothing beat the landing though, as the HEV buried its bottom in the earth and the hatch popped off, revealing whatever battle-scarred landscape to the occupant. In that moment, when the hatch was gone and the harness lifted, that was when an ODST's mettle was truly tested.

De Vos peered down at the city. Fires created thick columns of black smoke that the HEV cut through. Explosions dotted the cityscape. As the HEV got closer, she could see the dots of Covenant soldiers rampaging through the city, surrounding the control center. With a massive crash, the HEV broke through the roof of the building, smashed through the second floor, and settled on the first floor. The harness lifted as the hatch popped open and De Vos jumped out. The impact had caused a horde of Covenant to dive out of the way, and the concussion had stunned them. Groggily, Grunts, Jackals, and Skirmishers slowly tried to get up. Not willing to give them any time, De Vos tossed a frag in each direction and sprinted through the stunned mob. The grenades detonated, causing bodies and limbs to be thrown all over. Other aliens who were not close by were shocked and confused to see an ODST come storming through the first floor, shoulder-checking Jackals and meleeing Grunts as she passed. They were so startled that they didn't even fire at her.

"Frost, this is De Vos. I'm at the staircase and moving fast. Watch your fire!"

"Solid copy!" came his reply over the comms.

When she started descending the staircase, she was confronted by numerous Covenant dead. Booby traps had gone off and killed dozens, and the walls were pockmarked by bullets. Quickly, she sprinted down and through the makeshift barrier. A hand reached out, grabbed her breastplate, and pulled her into cover. It was Frost. "I'd say it's good to see you but you've entered a world of shit."

"We're soldiers, we get paid to live in shit," she replied. Frost smiled. He looked weary and dirty already. All of his soldiers did. They were panting, reloading their weapons as they waited for the next Covenant assault.

"We've held off three waves since we got off the horn with Waters," Frost explained. They got the jump on us the first time and a few managed to get in, but we killed them with hand weapons. We've got plenty of ammunition in the side rooms, and we've got multiple loaded weapons spread out along here. You run out of ammo in your primary weapon and don't have time to reload, there's another weapon close by."

"Good thinking."

"Ma'am, will you be taking command?" he asked. De Vos de-polarized the visor of her helmet and smiled.

"You've got things under control here. As far as I'm concerned, you're running the show. Rank right now doesn't matter. Where do you need me?"

With a smile he stepped from where he was behind the barrier, "Right here will do," he said. De Vos nodded and took the position. Just as her visor polarized, she felt his hand on his shoulder. "Thanks for coming."

She nodded.

* * *

Carris watched as Frost sat down and took out a small tin. He popped the cover, dipped his finger in, and applied the same war paint he had just before they came down to the planet a few days earlier.

"Why does he do that? Camouflage isn't necessary in this environment."

"Fuck if I know," Steele mumbled as he took a drag on a cigarette. Something in his voice told her that he knew more than he let on. But she took the hint: he didn't feel like sharing. When Frost finished, he put his helmet back on and stood up.

"Alright guys," he said, his voice possessing a tender tone, "I don't mean to scare you or to lower your spirits. We all decided to get into this hole and fight. We all know how this might play out. I have complete confidence in all of you that we'll make it out of here in one piece, and I promise that when we're relieved, we'll take a walk through this city and find a place to have breakfast." Everyone laughed a little, even Carris. Frost's smile disappeared. "If things turn up the other way..." He sighed. "It's been a good run, huh?"

"Sure has," Bishop responded with a grin.

"Don't want to be anywhere else," Grant piped up.

"Alright then, make sure your heads are clear, and get ready."

Speeches were not his strong-suit, Carris decided, but there was a plain honest in his words and his voice that touched her all the same. Clearing her head was something she had never done before. There had been no need. Spartans devoted all of their thoughts to the operation; objectives, team members, enemy threat, potential snags, mission parameters, support options, exfil. Distractions were never a problem. At this time, however, Carris found herself thinking of home. Tribute, a world she could hardly remember. A school came to mind, lectures from adults too. Dodgeball games played through her mind like an old film reel. Those had been fun. Her mind went to the training she had endured, the rough teachings of Chief Mendez, the attention-demanding but quite tone of Dr. Halsey's voice, the screaming of the instructors. Carris closed her eyes for a moment, glad to be wearing her helmet. _Clear your head_. But she couldn't. Recent memories began to play out; cooking french toast and preparing Thanksgiving dinner. A hundred conversations and songs. Her eyes gazed out at the squad and for some reason she missed them, even though they were right _there_.

 _They won't get any of you._

Carris pushed everything from her mind and focused. Clarity came with situations like these, she supposed. Her eyes then caught a little movement. She saw Grant, bracing his feet, his assault rifle raised, lower his left hand and extended it out and backwards as Moser passed by. Moser gave a low-five as he passed and took up position to his right. Grant then brought his hand back up. Then she spotted Bishop take a swig from his canteen before giving a few pats on top of Maddox's helmet as he stood up. Maddox got to his feet and bumped his fist against Knight's as they all manned the barrier. Knight went up behind Langley and gave her ponytail a gentle tug, which made her smile as she put her helmet back on. Frost came over to Steele, who was beside Carris still, and they exchange a quick hug. A dozen or so little gestures and taps and hugs were exchanged between the squad. They all came to Carris took, bumping fists or delivering a solid pat to her pauldron. She returned the gestures, gently over course, otherwise she'd break their hands. At first she was confused but then it hit her when she saw Frost look back at Steele again, a lifted his hand up for a moment. Steele returned the wave and then returned his attention to the staircase. Yes, she understood now. Just in case, they were saying goodbye.

"Hey, C?"

Carris looked down at Steele, who was holding a DMR.

"Yes?"

He looked at her, his eyes apologetic and sad.

"Sorry you ended up in here with us."

"I'd rather be here than anywhere else."

"You wouldn't say that if you'd ever visit a California beach," Grant said from across the room. Everyone groaned and chuckled.

"Here they come!" De Vos yelled. Carris trained her modified MA5B forward. A horde of Grunts came storming down the stairs with plasma grenades already armed. The squad annihilated them and a series of blue explosions rocked the staircase, sending body parts and blue alien blood everywhere. Jackals came next, tried to form a shield wall again. Grenades quickly sorted them out and they were quickly dispatched. Skirmishers tried to sprint through the fire but shotguns and close range didn't allow them to get through. Brutes came next, roaring and filling the air with their stench. Grenades and shotguns made quick work of them but they got too close, allowing Skirmishers that had been behind them to storm through the barrier. Weapon buttstocks collided with Skirmisher skulls. Knives buried themselves in throats and bellies. Punches and kicks thudded against flesh. Carris picked a Skirmisher up by the neck and delivered a solid punch which practically caved in the alien's face. She grabbed another one of the fragile aliens and tore its arm off from the socket before throwing it down and curb stomping it. Another jumped on her shoulders but she grabbed it by the neck and with all of her strength slammed it on the floor; from the sickening series of _cracks_ she was sure she had broken every bone in its body. An Elite came storm through with an energy's wore but Carris dodged its thrust, pinned its sword arm between her torso and left arm, took her blade in her right hand and jammed it into the Elite's eye socket. Grabbing the energy sword, she parried another attack from a sword-armed Elite and impaled it right in the gut. Kicking the corpse of the blade, she was tackled by a Brute that came rushing right through the barricade. She headbutted the beast several times before it recoiled and she slashed it across the gut; the Brute howled as its intestines came spilling out.

The whole barricade was a mess of flailing limbs. The marines were stabbing and slashed as quick as they could. A few maintained their shotguns, firing at Elites and Brutes before they could get close. Grant was on top of a Jackal, forcing his sidearm in its beak-like mouth before emptying a clip. De Vos delivered a solid roundhouse kick to a Skirmisher before pumping half a clip of her M7 into it. Frost had grabbed a BR55 and was swing it by the barrel, using the heavy stock like a club, bashing Grunts aside. Bishop was practically sitting on the barricade, complete exposed, firing a shotgun until it was out of ammunition. Maddox would then hand him a fully loaded shotgun, which Bishop would fire into the crowd of attacking aliens while Maddox reloaded the other.

As the throng of Covenant finally began to thin out, leaving the squad up to their knees in dead Covenant, they heard a heavy stomping sound. A Hunter appeared at the bottom of the stairs; the huge, blue armored, spiked beast made a strange, garbled roar.

"Oh shit!" someone cried.

"Knight, the rocket launcher!" Frost shouted. Knight slid up the barrier with his rocket launcher, just as the Hunter was charging up its plasma cannon. "Backblast clear! Fire!"

Everyone ducked as the pair of rockets detonated against the Hunter. Grenades followed and when the dust settled, the mangled beast was dead.  
"Here comes the second! Grenades, now!"

Frost helped Knight reload but Carris realized the Hunter was going to fire before they could. Seizing the moment, Carris leaped over the barricade, dropping her MA5B as she did. Priming a grenade, she charged at the Hunter. The Hunter ceased charging its plasma cannon and brought its huge shield on the left arm to bear. Carris jumped over the shield as the Hunter swung it, and landed on its shoulders. Before it had a chance to reached, she took her knife, gouged out a chunk of its exposed, orange, worm neck, and with a powerful punch, stuck the grenade into its neck. She then jumped over it, sliding on the floor back to the barricade. The grenade explode, tearing out a section of its upper back, shoulders, and its head. But as the alien began to crumple to the floor, Carris saw that the plasma cannon had begun to charge. She realized it was about to fire. Quickly, she darted forward and kicked the cannon a second before it fired. Instead of hitting the barricade, the blast was fired into the wall right where Carris was standing. As she was thrown back, Carris felt an immense amount of heat pin-pricking her all over. That kind of pain from plasma would have been debilitating to a normal soldier; luckily for her, her armor absorbed most of the damage.

Still, the concussion was powerful and knocked her onto the floor. A direct hit from a Hunter's assault cannon could kill a Spartan, armor and all. Her ears ringing, her vision fuzzy, and her body weak, Carris tried to get up.

"Carris! Carris!" she heard the others cried. In a moment they were around her.

"Drag her back behind the barricade!"

"There's no way we can do that, her armor's too heavy!"

"What're we gonna do then, just leave her there?"

Carris was on her back and could them all standing over her, a few with their weapons raised. Frost knelt over her, as did Steele, who put a hand on the side of her helmet.

"Hey, you in there?" he asked. Carris nodded slowly.

"How much does the armor weigh?"

"One thousand pounds..."

"Holy fuck," Steele murmured. Frost took control quick.

"Alright, if we work together we can get her back behind the barricade. Bishop, take her under the armpits. Knight, Maddox, you two on the left arm. Moser, Grant, you two on the right arm. De Vos and me will take the left leg, Steele, Langley, take the right."

Everyone took hold, finding it difficult even just to lift her arms and legs. Carris watched, still took out of it to move herself. "Alright, one, two, three!"

They hardly lifted her off the ground. "Okay, fuck picking her up. Drag her." Frost, Steele, De Vos, and Langley re-positioned themselves on either side of her and began to pull. To her surprise, they were able to move her. At a snail's space, with their faces red, their voices grunting in exertion, and sweat pouring down their faces, they were finally able to get her behind the barricade.

"I think I need to sit down," Knight groaned.

"One thousand pounds...ain't got...shit...on us..." Steele huffed.

"Got any words of wisdom on combined strength?" Grant asked Moser. The latter shook his head, still panting.

Carris felt her helmet being pulled off and was met with Steele's concerned face.

"The hell was that, huh? You trying to get yourself killed?"

Carris, finally regaining her senses, smiled a little.

"Trying to save our asses from getting turned to goo, you ungrateful bastard," she croaked. Steele blinked and then he laughed. Carris took her helmet back and put it on.

"Here they come again!"

* * *

Frost emptied his assault rifle and snatched up a shotgun. He fired into the mob of Covenant that was charging at them. The pile of corpses in front of them and around them was beginning to grow higher. It was becoming impossible to traverse. Brass cartridges and spent shells littered the floor, and more than once, someone would trip. Plasma burned by them, striking the barriers in front of the generator. Frost kept firing. Everyone kept firing. And when the Covenant would close in, they use anything they could to fight back. Their knives were slick with purple and blue blood. He was practically going deaf from the amount of grenades they were throwing in close quarters. Bits of shrapnel had skinned his already scarred forearms and had turned the sleeves of his t-shirt. He wondered if Jasmine still had his armor with her. It wouldn't have helped anyways.

He picked up an SMG and began spraying into the charging aliens as they tried to push past the piles of their fallen comrades. He lost all sense of time down in that basement; he didn't know what time it was, how many hours had passed. For all he knew, days could have passed. His hands were numbed from firing for so long. Everyone was tired and dirty. The world above him was shaking. He hoped the lights wouldn't go out.

A hand slapped his weapon from his grasp. Then, Frost was kicked to the ground. Frost looked up to see an Elite towering over him, an energy sword raised high over its head.

"C'mere you son of a..."

Steele jumped onto its back and drove his knife into its neck a dozen times. The alien roared but eventually slumped over. Steele stood up and pulled Frost to his feet.

"Watch out!"  
They both turned as a horde of Skirmishers threw themselves over the barricade. Frost drew his knife and began stabbing indiscriminately, trying to claw his way of the squirming bodies he was buried under.

* * *

" _Long before Custer died at the Little Bighorn, the myth of the Last Stand already had a strong pull on human emotions, and on the way we like to remember history. The variations are endless — from the three hundred Spartans at Thermopylae to Davy Crockett at the Alamo — but they all tell the story of a brave and intractable hero leading his tiny band against a numberless foe. Even though the odds are overwhelming, the hero and his followers fight on nobly to the end and are slaughtered to a man. In defeat the hero of the Last Stand achieves the greatest of victories, since he will be remembered for all time..."_

-Nathaniel Philbrick, historian

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **This is by far the longest chapter I have written for this story. At 33 pages in Google Docs and standing at 17,447 words (not including the author's note but including the end quote), I have decided that every twenty-five chapters will be a chapter be longer than the usual range I go for. Essentially, every twenty-five will contain some extreme event or events, and will not always be limited to combat. As well, they will present some kind of change in the story; what kind of change remains to be seen. ;) Hoped you enjoy the longer chapter and that it was worth the wait.**

 **I'd also like to issue a tremendous thank you to all of the new followers to this story; I appreciate you taking the time to read. Feel free to PM or leave a comment, I enjoy talking with my readers.**

 **So, comment responses:**

 **Alpha HighBreed: In answer to an earlier point you made that I overlooked (my bad), I'm not too keen on the use of Sparrowhawks. A lot of the vehicles introduced in Halo Wars I really enjoyed but there was something about the Hawk that just irked me. I think it had more to do with the design and the fact that the Hornet was just a more stylish aircraft while the Sparrowhawk looks more like a generic gunship I've seen from a dozen other sci-fi games. Not to mention, as the lore states, they were pretty well used during the fire decade but afterwards became harder to maintain; while stricter deployment didn't hit in full until 2550, I think we can assume in the time leading up to that point they financial and material demands were beginning to take its toll. They'll make an appearance from time to time but seeing as how Hornets already pack a mean punch with cannons and rockets and Vivian's task force has a strong complement of Longswords and Shortswords for air support, the Sparrowhawk is kind of unnecessary in my opinion. As for entities like Grizzlies and Vultures, they will definitely be making their appearances, but not just yet.**

 **As for the combat, thank you. What I'm trying to do is make the fighting as barbaric as possible, but also show how it affects soldiers in that moment, by having them exhibit the full range of emotion; anger, happiness, sadness, fear, etc. Bitterness coincides with anger and joy with happiness, such as surviving and being able to take out their anger on the retreating Covenant. I'm glad that's making for good reading.**

 **MightBeGone: Okay, some I'm a little confused. So is the ship name for Carris and Steele, Starris or is it Cattle? Is it both? XD I'm glad you enjoy the chemistry between the two but anything could happen. And yes, Carris is over eighteen; she's thirty-one in fact. And as for custom characters for the audience, I'm still thinking about it because I'm not sure how well I'd do with requests, know what I mean? As for character deaths, well, that's up to me, MWHAHAHAHA! All I have to do is push one button and POOF, there goes a character! And uh, my profile is the truth. All I have is on this site is this story. I have a DeviantArt profile with some other works, but they're mainly practice works or one-offs or really, REALLY old pieces that I'm not sure how I feel about. I'm no James Patterson, trust me. But I'm planning on some original work over the summer that I'm keep under wraps for now; hopefully I'll be able to publish it for real though.**

 **chase8999: ...well, uh...seeing as how chase has now disappeared in a flash of light...I'm not too sure what to say. Um...guess we'll have to wait until he comes back...uh...hang on to your hats everyone, I've got a bad feeling about this.**


	26. Chapter 26: Heroes & Medals

Chapter 26: Heroes & Medals

* * *

Vivian staring at the tactical screen. Dawn was two hours away on the planet below. Most of the city had been retaken and the screen was thick with yellow dots. The entire city was surrounding by a ring of yellow and the last major red bastion was centered at the turret control center. There was still a yellow dot there but the comms link had dropped two hours ago. Their radio must have been damaged or destroyed, and interference had been becoming a problem since the Covenant had been wrecking the city.

"Do you want me to try raising them again?" Koroma asked.

"No. If they haven't responded in two hours, we can only assume that their comms link to the net has been severed in some way. Their marker is still there, so they can't be dead, at least not all of them."

"Couldn't one of them be wounded and unable to respond?" Bassot asked.

"Possibly," Vivian answered.

She was tried. All night she had been on the bridge, monitoring the situation. Even when Solak would relieve her, she didn't bother to leave, she'd just sleep at her station. The bridge staffers also remained. Mess hall attendants had brought up meals and coffee for them. There wasn't too much they could do but monitor the situation and help with coordinating the assault.

General Sacco was tightening the noose and soon the cloud of red on the map began to disappear. The circle grew smaller, and smaller, and smaller. Small pockets would remain for a few minutes before being wiped away from the map. Forty-five minutes later, Calhoun City was free from the Covenant threat.

Vivian stood up.

"Prepare a transport for me," Vivian ordered, "I'm heading down there. Make sure that the CASEVAC's keep running. Send out a general order that the remaining civilian populace can return home if they are able. Keep teams sweeping just in case our scans are missing any remaining Covenant."

The compound where the control center was situated was in ruin. The walls were knocked down, the building had no windows left, and the landscape was littered with Covenant dead. Army GIs and marines were standing about, resting after the battle.

Hayes was there to greet her on the ground, as well as Holst.

"General Sacco and a team are going into the basement now, Captain, come on," Hayes said with a wave. The trio hurriedly entered the building, where even more dead Covenant lay. Aside from all of the military terminals and computers, one could have mistaken it for the average office building. Holst mumbled something as they passed by the HEV.

"No disrespect, Captain, but you shouldn't have allowed Captain De Vos down here."

"Major, she volunteered. She understood the risks."

"I need my troops more than the marines need there's," Holst growled.

"Fuck did you just say?" Hayes stopped and glared at Holst. Holst held his ground, staring up at the towering half-Russian.

"I said that you goddamned jarheads could have gotten one of my best troopers killed; ODSTs are the best that the UNSC have to offer. You chumps are the rank and file; cannon fodder."

Vivian stepped in between the two, fearing a fistfight.

"Cannon fodder? Some of my best troops have been down in that basement all nighting, fighting to make sure the turret system didn't fail. If they hadn't, this city would have fallen before we got here. You better show my men some respect or else."

"Or else what, big man? You don't scare me one bit."

"You think some puny Dutchman like yourself can best a Cossack, one on one?"

"Both of you, shut up!" Vivian ordered. "I'm about to write you both up for conduct unbecoming of a UNSC officer. You're supposed to stop crap like this, not start it."

"De Vos is worth more than that entire squad, even with the freakazoid soldier attached to it."

"Holst, unless you want me to send you home and place someone else in charge, I suggest you police that mouth of yours," Vivian said harshly. Holst finally backed down, pushing Vivian's hand from his breastplate. His glaring gaze did not depart from Hayes'. "Now, come on. Let's get down there."

Soldiers were hauling Covenant dead out of the basement. It was almost impossible to see past the piles of bodies. How they had managed to keep on pushing into the basement, past the mounds of bodies, was beyond her. It took some time, but eventually they cleared the staircase, and then the landing. The stench was unbearable and Vivian almost slipped on alien blood. Some bodies, riddled with bullet holes, were still leaking. They had to bring a Warthog into the built and attached its front cables to the corpses of Hunters, as the aliens were too heavy to drag out by hand.

"Oh my god," someone murmured as Vivian, Hayes, and Holst entered the basement. Standing behind a half-destroyed barricade, was Frost and his entire team. Filthy, exhausted, but triumphant. General Sacco and his men looked astonished.

Frost stepped forward and he shook Sacco's hand.

"Thank you for coming," he said, tiredly. He still managed to smile. "We were almost out of ammo. What time is it?"

"It's a little past five in the morning. Tell us what happened?"

"They kept coming at us. First they tried waves but then they just came in, trying to crush with numbers. We'd fire into them and if they broke through the barricade we'd fight them off with knives. We had to fire rockets inside and that nearly destroyed our eardrums. There were so many dead bodies the Covenant had to cease attacking because they couldn't climb over them; they spent an hour trying to drag out the dead, with us still firing at them. A couple times they overran us and we were just...buried...under the bodies, but we fought them off."

"Are any you wounded?"

"Actually, we're doing alright. Some bruises and scratches, but nothing serious. Carris had some burns but she says she's alright," he motioned at the operative.

"You're heroes, true heroes," Sacco said, "first Havens and now here. You saved this city, Sergeant. Everyone here owes you a debt."

He shook his head.

"No, sir. Nobody owes us anything."

"There's a Pelican waiting for you outside," Vivian said quietly. Frost looked over at her, surprised, like he hadn't seen her. Once more, he shook his head.

"No, ma'am. I promised the squad we'd go out to breakfast."

A few soldiers murmured but Sacco hushed them.

"Well, there's some Warthogs you can commandeer outside."

"Thank you sir, but I think we'd like to walk." he turned around, "Come on, let's find a joint to eat at."

Vivian and the rest stepped aside as Frost led his squad out. Steele was right behind him, followed by Carris, then Moser and Grant, Bishop and Maddox; Knight was taking a moment to convince Langley to leave her shot up radio behind, but she insisted on wearing it. De Vos appeared. She took her helmet off and brought up the rear.

Holst reached out and took her wrist.

"Where are you going?"

"Breakfast," she said quietly.

Before her CO could respond, De Vos kept walking after them.

* * *

Frost and his squad walked down the city streets. He was surprised to see things weren't as devastated as he thought. The pavement was free from shell craters, most of the buildings were still standing. Cars were wrecked, windows was shattered, and he could smell a fire in the distance.

People were already drifting back to their homes and apartments. They looked tired and disillusioned, until they set eyes on the squad as they walked through the streets. Frost imagined they looked quite a sight. On the right side of the street, Moser and Grant were walking side by side. Grant was babbling about some story while Moser looked like he was sleeping walking. Carris, beside Grant, was walking with her helmet under her arm, somewhat stiffly from the burns. Steele was on her left, his sniper rifle over his shoulder and a cigarette in his mouth. Frost was beside him, his black bandanna tied around his neck, his helmet strapped to his belt and the battle rifle in his right hand. De Vos was beside him, her SMG clipped to her hip and her helmet in her hand. Bishop, holding his shotgun in the air in his right hand, was holding a lighter out in his left hand to Maddox, who bent over a little as they walked to light his cigarette. Langley walked beside Maddox, glaring disapprovingly at their habit. At the other end, Knight walked contentedly, looking at that photograph of his wife and son again.

Soldiers and civilians lined the street. Katz was there, snapping photos of them. Frost didn't mind. He was glad they could all see them, see what they had done. He didn't want anyone to come up and say thank you, didn't want them to do anything. All he wanted, was for them to see him and his squad, walking like they were after what they had been through.

Someone began to clap. A few more joined in, and soon people were cheering, whistling, yelling, and crying. Women came up and planted kisses on their cheeks and men gave them hard claps on the back.

"Thank you!"  
"You're heroes!"

"God bless you!"

"We're glad to see you!"

"That'll show the Covenant!"

"Good morning, you beautiful bastards!"

Frost and the squad nodded, smiled, and waved. His heart swelled and he felt like crying. Never before had they ever received a welcome such as this. Many times they had rescued civilians and gotten them aboard Pelicans, as they hadn't been able to reach the Pelicans. So many times he had handed children to their parents and watch the Pelican take off. Through the tears in their eyes they'd choke out some kind of thanks, at an emotional loss for the kindness Frost and his squad had given them. All part of the job, Frost had told himself all these years. Part of the job, yes, to fight for those who couldn't, to protect them from any and all threats, to die so they could live. Those were drilled into him during training, and he believed in them. But now, all of this, these grateful, cheering, crying people, who had thought all was lost, made it sink home for him. Those phrases all meant something, and not even Steele could make fun of them now. He looked close to tears himself.

"Bloody hell, I'd ask'em to keep it down, me eardrums hurt," Steele whispered to Frost. "But I don't have the heart."

Frost laughed.

"There any place to get some food around here?" he asked loudly.

"I'll serve you!" someone yelled, and waved them over.

As the cheering crowd finally dispersed, the owner of a small, hole-in-the-wall Chinese food restaurant opened up his shop, which had been able to escape the Covenant's destruction remarkably. The basic amenities that had been gone for the duration of the battle-running water, gas, heat-were all returned by this point, so the owner fired up his shop and soon the squad was seated on the stools he gave them at the counter. There were enough, so Carris, Steele, and Frost stood, while De Vos, Grant, Moser, and Langley took the stools at the counter; Maddox, Bishop, and Knight seated themselves in the sidewalk. The owner practically gave them a feast, handing out small white cartons filled with various foods and bowls of soup. Frost hadn't realized how hungry he was and had scarfed down at least several cartoons of rice and chicken. The owner gave them beers too; they all had a round but afterwards they asked for water.

"This is really good," Carris said with a mouthful of food, "maybe they should serve this on the _I'm Alone_."

Steele laughed. Carris frowned. "What?"

"It's just funny to see you having no manners when you're wearing this badass suit of armor. Just makes me laugh."

Carris smiled at him as he slurped from a bowl of soup, still trying not to laugh. De Vos finished another cup of water and turned to face them.

"I've been to China before," she said, "the food there was a little different from this. This reminds me of the Chinese food I had in the United States."

"You've been around," Grant said, "been to California, Captain?"  
"Twice."

"You like the beaches?"

"I did, though I prefer Hawaii's."

"Aw, come on. Nothing beats California."

"I take it you're a California native?"

"You betcha, ma'am!" Grant pointed at Frost. "Sing the California song!"

Frost sighed.

"How about you sing it? You know the words."

"It's better when you do it!"

"For once in your life, you sing the damned song!"

"Come on, Nate!"

"Grant..."

" _Nate!_ "

"What if I sing with you on the chorus? Is that a fair compromise?"

"Deal!"

Frost cleared his throat and let Grant sing the first parts of the song. His voice was loud and carried far, and when Frost joined in, everyone else did too. Peeking from the corner of his eye, he saw that Carris wasn't, even when Steele nudged her with his elbow. De Vos, who didn't know the words, sat and listened, looking happy.

When they were done, some nearby civilians applauded. The owner did as well. Frost chuckled as he went back to his meal. With a contented sigh, he looked up at the sky. Dawn had come and the sun was shining brightly in the clear sky. It was the first pleasant day they had since they had arrived on the planet.

"Fine morning," he said quietly.

"Not so sure about that, here comes Mr. Cameraman," Steele whispered. Katz walked up, holding his camera.

"Hey guys, I got some good pictures of you. I was hoping to get a couple more, is that okay?"

Frost looked at the squad. They looked more reinvigorated now, either by the food or that cheering crowd. When they looked at him, they didn't seem too against the idea of a few more snapshots, but they didn't look overjoyed either.

Katz seemed to sense their apprehension and he grinned.

"A bunch of local news reporters and camera guys were asking around for you. I told them you went to another part of the city. I figured the last thing you guys wanted was to get a bunch of microphones and video cameras shoved in your faces."

The squad was surprised. Nobody spoke, until Steele laughed.

"Boy-o, I can assure you that you can take as many pictures you want if you saved us from those vultures."

"Thanks. I only want to take a couple. Just stay where you are first and keep doing what you're doing," Katz stepped back and raised his camera, and snapped a few photos. "Okay, now can I have you guys get together and pose."

"Uh, I need makeup first," Bishop joked.

"You need a lot more for that face," Knight jousted.

"Pfft, I'm surprised you managed to find a girl nice enough to marry you with that mug," Langley joked. Everyone laughed.

Frost stood in the middle, with Steele and Carris on his right. De Vos, Grant, and Moser were on his left. Bishop, Knight, and Maddox knelt in front of them. Everyone smiled as Katz took several photos. Standing there, among his friends, his belly full, still tired, Frost felt happy. Happier than he had in months. Near death experiences, he had been told, made a person appreciate life a little bit more. Considering all he had, he appreciated life a great deal. But at that moment, the war seemed ever so distant, and he felt alive.

"Come on, you little bastard, get in here!" Steele yelled, "Pose with us!"

"That's alright," Katz answered bashfully.

"No, c'mon!" the squad persisted. Eventually, Katz consented. The restaurant owner came out and took the photos, with Katz kneeling in the front row. When they were finished, Katz retrieved his camera, took a little food for himself, and walked off. As he did, a few teenagers came up to them.

"Are you those guys who fought the Covenant all night long? We were wondering if you would take some pics with us!"

* * *

When Vivian found Frost and his squad, they were surrounding by a group of teenagers and taking group selfies with them. Teens would jog off, laughing and tittering about the photos they had taken. Others waited impatiently for their turn. Some barraged the squad with questions about the battle or about themselves. The squad was doing their best to act amiably but she could see their patience beginning to run thin.

Jumping out of Hayes' Warthog, she walked over and dispersed them.

"Alright, you've had your fun. Off with you! Go home and let your parents know you're okay!"

Reluctantly, the teenagers did so, waving to the squad as they left.

"Good bunch of kids," Frost said as Vivian approached him. She sighed, her gut feeling sick at the sight of him.

"I spoke with General Sacco. He had a word with the right people and they're going to change the name of the compound to Frost's House, like you asked."  
"Really? I was only kidding."

"Could have fooled me. Men close to death say funny things."

She made sure her tone was clear of any antagonism. She didn't want Hayes, who was standing behind her, to get agitated. Frost shrugged.

"Just wanted to lighten the mood," he said.

"Well, Hayes wanted to have a word with you and requested that I be here."

Hayes took over then.

"All of you, gather round."

Frost's squad, including De Vos, made a semicircle around Hayes. Hayes, who looked tired and dirty, though less than them, hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. He took a long, deep breath, gazing at them.

"Goes without saying that I'm damned proud of all of you, including our ODST and specs ops operative here," he said, nodding at De Vos and Carris respectively, "your actions these past few days have been valorous, brave, and selfless."

Vivian saw no reaction to those words on their faces. Hayes continued, "so for that, I'm giving you all medals."

He pointed at the squad. "For the Battle of Camp Havens, Steele, Moser, Grant, Bishop, Maddox, Knight, Langley, and Carris, you're all getting the Silver Star, for bravery and tenacity in holding the line. Frost, you'll be getting the Gold Star. Those were the recommendations given to me by General Sacco. As for the defense of Frost's House," he said this name with a smile, "you'll all be getting the Gold Star. Except for Frost and De Vos. De Vos, for volunteering to drop into a hot zone to take part in a last stand, putting yourself at great personal risk, you'll be getting the Medal of Honor."

De Vos straightened up.

"Sir, with all due respect, I do not deserve to be awarded such a prestigious honor twice."

Everyone was well aware that the UNSC had, about a century ago, changed decoration policy and that higher decorations could be awarded more than once. For centuries, the UNSC had operated by the policy that no individual should be awarded the Red Legion of Honor, the Medal of Honor, or the Colonial Cross, more than once. However, the policy had changed-why exactly had never been specified. Battlefield commissions had been absent from UNSC policy for some years after its foundation, but the policy was changed too. Why, again, no one knew. The events were lost to them.

De Vos had earned her Medal of Honor during a Pathfinder jump to light a DZ for an Army Airborne counterattack. The drop had been messy and she had been dropped far off course. Yet, she had managed to rek almost two kilometers to the proper DZ, fighting off Covenant patrols, and ensuring the entire counter-offensive would continue as plan. While designating the drop zone, she had been under fire and wounded twice. Her actions that night also saw several other Pathfinders and multiple civilians rescued, thanks to her.

Hayes shook his head.

"Negative, Captain. I spoke with Holst and we agreed that you're not getting out of this without a decoration of some kind. But I respect your choice, and I ask you to accept the Red Legion of Honor in its place."

De Vos looked at her boots for a few moments and then finally nodded.

"Yes, sir, I accept."

"Good."

Then, with a big smile, Hayes planted himself right in front of Frost and poked him in the chest. "And you. For leading your squad during an all night attack against what was an almost untenable position, for showing great bravery and composure in the face of adversity, and for volunteering for a mission with almost zero chance of survival, you will be awarded the Medal of Honor. You'll also be getting a promotion to staff sergeant."

"But, sir-"

"Don't argue with me, boy. You've earned it. You're squad leader and it was your call to defend that crummy basement. You've got no choice in the matter."

Frost sighed. Vivian studied his face; he appeared almost embarrassed. The other members of his squad, upon hearing his decoration, seemed proud of him. Of course they were; Frost was the patron saint of the United Nations Space Command Marine Corps. An honor bestowed to him was an honor given to all of them.

"I don't want some puffy bigwig pinning it on my chest, though," Frost grunted, "I want to choose who pins it. And I don't want to wear my dress whites. If I'm going to do this, I want to wearing my fatigues."

"You're going to wear your dress whites," Hayes said, like a scolding father. "But you can choose who."

Vivian grimaced as Frost's gaze traveled to her. She saw his plan, a great way to humiliate her without anybody knowing. Decorate the man who killed her friends, that was an ultimate humiliation. Already she had done so once and had nearly hyperventilated because of it-that and the shock of finding out who he really was. Some kind of honorable man he was, taking the chance to stick it to her, when she had done everything to give him support during the battle. This would be her thanks. Vivian felt her hands coiling into fists, the rage building up her chest, feeling the indignity already. She should have dropped a MAC on his head, she knew she should have.

"Dr. Jasmine Ebrahimi." Frost finally said. Vivian blinked in surprise. "Jasmine fought with us on the ground and saved a lot of people, getting them out of the tents. She'll be getting an award too, right, sir?"

"General Sacco plans on giving her the Silver Star and a Purple Heart."

"Well, I want her to put the medal on my chest. No one else."

"A little unorthodox but I don't see a problem with it. She can decorate your entire squad if you'd like. You'll have to ask her though."

"I will. Thank you, sir."

"Speaking of the good doctor," Vivian said...

* * *

Jasmine was still awake. She hadn't slept all night. It would have been futile to try. Sadness had gripped her since she had walked off the bridge. Her mind didn't even dare drift towards what had happened to Frost. She didn't need someone to tell her; he was gone with the rest of the squad. No one could have held out against an onslaught like that.

All night she fought against the thought of how they could have died. There was a million ways. When she couldn't fight the thoughts back, she saw him being mangled by those ugly aliens, torn apart by an energy sword, screaming in prolonged pain. No, she would counter, he said it himself, the Covenant don't kill slowly. Death is quick but painful at their hands. How painful was it, she thought?

Tears were impossible to form. Jasmine just felt an emptiness in her chest. He was a good man. A man with four sisters and wore war paint and was missing a tooth in that boyish, toothy smile of his. He was polite and gentlemanly. He had been her friend. She didn't have too many of those.

Part of her wanted to feel that the whole affair was silly. Yes, he was dead, and it was a tragedy. But how close were they, really? After a month, they had spoken plenty of times, strolled together dozens of times; they joked and laughed and told stories, yes. Friendships didn't form that fast, they couldn't. Real friendships took months or even years to develop and cement. Did the amount of time really matter, though? Surely, she figured, it was the time spent rather than just the amount of time gone by, that formed a friendship. That was the truth, otherwise she wouldn't have felt lost like she did.

Someone knocked on the door.

"No visitors," she said, loud and bluntly. The door opened anyways. It was probably one of the nurses. "I said I'm fine."

Jasmine didn't raise her head. Her back was healing but it was very sore, and even moving her neck stretched the blistered skin on her upper back. She was lying on her stomach, her head on her right cheek, looking at the wall on her left. A pair of legs in light green, digital camouflage fatigues, which were filthy, came into view. Confused, she tried to look up. But the figure crouched down and she was greeted by a familiar voice.

"Good morning, Jasmine," Frost said, his face covered in dust and soot, his war paint slightly smeared.

"You're alive," Jasmine propped herself up on her arms quickly, ignoring the pain, and sat up. She reached out instantly and hugged him. He gently hugged her back. She felt her mouth formed into such a wide smile her jaw hurt. All that emptiness was filled with warmth now.

"It's good to see you too," Frost said, his chin resting on her shoulder.

"You smell like Chinese food."

"We had some for breakfast."

"Really?"

"Yeah, some guy opened up his little restaurant for us and gave us a free meal and drinks too. You doing okay?"

"I thought you may have died."

"Nah."

"Nah? That's all you have to say."

"Well, I didn't die, now did I?" He gave her shoulder a pat. "Hell, Jas. You'll strangle me at this rate."

She let him go but kept her hands on his shoulders. Frost was smiling but his expression became concerned. "Hey, what's the matter? Why're you crying?"

Jasmine sniffled a little.

"It's just really good to see you, Nate."

Frost reached out and wiped away the tears on her face with his thumb. His hands were rough but he was gentle.

"Vivian told me to see you."

"She did?" Jasmine blinked. "She wasn't...?"

"No, she wasn't."

"Oh, that's good," Jasmine said, relieved. She was glad he had understood what she meant.

"She said you weren't doing so well. You took your earpiece out, she said."

"I...I did. I thought...didn't want to hear..."

"Sounded scary, I know," Frost nodded. "Man, you look white as a sheet. Trust me, I'm not a ghost."

"I know, I know..." she managed a little laugh.

"It'll take a lot more than that to put me in the ground." Frost said with a gentle smile.

"How do you get through something like that?" Jasmine asked. Frost searched for an answer, his eyes distant for a moment. Then, he grinned.

"I was thinking about some of your hot chocolate coffee."

"Hot chocolate coffee?"

"Well, seeing as you like to infect coffee with chocolate, what else can I call it?"

Jasmine laughed a little, though she felt that her question had been somewhat deflected. She didn't mind though; she was just happy to see him. His gray eyes looked more blue for some reason, like the color of the deep ocean. A person could have gotten lost in them.

"I have a question to ask you," Frost said.

"Yes?"

"Hayes and Sacco have put a bunch of us in for decorations, you included. You're getting the Purple Heart for your back and a Silver Star for getting all those people out of the tents."

Jasmine blinked.

"But I don't want any medals."

"No one ever does, but the brass loves their heroes, now don't they? Anyways, you and I will be up there together, but I don't want some pompous ass from on top giving me my award. I want you to do it."

"Me? Why?"

"Because...if you do it, it might actually feel like an honor to receive it."

Jasmine blinked and felt her cheeks turned pink a little. Frost was too polite to notice, she guessed.

"I'd be a...yes I'll do it. Absolutely."

"Thank you."

"What award are you getting?"

"A Gold Star and...the Medal of Honor."

"Wow. Congratulations."

"Thanks."

He stood up and Jasmine withdrew her hands from his shoulders. He smiled at her tenderly. "Well," he said, "I'll let you rest."

"No," Jasmine said. "Can't you stay?"

Frost nodded.

"I can stay. Just lay back down, will you?"

Jasmine did so, getting back on her stomach. Resting on the pillow, she faced the left side. Frost pulled the chair up to her bed and sat down. Nothing more was said between the two. He saw the stack of books Vivian had left on the stand beside the bed, so he picked one up and began to read. Ten minutes hardly ticked by before the book slipped from his hand and fell into his lap; his head hung over, his frame was slumped someone to the right, and his arms fell limply over the arms of the chair. His chest began to rise and fall, and Jasmine, with a smile on her face, closed her eyes and listened to his breathing. When she finally fell asleep, she saw a young man with messy hair and a missing tooth looking back at her.

* * *

"What do you mean Carris can't be on stage with us?" Frost asked. Vivian stared him down.

"Watch your tone with me, marine."

Three days had passed since the Battle of Calhoun City. Planet Mors was secure. The shipbreaking fleet had arrived and were now harvesting the remains of the destroyed UNSC and Covenant ships. Relief ships had arrived and were showering goods and parcels to the city below. Reconstruction efforts were taking place and fixing the damage causing the city. Schools, hospitals, grocery stores, everything was running again. Evacuees from the battle had been returned and enlistment rates with the local garrison had skyrocketed. Even Camp Havens was getting a makeover. Major rebuilding efforts were being made on Frost's house; high walls were being constructed around it, the building was being restored and reinforced, and UNSC decorators were already adding a green and some garden beds for the awards ceremony for the battle, which would take place there. A large sign now hung on the wall beside the gate that read: Welcome to Frost's House!

Vivian was sitting behind her desk in her office. She had just gotten off a video transmission with Travers and had called Frost and Carris up.

"Watch my tone, huh?" Frost stepped forward. "Carris fought with us every step of the way during both battles. She didn't have to but she did. She deserves to get up on that stage with the rest of us."

"I'm not disagreeing with you, Staff Sergeant Frost," Vivian said, her tone terse, "but Travers explained to me that Petty Officer Carris, due to her being part of a clandestine, undisclosed unit, cannot be on stage. She will get the decorations she had been chosen for on the ship where there are no cameras or reporters."

"This is ridiculous," Frost muttered.

"No, it isn't. This is protocol." Vivian said, tapping the desk with her index finger. "ODSTs and marines are one thing, but we've got a vast array of special forces within the UNSCDF and the nature of their operations cannot be revealed to the general public at this moment. I don't even know what Carris's unit is called but you don't see me making a fuss about it, as much as I'd like her to be on that stage."

Vivian cooled her tone. "You know better than anyone we have rules, regs, and protocol. Those photographs Young Katz sent to his bosses at _Time_ magazine had to be manipulated. Did you know that?"

"What?"

"Not the first time," Carris said. "ONI operatives get sent in when pictures are taken. They either destroy them or change them."

"That's right," Vivian said, "lucky for you, they just shopped Carri's head onto an ODST BDU that they had someone pose in and gave her a phony name, so she can still get some credit for it."

Frost pursed his lips.

"Fine. I understand."

"Good," Vivian took a breath, already feeling her patience fleeing her. She tried to smile. "Petty Officer, have you thought anymore about the position I've offered you?"

"Yes, I have." Carris said. "I appreciate the opportunity to serve in a unit such as this as well as the courtesy extended by Staff Sergeant Frost and his squad, but I've been away from my unit for a long time and I think it's best if I return."

Vivian took a great deal of pleasure from seeing the sadness in Frost's face. He was trying so hard to hide it but was failing miserably. It didn't matter she had relented and allowed her a chance to stay; she chose to leave, so in the end, Frost didn't get what he wanted. That was all that mattered to Vivian.

"I understand your decision, Petty Officer Carris. All the same, the position will remain open for you should ever change your mind."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"That's all, dismissed."

Carris saluted and turned on her heel to leave. Frost remained where he was. When Carris saw that he wasn't beside her, she stopped. He gave her a little wave.

"Go on, I have to have words with the Captain."

Carris gave Vivian a glance, her black locks falling over her eyes for a moment. Then, she disappeared through the door. When it closed, Vivian looked up at Frost.

"What do you want, Jack the Ripper?"

He looked at her for a moment, his gray eyes hard. Then they seemed to lighten and he tried to smile.

"You know, back when I was in that dingy basement and you were on the radio with me, almost sounded like you were looking out for me."

Vivian said nothing, simply staring back. "You and I, look, I get it. But we're still soldiers in the same military. We're brother and sister in arms. A part of you has to see that that, otherwise you wouldn't have given me the chance to pull out of that little hellhole."

Frost rocked on his feet a little, looking almost nervous. "I just want you to admit that. No, not admit, that sounds wrong. I want to know if you think the same way. That we can work past this."

Vivian stared at him for some time. He waited, not eagerly but not patiently either. An expectant look was plastered to his face. Even if she felt the same way he did, she wouldn't have admitted it. And she didn't. Not then, at least. Maybe in that moment on the bridge, maybe she was looking out for him, because he was a fellow soldier. No, that wasn't it. It was because she made a promise to Jasmine. Or perhaps, that wasn't it either. Her promise to Jasmine was not to harm him. She hadn't, so far, at least. There was no plan for it in the immediate future. But there was something about Jasmine on that bridge, the way she had watched the screen in silent terror, pleaded for reinforcements, and had left when the attack on Frost began. He was her friend too and Vivian hated to admit that. She wasn't sure how Frost would ever react if it was _her_ ass on the line, but she wasn't going to let him die, just for Jasmine's sake.

Standing up, Vivian planted her hands on her desk and stared right at ahead him.

"Do you remember what I said to you the morning after the Battle of Camp Havens?"

Frost's smile disappeared.

"Yes."

"Mind repeating it for me?" Vivian brought her hand up beside her head and waved it a little. "My memory is a little foggy right now."

"You said that nothing had changed between us," Frost answered quietly.

"What was that? A little louder, please."

"You said that nothing had changed between us," he repeated, his voice clearly becoming angry.

"Exactly right. Nothing had changed, even when you saved my closest friend's life. I consented to giving Carris an option to stay, that was it. Nothing, still, has changed between us."

"Doesn't explain why you were trying to help me the other night."

"I did it for Jasmine, because she thinks you're a decent man. You're her friend and you're not a danger to her, even though killing my friends seems to be sport for you."

Frost took an aggravated step forward.

"Sport?! How dare..." He growled. Vivian folded her arms across her chest.

"What is it with you and _my_ friends? If you can't kill them you try to take them away."

Frost gritted his teeth together.

"It's not like that. It's not like I'm trying to-"

"I don't care," Vivian said, holding up her hand. "But I'll be the better person and make sure you don't sacrifice yourself unnecessarily. Not for you, but for Jasmine. We clear?"

"Crystal," Frost answered and turned to leave.

"I didn't dismiss you yet."

Frost stopped in his tracks. He turned around and stood at attention.

"Captain Waters, Staff Sergeant Frost requesting permission to be dismissed!" he yelled.

Vivian scoffed.

"Dismissed."

Frost gave her a sharp salute and went to the door. As he passed the frame, Vivian grinned, "Staff sergeant?"

He stopped and looked over his shoulder. Vivian shrugged, "If you save her life four more times, maybe we can work something out, hm?"

Frost didn't answer and left.

* * *

The day of the awards ceremony came. General Sacco and Colonel Hayes made some big speeches about the bravery of their troops, the immortality of the memory of the soldiers who died, and about the unity of all humanity. Everyone had applauded furiously and cheered at the end of both speeches. Personally, Jasmine had enjoyed Hayes' a lot more than Sacco's. Sacco ended up being more eccentric than Hayes was and in the end, took a little more away from what the marines had accomplished by citing the joint marine-Army operations. Jasmine felt that their marines had done a little more in the last few days than the Army reinforcements and garrison, but she understood what he was trying to say and he obviously didn't do it on purpose. Hayes gave the proper dues to the marines, the Army troops, and went to cite the bravery of the civilian populace in the face of the Covenant aggression. Most military speeches tended to fawn the personal gravitas of the officer who was delivering the speech, as well as over-praising their unit. Granted, UNSC forces were performing excellently in the face of overwhelming odds all the time, but some officers still tended to seek glory rather than remind the people at home of the sacrifice the UNSC was making. Some officers were still playing at war; the reality that the UNSC was losing the war and that they were mere a crumbling dike in the face of a Covenant tidal wave. Hayes speech was a good one, giving the proper praise while reminding everyone that the war was not yet over.

Jasmine cleared the darker thoughts from her head. Today was a good day and she planned to keep it that way. Everyone was in their dress uniforms, including her. She was wearing the starch white outfit and the dress cap of an officer. Her thick, longer hair was done up neatly in a bun; she had so much hair she decided that once she was back on the _I'm Alone_ , she'd visit the ship's barber. Vivian looked smart was well, wearing the dress cap and white uniform, her dirty blonde hair also in a perfect, clean bun.

She looked down the line. Frost and his squad were also wearing their dress whites. They were standing at ease but still. Her smile left her face. To say that Frost looked uncomfortable was an understatement. She could see that he was rocking just a little bit on his feet, that his hands, which were behind his back, were repeatedly being curled into fists and then un-curled once more. There was a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead, more from stress than the warm sun hanging over their heads.

Jasmine wished he could feel truly at ease at such an occasion. He had earned the right to enjoy himself at least. The newly constructed compound, renovated in record time and now complemented by green garden filled with sweet smelling flowers was beautiful. Being widened, the compound now fit a large amount of people, including a section of the 89th MEU, a section of the Army garrison, and crowds of civilians allowed to come to the open ceremony. Cameras were set all around and reports were doing their work. They were here for all the heroes, but his name was the one on the wall; he was the man they came to sea. A real hero.

The brim of his hat cast a black shadow over his eyes. Unable to see another's eyes meant that you could never figure out all of the emotions racing through their hearts. She wanted to go over and say something to him. Tell a joke or whisper some kind of reassurance. But she couldn't step away from her spot just yet. Not until Vivian gave her the awards she had been allotted.

Just then, Vivian was in front of her. Jasmine hadn't realized she hadn't been paying attention.

"Doctor Jasmine Benita Ebrahimi, Lieutenant Commander," Hayes read from the awards listing, "for showing bravery in the face of a Covenant air attack and ensuring that medical personnel and wounded were evacuated from the first aid tents at Camp Havens, and for receiving wounds during those actions, you are hereby presented with the Silver Star and the Purple Heart."

Jasmine stood as tall as she could. Vivian smiled as she pinned the Silver Star to her tunic, followed by the Purple Heart right beside it. The audience applauded. Vivian shook Jasmine's hand and leaned forward.

"I'm proud of you," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the crowd. Jasmine smiled even wider.

"Dr. Ebrahimi will now present the next set of decorations," Hayes said. General Sacco came over and opened a medium sized box with all of the medals in it. He followed her to the first marine. Hayes read off the names of each Frost's squad member and the awards; down the line Jasmine went, pinning a Silver Star and a Gold Star to the tunic of each soldier. Moser, Grant, Maddox, Bishop, Knight, Langley, and Steele, who gave her a friendly, cheeky wink. They all looked trim and proper, ghosts of the muddy, wet, stooped over soldiers she had fought with some days ago.

Finally she stood in front of Frost. She looked up at him and he looked down at her. The corner of his mouth twitched into a nervous smile. Jasmine smiled back. His eyes were visible now. They were a mixture of gray and blue. He looked sad.

"Staff Sergeant Nathaniel Jackson Frost," Hayes read, "for organizing and leading the defensive of Camp Havens in the face of a strong Covenant attack, you are hereby awarded the Gold Star." Applause followed as Jasmine pinned the Gold Star to his chest. "For volunteering to defend an untenable position, for leading your squad against overwhelming odds, and for ensuring that the turret system did not fall and thus keeping Calhoun City from falling into Covenant hands, you are awarded the UNSC's second highest honor: the Medal of Honor."

The crowd roared and applauded like they were at a music concert. Jasmine pinned the medal to his tunic. Centuries ago, he would have lowered his head and she would have draped the medal around his neck. No longer. She stood in front of him, looking at him, her expression compassionate. At that moment, she wanted to kiss him; nothing romantic or too affectionate. A kiss between friends, something to let him know that she was thankful and that he was going to be okay, that she understood him at that moment. He stared into her eyes, sadness holding him in its grasp. But she knew she couldn't do that. She couldn't even reach out an hold him, which her empathetic notions cried for her to do. So she settled, when she shook his hand, she squeezed it, and with her other hand, placed it on top of his. Frost did the same with his other hand, his grip tight and needing. To Jasmine, he looked almost as if he would cry.

As the cheering ceased, she let go and took her place beside him, while one of Hayes's officers took over the awards for the rest of the marines, until Major Holst took over to award the medals for De Vos and a dozen other ODSTs. Jasmine listened to the names being read off and which decorations they were being given. She looked down to the left; Frost's hand was hardly an inch away from hers. All she had to do was reach over and take it, give him a quick squeeze, let him know she was there for him still. But there were cameras and photographers everywhere. They would catch that and surely somebody in the brass would get peeved over it.

Jasmine frowned at the thought. Cameramen and the brass be damned. She reached over and took his hand in hers. He didn't look down and neither did she.

* * *

The ceremony lasted a few hours longer under the blazing afternoon sun. Frost was glad was when it was over. All of the military personnel were given two day's leave to explore the city they had saved and relax. Issues went out; they could get free meals at restaurants, free beer at bars, and discounts at various shops, general stores, and supermarkets. That had brought about a great deal of snickering among the soldiers; anyone with common sense was going to snatch their back pay and visit one of the prostitution rings in the city. Drinks and good food were nice, but most of the men after spending weeks on ships or being confined to their base, wanted sex. Steele wasn't wrong about that even if he was an ass and a jokester. Any historians worth their salt would admit that the frontline soldier quested for booze, sex, and loot. The men who were behind the lines who came forward only for the big battles were remembered in history as the handsome, flawless heroes. Ground pounders at the front, like the 89th, were forgotten from the history books. Well enough, they could loot, drink, and go whoring all they wanted. Granted, Frost knew every man in the in the 89th; looting wasn't a priority or a necessity. Finding women to sleep with and alcohol to guzzle fell into their interesting more than pillaging. Soldiers who looted from their own people weren't heroes for long.

All the same, he was just glad to get away from the ceremony. It hadn't mattered that his name was plastered at the gate. Frost's House; a part of him enjoyed that.

 _Yeah, that's my goddamn house, alright. Me and my people fought for it, bled for it, that's_ our _fucking house_.

He grinned. But it should have been named for all of them. He hadn't been there alone. All of them had fought just as hard and earned the right get a stupid control center, plain, ugly structure, named after them. Sure, the compound looked lovely, but no one could admit that the squat, square building was pleasant to look at. And they had all earned a Medal of Honor; they all made the choice to follow him in. He remember what he had said to Langley when she had first joined their squad; they had been jumping into that hole in the ground with a high chance of death. Like jumping after a grenade you had thrown into the maw of the enemy. They were braver than him, stronger, better. His courage didn't come close to theirs.

Walking over the bridge of the horseshoe shaped river that cut through Calhoun City, he had half a mind to take all his decorations off his tunic and throw them into the water. But he refrained, as Jasmine was beside him. She looked smart in her white dress uniform.

"Are you feeling well?" she asked him.

"Better now. I can't stand ceremonies. Hate the medals."

"Why?"

"They're just pieces of metal; I don't need them to tell me I did my duty. The people who deserve this were the ones standing beside me on that stage. And all of the soldiers who are going to be shipped home in boxes."

Frost stopped, shaking his head, and then took off his cap. After a few moments of turning it in his hands, he threw it out over the water. He placed his hands on the railing of the bridge and watched the hat land on the water and float away. He gazed at the river, which was sparkling from the light of the sun. It was getting close to evening but the sun hadn't begun its descent just yet. Inhaling deeply, Frost closed his eyes. "Those flowers really got to me, too."

"What do you mean?" Jasmine asked, standing beside him.

"My family owned a small ranch some ways away from Halifax and we'd spend about half the year there. We'd raise horses there. My mother, my two younger sisters, and I like to garden. We made these big flower beds around the ranch house. Practically made a mote of flowers around the house. Looking at it, you would have thought that the entire rainbow fell around our house."

"Sounds very beautiful."

"Yeah, it was. I used to sit in the flowers for hours. Just thinking and enjoying the smell." He sighed. "Seeing those flowers made me miss the ranch. Made me miss home. We lived in Halifax for half of the year, yeah, but that ranch was home."

"Have you been back since you joined the UNSC?"  
"Once. After we finished our three year training stint, we got to spend a little bit of time with our families before we set out. I haven't seen home in five years."

"Don't you get leave to go home?"

"No. Because of our unit's unique nature, brass only gives leave on planets we disembark at after three months."

"That doesn't seem fair."

"That's the way it is," Frost straightened up, "anyways, I'm sorry to be a downer."

"You don't have to apologize. People feel things and they can't help it, and that's okay."

Frost smiled, feeling a bit better. He and Jasmine were facing each other when a gentle wind came against them. Jasmine smiled wider and took off her own cap and threw it off the bridge. Frost chuckled.

"Come on," he said, "let's find somewhere to eat."

"Wait."

"Hm?"

"I wanted to give you something."

Jasmine stepped right in front of him and dug into the pocket of her tunic. What she displayed in the palm of her hand made Frost's eyes widen.

"Is that...?"

"Yes."

It was the Bronze Star from when Alvarez had died. Frost remembered how he had stormed away, screaming in just about everyone's face. He remembered the indignant attitude he held at seeing the star; be awarded for failing the mission? Be awarded for getting good people killed? For letting a woman die in his arms? Who deserved an award for that?

Jasmine's face was ashen.

"I think you should have it. You earned it. If not for Alvarez, then for me."

"For you?"

"I was wounded and had three Skirmishers around me. If moved, they could have killed me. You got to me first. You carried me and patched my wounds. You...looked out for me that night, even when I didn't listen to you." She smiled a little, and she seemed much younger than, almost like a child. Frost wondered what he looked like then, now that the sun was finally beginning to burn orange.

"Oh. Jas, you don't have...it was nothing..."

"It was something to me." She took a step closer. "Staff Sergeant Nathaniel Jackson Frost, for saving the life of your friend and keeping her safe, I hereby award you the Bronze Star."

Frost watched her reach up and place it on his chest, right next to the Medal of Honor. He wanted to smile, wanted to say something corny to make her laugh, salute even. Instead, a solitary tear rolled down his cheek. Jasmine reached up and wiped it away, and then put her hand on his cheek and held it there for a few moments. Her hand was warm, soft, and gentle against his bearded cheek.

"You're a _good_ man, Nathaniel. I want you to know that and I don't want you to be so hard on yourself anymore. Understand?"

Frost nodded. Jasmine lowered her hand. "Good. Now we can eat."

Before she took a step, Frost held out his arm. Jasmine smiled and blushed a little, which made him feel...something. He wasn't sure. Accomplishment perhaps.

She took his arm, as if he were an old timey gentleman and the pair set off down the street. Frost chuckled.

"I think we're breaking frat regs."

"Who cares about the frag regs? We're on leave."

"Guess so."

Frost felt happier with Jasmine on his arm. Her hand felt comfortable there, resting just above his elbow. As they walked down the street, they passed by a recruitment office. The line was all the way out the door. Frost didn't pay much mind to all the potential recruits, except for one face. As he passed by, he saw the girl who had been with Steele, waiting in line. She wore a red hoodie and wore faded blue jeans. Her hair was drawn in a messy ponytail and her face betrayed no emotions. Frost's eyes locked with her's as he passed. He looked over his shoulder and she was still looking at him.

"What is it?"

"Nothing." Frost answered, smiling at Jasmine. "Nothing. Want to go somewhere fancy?"

"I want a burger."

"A burger? That doesn't seem like something you'd eat."

"I'd say I'm full of surprises but that sounds cliche."

"I like cliche."

"Then I'm full of surprises."

"Ha. Want to go some place where there's dancing?"

"Maybe..."

"Can you dance?"

"Would you believe me if I said I'm full of surprises?"

Frost laughed.

* * *

Steele finished his cigarette and grinded the stub in the ashtray on the nightstand. Folding his arms behind his head, he looked around the room. The light was dim but a shade over it made it a warm pink. The room smell like body odor, perfume, and the strange, sweet smell that came after sex.

He looked over at the woman, who was at least five years his senior, getting dressed.

"How much do I owe you?" he asked.

"Honey, I saw you at that big ceremony. It's on the house," she said with a wink. "I'd marry you if I could."

Steele laughed.

"There's an idea. But I can't let you walk out of here without anything. Won't you get in trouble?"

"Someone beat the shit out of the boss's goons and he's been pretty light on us recently. I think the robbery got him pretty spooked."

Steele nervous scratched his cheek.

"Yeah...I think that'd make anyone nervous. Still, name your price."

He felt it was a poor choice of words but the blonde haired woman didn't seem to mind.

"Oh, well, I guess a hundred credits."

"Blimey," Steele sighed.

"Too high?"

"No, just not what was expecting." He stood up and got back into his dress whites. After making sure the uniform was neat, he handed her the money. She counted it and her eyes widened.

"This...this is two thousand credits..."

"Hon, I've been doing this for five years. My back pay is wasting away. You earned it. Hopefully you can use it to get the fuck outta this dive."

The woman hugged him and kissed him on the cheek.

"This'll make a difference, believe me. Thank you. You're a good guy."

Steele shrugged.

"Just promise you'll use it to get out of here."

"I promise."

"That's a good lass."

"Any girl who marries you is going to be real lucky," she said.

With a wink, Steele left the room and headed down the room. He felt strange. Sex didn't usually leave him feeling that way afterwards. Usually he felt pretty content and happier for a change. Instead, he felt a little guilty. He had given her the money afterwards; if he really cared, why didn't he just give it to her in the first place. Frost giving the money to the girl replayed in his mind. Steele sighed. Maybe that whole affair-Frost busting down the door and scolding him like he was a rebellious teenager-just made the experience less fulfilling than it used to be. Or maybe he was wrong, doing this whenever they got a chance to go into the city.

He had gone in with his mind already clouded with thoughts. The ceremony had been an unbearable affair, with fancy speeches that people just loved. It was all hot air, he had thought. Anything anyone with a commissioned rank said was utter bullshit. Standing in the son in the thick material of their dress white was something that Steele didn't enjoy either. Medals weren't rewarding either; for all he carried they were worthless. If the war ever ended, he planned to sell them when got home. Sure, it was illegal, but he didn't care. They were useless sitting upon his chest, so the very least he could get out of them was a little dosh.

Perhaps the most troubling was that Carris had made the choice not to stay. For some reason, it bothered him more than he thought it would. He was aware that it was always a possibility, but after the past few days he wasn't sure what the squad would be like without their heavily armored companion. He was going to miss her, that was for sure. Steele grimaced; he didn't deal with those emotions too well.

He walked onto the landing and passed by the desk. The pimp was behind his desk, counting money. When he saw Steele he began to shake. Steele sneered at him and walked out into the setting sun.

"Thought I'd find you here."

Steele, who had been putting his cap back on, turned to see Carris in the fatigues they had loaned her. Her black hair waved a little in the breeze. She had her arms folded across her chest and was leaning back against the wall.

"Carris, what're you doing here?"

"Came looking for you."

"Why? We're on leave, I can go where I want now."

"Prostitution is illegal, as is paying for their services."

"How do you know I didn't just show up and decided I wasn't in the mood and walked out?" Steele covered. Carris frowned.

"Because I followed you here."

"Oh."

"And I can smell the perfume on you."

Steele sighed.

"Caught me red-handed, eh love?"

"You shouldn't be doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Visiting prostitutes."

"I already got the medical lecture from Frosty T. Blowman. I don't need one from you either." Steele turned in the other direction, feeling aggravated, and began walking away. Carris silently caught up and walked beside him.

"No, that's not what I was going to say."

"I wore a rubber this time. Fuckin' hell."

"Still that's not what I was saying."

"Eh? Then whatcha got to say?"

"Because you're better than that."

Steele stopped.

"What?"

"You're better than that; going to prostitutes is below your stature."

"Stature?" Steele snorted. "I don't have any stature. I'm a grunt with a high proficiency in sniping. Nothing more."

"You say that, but you have integrity. Trying to act like you don't is..." Carris shrugged. "Stupid."

"Stupid, huh?" Steele shook his head.

"It was you who wanted to drag me back behind the barricade. You were the first one over."

"Frost was."

"I know you were over me first, even if you weren't the first I saw. And I saw you helping wounded men from the line at Camp Havens. And I saw you run after Frost when he charged Havens be himself. Only a true friend would have put himself on the line that. You're a good soldier, a good friend, and a good man."

Steele jammed his hands into his pockets.

"Yeah, well..."

He couldn't think of anything snappy or witty or remotely humorous to respond with. Even after all of the stupid nonsense he was would blabber about, all the crude comments, the drinking, the women, all of that, and she still thought that way, then she wasn't going to have her mind changed.

"What's it to you? You ain't sticking around."

He looked over when she didn't respond. She was trying to look normal but he could see his words cut a little too sharply. "Shit. Sorry, C. I didn't mean...sorry."

"Just stop visiting the whorehouses, okay?"

With a sigh, Steele threw a hand up in the air.

"Alright, fine, love, fine. Sorry that my debauchery offends you."

"You need to act like the man you really are."

"Pfft, I do that all the time."

Carris said nothing for a time.

"You look nice in that uniform."

"Damn thing itches. Bet you could rock it better than I can."

"Maybe."

Steele sighed, feeling more down than he already was. He looked over at Carris, and saw an equally unhappy expression.

"Gonna miss you when you leave," he said.

"I'll miss you all too," Carris said back, adding, "you especially. I enjoy our conversations."

Steele smirked. He was about to crack a joke when a pair of men, a little older than him, walked passed by them.

"Is that a woman or a Sasquatch?" one of them whispered. Steele felt a little _snap_ in his head and wheeled around.

"What you fuckin' say?"

The two men turned around, obviously unimpressed by his military garb.

"We said your lady here looks like fucking Bigfoot over here."

"Oh really?" Steele took off his hat. "Well, mate, I think you ought to apologize."

One of the men, who was bigger than his compatriot snickered.

"Looks like the big tough Army man wants to fight."

"I'm a marine," Steele said. He stepped forward but Carris blocked his way.

"They're not worth it."

Steele brushed passed.

"Yes they are."

He raised his fists, ready to fight, but as the first man stepped forward Carris socked him hard in the jaw. The man fell down, clutching his mouth. As the other gazed at his friend, Carris punched him in the gut so hard he keeled over.

She grabbed Steele by his arm and led him away.

"Let's go, I don't think people need to see a marine in his dress uniform near two guys on the ground a whorehouse."  
"Those were cheap shots."

"They aren't soldiers; they don't need to be treated with respect."

"I could have taken them."

"Yes, I know."

"Why didn't you let me have them?"

"Because," Carris smiled, "you would have ruffled your uniform, and that would never do."

* * *

" _A medal doesn't make you feel like a hero. The only time you'll feel that way is when one person-just one-looks at you in the eye and says thank you."_

-Nathaniel J. Frost

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Yeah, I just wrote this up today after I posted the last one. I couldn't wait, you know? Editing might not be so good, I'll have to fix it up tomorrow or later this week. But I liked it a lot because of a certain scene; can you guess which one? Also, yes, Frost's middle name is Jackson. Have fun with that. I couldn't resist.**

 **Comment responses, yaaaaaaaaay!**

 **Alpha HighBreed: You're the only one so far! Wait let me check...yep just you! Firstly let me address the weight issue: 1000lbs is half a ton. A ton equals 2000lbs. It varies a little depending which system and which country you're in; a long ton is 2240 pounds, a short ton is 2000 pounds. So, 1000lbs** _ **is**_ **half a ton, which is how much the Spartan's armor weight. As well, if you type in on Google, "How much does Master Chief's armor weigh?" the answer will come up as 1000lbs. Trust me, I did my homework.**

 **For fitting people in a Warthog with a turret, I operate by a scene in the novels in which four marines are in a Gunhog. I figure that there's space enough in the back for people to squish themselves into, if you cram. And I like the comical look it gives our squad. And the mongoose thing...that's a good idea for scene, look out for that one. And yeah, humanity is lazy! You know, you just KNOW, that if anything that happened, the leaders of the world would be like, "Well, don't blow up the colonies too much...we need to make recolonization easier in the future." I kind of draw from characters in the Mass Effect universe to try and put humanity's goals in Halo into perspective.**

 **And yeah, she did come back, kinda! Will she again? I dunno. And yeah, sieges are awesome. Go look up some famous last stands, that's some reading that'll blow your hair back. And given the fact that humanity is fighting a defensive war against an alliance of races that greatly outnumber their own it's inevitable there'd be last stands. Every battle is practically pitched.**

 **Cyclops, now there was a unit that I wasn't sure what to do with. In my experiences I didn't like using them because they weren't that good for aggressive players who favor the offensive, like myself. When I like to turtle things and build up my army, yeah, I used them. They're better story material than the Hawks I find, so they'll make a few appearances, yes. De Vos will be a tritagonist for us, along with Langley. I have our POV characters tiered; Vivian, Frost, and Jasmine are our primary protagonists, Carris and Steele are duetrotaginists, and Langley and De Vos our tritagonists. So yeah, we'll get some ODST action from time to time.**

 **Anyways, glad you liked it. Chapters are going to remain around the 17 to 23 range until we hit another 25th chapter marker. Some chapters may be a little longer from time to time but they'll be rare. I know a lot of readers on the site enjoy long chapters to make up for the eight but in the end, in my opinion, you sacrifice pacing. I have lots of ideas for the story I've carefully planned out, but I wouldn't be giving them time and justice if I just crammed them into one chapter. To have the full effect and make things worthwhile in the end, it's better to make short chapters that can center on a couple things, rather than a long chapter that tackle ten things. 25th chapters will always be special, or at least I'll do my best to make them special or interesting or exciting or scary or SOMETHING. I just want the story to have good pacing; it's not anywhere close to being over yet, by the way. I've even got ideas for a sequel~**


	27. Chapter 27: Mr Postman

Chapter 27: Mr. Postman

* * *

Jasmine ate quietly at the head of the dinner table. Her father, Kasra Ebrahimi, was seated on her right side. He had short gray hair and a gray beard on his thin, weathered face. Her mother, Luisita, sat on the left. Her dark hair was beginning to gray but she still maintained a fresh complexion. It was nearly silent in her parent's apartment, which was excessively neat and sterile-like, like a hospital room. Considering it was only a few blocks away from New Alexandria Medical Center, better known as NAMC, she wasn't surprised. It was a civilian hospital with the flow of refugees and injured soldiers flowing back from the Outer Colonies meant that normal hospitals were being used by the UNSC as well. Military doctors worked alongside civilian medical professional. Soldiers maimed by war were put in rooms across the hall from people who lost a limb in a car accident. That was the nature of such a war; civilians and military personnel intermixed. Who was a soldier and who wasn't was going to become an extremely thin line one day. Thankfully, it was a long time away; Reach was far away from the fighting.

"We watched the awards ceremony on television," Kasra said, "we were very proud of you."

"Thank you," Jasmine said quietly, beginning to nudge the broccoli on the plate. She smiled. As a child, she never liked it and would try to hide it in various spots around the house.

"Doctors never really get decorated," Luisita added. "I hope you're very proud of yourself."

"I'm just glad I was able to get all those wounded out."

"That was a good thing," Kasra agreed. Jasmine eyed them suspiciously.

"Alright, where's the lecture? I can _feel_ it coming."

Kasra and Luisita exchanged a glance. The latter sighed.

"Jasmine, we aren't going to treat you like a child. You're an adult and a military doctor, we trust you to make your own decisions. In the end, what we say shouldn't matter."

Jasmine sighed, resting her chin on her hand.

"If anything, we're mad that you cut off all that wonderful hair you had," Kasra joked as he took a sip of water. Jasmine smiled a little. During the jump to Reach, she had visited the ship's barber and had him practically shear off her hair. She now had a thick, tomboyish cut, like she did when she was younger. It still possessed a feminine quality, but had lost the waviness of her previous, long hair. All of the gold had disappeared, leaving only what her mother had remarked as black mess of thick strands. Jasmine enjoyed it; she looked younger, or rather, looked more her age.

"And look how pale you are!" Kasra said, feigning disappointment, "you're as white as a sheet. You hardly look like my daughter anymore!"

"Very funny, Dad."

"We're just glad you're okay after what happened," Luisita said.

"Me too."

"Did you treat yourself?" Kasra asked. "If you did, that would have been some kind of miracle."

"No, a friend of mine."

"A friend?"

"Yes. His name is Nathaniel Frost."

"Ah, the Medal of Honor recipient." Luisita murmured. Jasmine saw her mother look at her father, and they both winked.

"Whoa...what?" Jasmine asked slowly.

"Oh, nothing," Luisita said, pretending to be aloof.

"What?" she asked, looking at Kasra."

"Nothing at all," he said.

"You guys suck."

"You held hands with the boy; it was on camera," Luisita said. Jasmine pursed her lips; she didn't regret doing it but she knew the cameras had caught it. Obviously, they weren't trending military personalities like some 'esteemed' heroes who had their faces plastered on the UNSC's social media were. Like all organizations, even the UNSC had to have a page on the popular social media outlets. So, much to her relief, there weren't any gossip articles about some romantic flame between the two.

"He's not a boy, he's a man."

"He certainly looks like a boy. That beard cannot disguise his youth," Kasra said with certainty. "I did the same thing when I was his age. I thought I looked too young so I grew a beard to look older."

"Well, he's about as old as I am. But if you met him you wouldn't think he looks to young."

"Do you like him?"

"I...what?"

"You heard me," Luisita said with a teasing voice. "What's he like?"

"He's a...war hero. He's got a reputation; a lot of people say he's a legend."

"Reputation? What kind of reputation?" Kasra asked, intrigued.

"Honorable, selfless, brave...a good soldier."

Jasmine wondered how it would go over if she told them she had befriended a man who killed other people, including the fiends of her own best friend, whom her parents were well acquainted with. How would she say it? " _My new friend who saved my life also brutally killed Viv's friends when she was fifteen. He's tells good stories too, has a great smile..._

"Ah, they say that about every Medal of Honor recipient. Tell us about the _man_ , not the soldier." Kasra said in an egging-on tone.

"It's hard to separate the two. He fits the role well; wears it like clothing."

"Ah, there's the psychologist part of your training," Luisita said, "Didn't I tell you, Kasra, that would come in handy for her."

"Yes, yes, you were right, as usual," he waved his hand dismissively and fixed his glasses.

"Nathaniel's a good man, carries a lot of weight on his shoulders. He can be very hard on himself too. He's...well...kind of mysterious, for lack of a better word, like an old storyteller. He knows history very well."

"Historians," Kasra wrinkled his nose, "they smell like old books."

"His father is a professor of musical history. Nathaniel knows all these songs from the 20th and 21st Centuries. He sings a lot."

"He sounds interesting," Luisita said, "maybe while you're here you could invite him for dinner."

"Mom, come on, it's not like that."

"Why not? It's just dinner."

"Yeah, but you're going to treat the whole thing like we're dating."

"Nuh-uh," Kasra said with a mouthful of food, which made Luisita laugh. Jasmine sat back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest, frowning.

"Besides, we're not here for long. We're taking on some supplies, making a few repairs, and setting off before the week is out."

"Plenty of time to bring him over and give him a good meal or two," Kasra said with a shrug.

"We get good food on the _I'm Alone_. Besides, he can cook."

"The only man _I_ ever met that could cook is your father," Luisita said, waving her hand towards him. Kasra grinned proudly. "My grandmother told me you should always marry a man who can cook."

"Mom-"

"I'm just saying." She smiled at her. "We're only having fun with you, Jasmine. It's good to have you around. We're not going to make you do anything you don't want to."

Jasmine smiled.

"I know, I know...and besides, we couldn't invite him over. I'm a lieutenant commander and you're both majors. He's a non-commissioned officer, so we'd technically be breaking frat regs."

"Frat regs, shmat-jegs," Kasra said, waving his hand as if he were swatting a fly. "We can have anyone over here for dinner if we want to. I personally would like to meet a bona fide war hero for a change!"

"Kasra, every man and woman who comes back from the front and ends up on our operating tables are war heroes," Luisita corrected him. Kasra paused for a moment, as if he were remembering something. He nodded then. Jasmine pushed her glasses up and looked between her parents.

"You guys ever regret enlisting?"

"Never," Kasra answered. Luisita shook her head.

"Why?"

"It was the right thing to do. There are plenty of civilian doctors and we had done that for a long time. The war effort needs good doctors so we answered."

"You climbed the ranks pretty fast. I was barely out of middle school when you two hit major."

"The ranks have nothing to do with it. At the end of the day, we still perform surgery on the wounded personnel, and that's what matters. Nothing else matters but those poor soldiers on your operating table. Administrative duties, regulations, all of that comes after. Making sure the soldier on the operating table is alive at the end and can have a normal life, that's what counts."

Kasra nodded in agreement with Luisita. Jasmine understood and agreed as well.

"So, how's Vivian?" Luisita asked.

"Always with the questions," Kasra said under his breath teasingly. Jasmine frowned comedically.

"You ask just as many questions." Jasmine shook her head. "Viv's fine, she's fitting into command really well. She's got a good mind for tactics but she knows her limits; she doesn't try to micromanage the marines or the ODSTs too much, and she asks for their advice when it's needed. She's not particularly orthodox in her fleet engagements. Ngouabi, he's the CAG on the _I'm Alone_ , I heard him say in a conversation with Vivian that a lot of Navy captains treat space battles like a slugging match. They fold back onto 20th Century seaborne warfare, where the ships just sort of move around while firing at each other. No finesse, no tricky maneuvers for the most part, just an endurance fight and hoping that a shell hit the right spot. Vivian's fought two battles and brought us out of that mold. She uses thrusters and keeps things fast."

"I knew from the moment I met her that she would become a great officer," Luisita said.

"What about the crew? What do they think of her?"

"She's treated like a god," Jasmine said, "a lot of people look up to her. They're loyal to the bone. And she's loyal to them; fair and kind. She eases up on some of the lighter regs to make them more comfortable out of battles."

"Vivian will turn things around for us. Wait and see," Kasra said. With a contented sigh, he stood up, "Well, I'm done. He picked up his dishes and headed towards the sink. He turned the faucet on and began to wash his plate and then the silverware. When he held up his dinner knife, Jasmine saw it caught the light and glint. Her eyes locked on it and watch him hold it under the water. Soon, everything became dark. Rain was falling and she could hear screaming. Soldiers stood at the line, armed with knives. Muzzle flashes made the blades shine in brief instances. In those seconds of light, she could see the knives being driven into the flesh of barking monsters. Men stumbled away from the line, shuffling past her, clutching bleeding wounds, roaring from the pain of plasma burns. Standing at the line, she fired into the shadowy horde of aliens charging at them.

Jasmine abruptly stood up, causing her chair to fall backwards. The entire table shuddered, knocking over a glass. Her mother jumped and Kasra turned around quickly. Panting raggedly, eyes wide, and her shoulders heaving, Jasmine stared at the floor where she had seen the face. Luisita stood up and took her by shoulders.

"Jasmine, what's wrong? Are you alright?"

"What?" Jasmine said, confused.

"You jumped up out of your chair just now. You look like you just saw a ghost."

Jasmine looked back at them, shaking. Eventually, she understood. Flashbacks. They were just memories. Nothing more. She was on Reach in her parents' apartment, not on Mors defending Camp Havens.

"It was nothing, I just...remembered something. I'm alright."

"Are you sure? You should sit down and drink water."

"I'm alright. I...I need to head back to the ship, I have to take care of some reports. I'll be back tomorrow night for dinner."

* * *

Carris stirred the stew in the large pot which rested on the stove top. Frost had explained the other day how to make chicken stew, and she was determined to make it by herself. It was a parting gift, she had decided, for all they had done. Only Knight knew; the others were blissfully unaware of their gift. She hadn't realized the amount of pressure that came with cooking a good meal as a surprise present; she had never gotten anyone a gift before. This was the least that she could do, she figured. Stew was easy, Frost had said. Granted, it was, but it was easier with Knight with her.

"Gotta make sure to trim the fat off the beef very finely," Knight said, using the kitchen scissors with a piece of pink, uncooked chicken, "see this little white line? Just follow that. Gotta make sure not to cut more than the line though, otherwise you'll take more meat off than you ought to. Here, try."

Taking over, Carris looked at the man beside her. He had fair, light brown hair that fell around his ears and a short beard. His face was more filled out and his features more weathered. Next to Bishop, Knight was the biggest man in the squad, although his bulk was not made of muscle like his Scottish compatriot. While his arms and legs had the look of a bodybuilder, his stomach was a little more on the large side. In no way was he considered overweight, but a drill sergeant would have fuel to insult him if he were in basic training. Being the oldest, he was considered an 'old man' by enlisted rank standards. Average line marines were nineteen years old, as they always had, so the fact he was in his late twenties made him an old timer. Five years of combat aged an individual, Carris thought. She had never paid much attention to looks, but after seeing the way the squad groomed-shaving, trimming, getting haircuts, combing their hair-made her start to look in the bathroom mirror more often. Her pitch black hair was not particularly long though not exactly short; it came down over her hairs which made her sweep it to the side from time to time. Her complexion was clear, devoid of any blemishes, which would have been quite the accomplishment if Spartans cared about their appearance. Most Spartans had at least one scar on their face, but Carris had always played it safe, kept her helmet on, and steered clear of attacks that would fracture the armor. MJOLNIR armor only provided so much protection against advanced plasma weaponry; light damage could be soaked up but heavier bolts could cause incredible damage. Agility was key and Carris was one of the fastest runners of the Spartan II's; the title of the fastest belonged to another. She supposed another factor was that her lone wolf status saw her assigned to stealth operations more often than not. Stealth missions didn't require a soldier to charge in guns blazing. Reconnaissance, espionage, sabotage; slip through Covenant lines, gather intelligence, destroy base infrastructure.

Looking into the mirror, Carris found, led her to believe there was nothing physically unique or drawing to it. It appeared to her that she seemed average. All except for the obvious; her height. The comment those street walkers had slung at her seemed to have bothered Steele more than her at the time. Now, after thinking about it, she still hadn't let the word sting. Still, it made her aware. She was taller than anyone in the squad and they had never paid it much mind. But she had heard the insults, the sneering, the whispers before. Prowler crews had little to talk about so a Spartan was quite interesting; seeing someone that big, that tall, with strange armor that, with the helmet removed, made the head look laughably small depending on the armor's size. Apparently, it was humorous to men that a woman would be so tall. Never had their comments hurt, nor had she cared. Steele's reaction, more than those two bonehead's remark, made her think now.

"Tell me about your wife," Carris asked as she continued to carefully shear the fat away from the chicken.

"Oh, me wife?" Knight chuckled, "She's a lovely woman. Her name's Jane and we've been together since secondary school."

"What does she look like?"

"Gorgeous. Red hair that looks like it's on fire, bright green eyes, freckles splashed across her face. Big, _big_ , smile. Always likes to braid her hair; French braid, I think it's called. Now there's a sight. When we lived together, and when I woke up, I'd see her sitting on her chair in front of the little desk in our bedroom, looking in the mirror, doing her braid."

"Was she short?"

If the question had been a strange one, Knight didn't seem to mind.

"A little shorter than me, little less wide," he laughed.

Carris smiled, finishing with a piece of chicken. She dropped the pot and grabbed another. into

"And you have a son, right?"

"Indeed I do."

"What's he like?"

"By my wife's letters, he's a good boy. I never had much time with him. He misses his dad, my Jane tells me." He seemed sad then and Carris felt bad for bringing it up. Knight managed to smile a little. "Looks like me but with auburn hair. Got his mom's freckles too."

"What's it like having a son?"

Knight chuckled.

"Well, we didn't exactly plan for kids."

"You didn't?"

"My wife and I were dating and we...well..." he shrugged, "We didn't really play it safe."

"Oh."

"Yeah..." he scratched his beard. "Bout' the silliest, most stupid thing we ever did. But we love our son and we would have had kids anyways, so, no harm, no foul. Take it from me though, play it safe. Trust me. Never saw my parents so angry before."

"I knew my parents."

"Oh, yes, that's right. Sorry."

"Don't be." Carris said as she finished with another piece. "You miss them very much?"

"You bet. More than anything. Lucky for me, my shaggy companions keep my company. Without them I'd imagine I'd buckle."

"You're stronger than you look."

Knight shook his head with a somber smile.

"I hope so." He changed subjects then. "We're going to miss you."

"I'll miss you too."

"I imagine you won't be able to write us much, considering your outfit and your missions."

Carris nodded. Mail was a precious entity for soldiers, she had learned from the squad. Those letters were the only link with home, to somewhere that was stable, correct, safe, sane. A soldier's mail was his sanity. Interstellar travel had made the process of mail delivery, however, quite complicated. A logistics officer of a ship would have to be informed what their next port of call was and when they would arrived. They would then have to submit that date to that port, where an officer would contact the UNSC Postal Service, called the UNSCPS or sometimes PS for short, who would then direct all of the mail for the service men and women on that ship or in the task force to that port. When the ship or fleet arrived or during their stay at the port, the mail would be delivered. It wasn't particularly complex but it required special ships entirely dedicated to mail to make extremely frequent slipspace jumps to get soldiers' mail to where it needed to be. Considering that some fleets were annihilated or entire worlds glasses along with their garrisons, there was an enormous amount of mail being returned to the senders. Other times, a port of call would change often, depending on combat situations. Sometimes a fleet had to make a quick jump to help a besieged planet or reinforce another battle group.

Officers with certain postings, especially posts that require a personal terminal or computer, never missed out the mail. All someone had to do was compose a message and send it to the UNSCPS. Military censors would look over the virtual letter and once it was cleared, passed it on to the unique address of the officer's terminal. It took less time and didn't require bodies or ships to move. Enlisted men, officers without computers, had to rely on the UNSC Postal Service. Weeks or even months could go by without receiving any mail. Families often complained because it took so long to get letters back; they thought their sons and daughters had been killed. In some cases, they had. So a new kind of waiting game had developed from the war, worse than the old kind of waiting.

Inter service mail was difficult, depending on the branch and the ranks. Officers exchanged mail quite frequently; enlisted men, not so much. Special forces operatives rarely ever wrote letters. Carris didn't remember ever writing a letter; some other Spartans did but it was mainly to other operatives or to ones that had been rendered invalid or handicapped by the augmentation.

"I'll try," Carris said, "you're the only people I have to write to."

That brought a sad look to Knight's face.

"Just a few dogfaces to write to, huh?" he asked.

Carris smiled.

"You're my dogfaces."

Once the stew was finished, their makeshift table was put together once more. Bowls were laid out and filled with the meaty smelling stew, which had a nice tan broth, chunks of chicken, sliced carrots, and cut up potatoes. Bread was set to the side and the cups filled with war. The squad came in a few minutes after the table was set, taking their same spots like at Thanksgiving except this time, Carris sat at the head of the table and Frost sat at her left. Steele's seat was reserved for the right, but it remained vacant as time passed.

Carris and the squad began eating and everyone enjoyed it. Grant liked the stew so much he cast his utensils aside, picked it up with both hands, and drank the broth right from the bowl. Frost was a fanatic with the bread; he hadn't even touched his spoon as he kept dipping piece after piece into it. Everyone got seconds, and then thirds.

Carris listened to the banter and the stories and the jokes she had grown accustomed to, and smiled the entire time. But her eyes kept drifting to the right, to the empty seat with a full bowl of stew set in front of it, a full cup of water, and untouched bread. Despite the good time everyone was having, there was a part of the remained unhappy, unfulfilled. Without him there, the meal seemed incomplete.

Frost took notice when he had finished his third bowl.

"He won't be much longer," he said reassuringly.

"Do you know what he's doing? Is he busy? If he is, that's okay."

"I don't know what he's doing to be honest," Frost stood up, "I'll fetch him.

* * *

Frost walked into their barracks on the _I'm Alone_. Steele was sitting on his cot, his legs drawn up. A piece of paper sat on his left thigh. Another was laid on his right, and he was writing something on it. His eyebrows were drawn in concentration and his eyes were focused to the point where he looked annoyed at something.

Ignoring the fullness of his gut-he had eaten so much bread and stew that his stomach hurt-Frost walked in and sat on the bed.

"Hey," he greeted.

"Hey," Steele responded, his voice distracted, deep, and the word tossed away weightlessly.

"Stew's ready."

"I know."

"You ought to eat."

"I will."

"Carris wants you there."

"I know."

"Why haven't you gone? I thought you would have been the first one there," Frost said, chuckling. Steele glared up at him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked sharply. Frost blinked and his smile faded.

"Nothing, man," he covered, "but Carris really wants you there, I can tell."

"Well, I will eventually."

"My oldest sister taught me that the rudest thing you can do to a girl is stand them up."

"Well, she and I aren't on a date, are we?"

"I didn't say that. You two get along. You ought to go. And she made a good meal."

Steele, who had returned to writing, set the pencil back down. He looked at Frost; his expression was severely agitated, his brow furrowed, eyes burning, his lips drawn tight under his mustache. It had been a long time since Frost had seen him this angry. "What's up...?" Frost asked slowly.

"Ever consider that it's a somber fuckin' affair to sit there while your new buddy makes you a meal the day before she leaves? I don't want to deal with that emotional shit right now."

"But you're friends. Friends say goodbye, otherwise what kind of friends are they?"

"I don't do well with goodbyes, mate."

"Doesn't matter."

"Sure," Steele said in a tone that he used for blowing people off. Frost frowned; he never used that tone with him.

"Want me to make it an order?"

"Like you're really going to pull that bullshit on me, mate."

"Louis-Henry..."

"Fuckin' hell, you my mum or something?"

"...get off your ass, go to the kitchen, and have a good fucking time."  
"Or what?"

"Or I'll kick your fucking ass, that's what," Frost growled, "why are you being such an asshole?"

"Because I'm trying to fucking do something man!" Steele said, motioning to the papers in his lap with both hands. "So why don't ya fuck off to your happy meal and let me do it, eh?"

"What's so important that you're blowing off the squad?" Frost sneered. "Give me that letter."

"Fuck off."

"Is it another letter to the ever so big-titted Michelle Clarkson?"

Before Steele could retort Frost reached over quickly and snatched the letter from his thigh. Steele bolted to his feet a moment after Frost did. Frost extended an arm out with an evil grin.

"Let's see what it says," he said.

"Mate, just give me the letter," Steele growled.

"Dear Mister and Missus Frost..." Frost blinked and read it over several times. He looked at Steele, who had an almost pained look on his face. "Mr. and Mrs. Frost...?" he repeated. He held the letter up. "Are you...are you writing a letter to my _parents_?"

"Nate, bruv, listen..."

"Why the _fuck_ are you writing to my parents?"

"Nate, hold on a sec, I can explain."

"This better be a good fucking explanation, Lou. Who do you think you are, writing to my folks behind my back? I didn't give you permission, I didn't say that it was okay. So let's hear it."

Steele began to look exasperated.

"Nate you haven't written to your family in _years_ , man!"

"That's my goddamn choice!"

"Why then? Hm? Why!? I've watched all this time when mail comes in and you just cast your letters aside. Never open them, never read them, you just pile them up in your footlocker. Years of mail, unread! You didn't even notice when I started taking them and reading them!" Steele took a step forward and poked Frost in the chest, hard. "You have no idea what's going on back there in plucky little Nova Scotia, bruv! You want to know something? Your fucking oldest sister, Adelaide, had a baby! That's right, a baby girl. You're an uncle, arsehole, congratulations!"

Steele threw his arms into the air when he said this for effect. "Your second oldest sister, Sadie, she closed her art bar and now teaches private dancing lessons. Your two younger sisters are in secondary school and at the top of their class! Your mom's staying at home and your dad is giving more lectures across the world! You're missing everything, man! Everything! You're just letting your family's lives slip right on by, right on by, and you don't give a damn!"

"I do give a damn!"

"No you don't! If you did, you'd read these letters!" Steele reached under his pillow and pulled out a fistful of letters. "All of these, years of news, unread by the person it was sent for! The people who matter most, the people who are _waiting_ for you, hoping that you'll come back, entirely ignored!" Steele stopped, catching his breath. He then got into Frost's face, "You're such an insensitive, uncaring _arsehole!_ All of those letters unanswered. Fuckin' hell, my folks never wrote me and I never wrote them, so maybe I can't criticize but you've got people who care, mate. So I started writing them a couple years ago, started letting them know what's going on in your goddamn life. When you've been wounded, when you're down, when you're doing alright, your promotion, I've let them know everything. They still write you, send them to you, but at the bottom it's _me_ they ask to write back, because they know you won't say a word!"

Steele rubbed his forehead. "And you know why I started writing to your family?"

"Why?" Frost asked through gritted teeth.

"Fucking _guess_."

"No. Just tell me."

"Because _I_ care, about _you_ ," Steele said, his voice quieting a little. "Because you're my brother and I'm trying to look out for you."

"Look out for me? This was my choice not to write them back. My choice, not yours."

"I don't give a damn if it's your choice. I didn't have a choice with mine. My family didn't care to write me and I never cared to write them. Know why? Because my father was too busy to even _look_ at me when I was a kid, too busy to realize that I enlisted. I got a mother who never even cared to meet me, a stepmom who hated me, and an older brother who never did anything for me except buy me a packet of cigarettes when I was ten years old! That's what I've got waiting for me, a shitty family that doesn't care if I'm alive or dead! That's what _I'm_ going back to! But you, you have a family that cares, a family that misses you, worries about you, and wants you back! And I'll be damned before I let you screw that up! So I've been bloody writing them and I'm going to keep bloody writing them!"

Steele took a breath and sat on the edge of his bed, shaking his head. "You know what they said in the latest letter?" he asked, holding it up. "They saw the awards ceremony on television; they say they're very proud of you and that you looked nice in the white dress uniform." He almost smiled. "And they said the usual; that they miss you, that they're concerned, and are waiting for you. Even sent you a new music player with new tunes on it." He reached into a nearby envelop and displayed it. "They thought after five years you'd be bored with what you have. Sent a picture of your niece too. Her name's Addison."

"Addison," Frost repeated, the name sounding pleasant.

Steele ran a hand down his face.

"Just tell me why you don't write your family."

Why? Frost couldn't tell him. If he did, they'd all think he was a basket case, that he had given up. These past years, Frost fought hard, to the best of his ability. He was a soldier and he quite liked being a soldier. The fighting was frightening but once it arrived he was comfortable, at peace with himself. But he wasn't going to let idealistic, romantic notions of fighting for years on end and returning home in one piece cloud his vision. One way or another, he was going to die. He knew it. There was no way in hell he was coming home alive. The only way he'd go home was in a box. Heroes didn't last long and with every passing day he wondered if it'd be his last. And the less he spoke with his family, the more detached they'd become, allowing him to focus on his soldiering, and making his death less hard on them. It was hard to mourn a ghost of a man who hadn't been seen or heard for the better part of five years. He couldn't have his comrades know. They'd worry, pester, and think he'd have a death wish. He was squad leader and they needed him to be strong, to be flawless. If he didn't appear so, didn't act like he was, their little machine would break down. Frost wouldn't let that happen.

"I don't know," Frost said, lying for the first time in years. Steele shook his head.

"Bloody liar," he said with a disgusted voice. "I know you. You value truth in things. That's what I told Carris when she asked about you. Lying doesn't suit you, brother. So either tell me the truth or give me that fucking letter back."

Frost looked down at the paper, reading it a little:

 _Dear Mr. and Mrs. Frost, and family,_

 _Nathaniel is well. He's a good squad leader and keeps us all out of trouble. You wouldn't recognize him, I think, the way he points and shouts and orders us all about. Before you know it, he'll be an officer. I wouldn't be surprised if he made general some day. He thinks of you all a lot, he misses you..._

Frost handed the letter over. Steele snatched it from his fingers. "That's what I thought. Now..." Steele stood up, wiping the tears from the corner of his eyes with a sigh. "I'm off to have some stew."

"Fuck you," Frost muttered as Steele shouldered by him.

"Cunt," Steele shot back as he breezed through the door. Frost stood there, feeling empty and lost, and brushed a tear forming at his eye.

* * *

Carris, feeling sorely unhappy, had politely ushered everyone out so she could wash all of the dishes by herself. The ending had been bittersweet. Everyone had toasted their cups of water to her, thanked her for her time in the squad, and wished her well. Feeling humbled and slightly bashful, Carris had wished the same. They were all polite, offering to help with the dishes. She declined; she needed the time.

Washing dishes was a fairly boring business. Carris didn't mind though, it gave her time to think. Warm water and soap cascaded over her hands as she scrubbed bowl after bowl. Her mind wandered to Steele's absence. She hadn't expected him to skip out on a free meal. He seemed the sort, despite his brazen attitude, his less than clean extracurricular activities, his proclivity for cursing and crude jokes, he was a promise keeper in her eyes. Someone who kept his word, no matter what. She had made that observation in the back of her mind when he had broken down Frost's beliefs some days ago. His brief departure from his usual self at the time reinforced that idea even further. Why hadn't he come?

As she put another clean bowl to the side, she felt somebody walk up next to her.

"Is there any left?"

Carris smiled wide as she turned to find the English sniper smiling at her.

"I left a bowl for you. I can reheat it."

"I'm sorry I'm late."

"Better to be late than not show up at all."

"Guess so," he scratched the back of his head, "I was busy."

"Busy doing what?" Carris asked as she went to reheat the bowl she had set aside. She did her best not to sound indignant.

"Writing a letter."

"To your family?"

"No." He spat. "Fuck'em."

"To who?"

"It's...pretty personal."

"I understand."

"Let's just say Frost and I had an argument over it."

"Oh."

"Best he and I don't speak for a few days."

"You should try to work things out."

"You don't even know what happened."

"Doesn't matter. You should fix things."

"Not even my fault. _He's_ the arsehole in all this."

"Still doesn't matter."

Steele snorted and shook his head. Carris didn't want to make him upset but she decided to stick to her guns. When she handed him the bowl he took it a little roughly and began eating.

"Fucker doesn't write his family for years and gets mad at me for keeping in touch with them for him. Won't even tell me why. Eight years we've been friends and he won't tell me. He tells me everything!"

He angrily shoveled stew into his mouth. "I tell him he's got a niece now and he barely even reacts. I thought he'd be happy or at least smile instead of dumbly repeating the name."

"What's the name?"

"Addison."

"Pretty."

"I know, right!?" Steele shook his head even more. A piece of chicken stuck out of the corner of his mouth. "Ungrateful bastard."

"You never told him?'

"No, because I knew he would get angry about. I shouldn't be surprised."

"I'm sure he's upset because you didn't tell him."

"It's a damned if you do, damned if you don't sort of thing."

"Not really. Honesty would have been better. You should have asked before you started."

"He would have said no."

"And that's it then, I think. Decisions ought to be respected."

"What do you know about decision making?" Steele responded sharply. Carris, who had returned to washing the remaining dishes, paused just for a split second as she scrubbed a plate, then resumed. The remark had hurt. He must have noticed because he stopped eating, a goblet of stew running from the corner of his mouth, and blinked. "Ah, shit. Shit. Sorry C, I, I didn't mean that. That just came out...ah, fuck, sorry."

"I know a little," Carris said quietly. "Frost showed me that."

"Huh?"

"He wanted to stay in that turret control center even though it could have gotten him killed. Waters offered him a choice, and he had already made his. But he asked us if we wanted to stay on behalf of the Captain. This is the military; we are not a democracy. Orders are orders, we follow them even if it means we die. Sometimes if we don't follow orders, we die. And yet he asked us, and we all made the choice to stay."

"Yeah, we did."

"That was our choice and he respected it, not because he had made the same one, but because choices deserve it. If we had decided to leave, he would have understood and led us out of there."

"Yeah."

Carris set the plate aside and dried her hands. She smiled warmly and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"If there's one thing I've learned is that you two are such opposites. The way you talk, the way you think, the way you act, what you believe in. How you two became friends is beyond me. The idea that friends hate each other from time to time is insane to me, and maybe this is one of those times. So work it out."

Steele wiped his face and put the bowl in the sink. He stared at Carris. His eyes, which had been dark and angry since he came in, seemed to sparkle then. Their eyes matched in color, and despite how pronounced her own were, she found his to be positively more beautiful than hers.

"Fuckin' hell, love," he said finally, cracking a smile, "I'm gonna miss you."

Carris chuckled.

"Go speak to him."

He sighed and shook his head.

"We'll see," he grunted.

* * *

Frost was running through the forest, his boots splashing in muddy spring runoff. It was cold and windy, and the trees groaned as they swayed. Three jagged streaks of mud-his war paint-ran diagonally across his face. Rebels were retreating from the advancing marines. Some pursuers stopped and shot their fleeing adversaries in the back. Others tackled them from behind and started stabbing or beating them. Entire groups of marines would latch onto one rebel and start punching and kicking. Zeroing in on a rebel squad that had paused, Frost charged into the small throng, knocking them all over. Drawing his pistol, he emptied the clip into three out of the six at point blank range. When the slide flew back on the final shot, he dropped it and grabbed the first rebel he could by his hair. Before the rebel could respond, Frost slit his throat. Frost whirled around and grabbed another, jabbing him repeatedly in the face with the blade. The last one was young, possibly his age, and looked terrified. Frost, breathing heavily like an animal, grabbed him by the shirt collar. "Remember my face. I'm Jack the Ripper. Now go."

With a short breath Frost snapped back from the memory. He had been staring at a group of Army soldiers standing by the interstellar communications bank. Large UNSC bases and garrisons had means of interstellar communications for soldiers. It required some time and a series of links to special comms buoys. Soldiers could have a video chat with a family member systems away, or have the interstellar equivalent of a phone call. After the group cleared, Frost went over and held the phone up to his ear. He listened to the dial tone. He had never used one before; part of him thought that he should feel amazed at being able to use a phone systems away from Earth and call his sister's mobile phone, but he was too nervous trying to figure out what he was going to say. What could he say? After such a long passage of time, he couldn't just act like nothing had changed. Adelaide wasn't blind and he wasn't going to insult her intelligence by pretending that everything was the same. Honesty would be the only thing that mattered here.

"Hello?" came a familiar voice. Frost felt the words he had prepared leave his mind and his mouth. For the first time in years, he could hear the voice of his oldest sister. She sounded a little stress and a little surprised, like she hadn't been expecting a phone call at whatever hour it was there. "Hello? Anyone there?" she asked again, sounding slightly annoyed.

Closing his eyes, Frost swallowed.

"Addie?"

A beat passed.

"Jacky?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"Oh my god...Jack, you're...oh my god...oh my...oh Jack, I can't believe it's you. It's really you, right?"

No one called him Jack besides Hayes on sensitive occasions. Hayes liked to play a father figure, which Frost didn't mind. Other than him, it was family. They used and abbreviated his middle name more often than his first name.

"Yep, it's me," he said with a nervous chuckle. "I hope you weren't sleeping."

"No, no, I was just sitting down for lunch. Hold on...yeah, it's Jack! I'm putting you on speaker."

Another voice came on.

"Jack, you little son of a bitch, how are you?"

Frost smiled at the familiar voice of Owen, Adelaide's husband.

"I'm doing alright. What the hell man, you were supposed to have a boy, not a girl. Enough women in the family already."  
Owen laughed.

"All up to you now, I guess."

"Congratulations on the baby you two," Frost said, trying to sound tender. "How old is she?"

"She's one year old now."

"I saw the photo. She's a beaut."

"She had blue eyes like yours and Dad's."

Frost blinked and felt guilty. He wanted to tell her that his eyes were more gray than blue now; sometimes they shifted back to that deep blue, but for years, they had been gray.

"How are you holding up? Can you tell us where you are?" Owen asked.

"I'm on Reach."

"Reach? That's not too far away. Are you coming on leave?" Adelaide asked, her tone hopeful. Frost winced.

"No, actually. We're just resupplying before we head back to the Outer Colonies."

"Oh," was all Adelaide said, her voice obviously disappointed. "That's too bad."

"Yeah, it is."

"We saw you get the Medal of Honor. You wore that suit better than anybody else."

"Thanks."

"Why haven't you been writing us back, Jack?"

Frost had been dreading the question and felt his gut churn. He wasn't sure how to answer. Truth was what he wanted to pitch. Honesty, yes.

"We've been all over the place for the past few years. No time to write, lots of battles, postal service can hardly keep up. I spend most of time fighting, I have no time."

"Your pal Steele sure has a lot of time to write," she responded, doing her best not to sound mad, which was a clear indication that she _was_ mad.

"Addie, I'm a soldier. I'm fighting in a war. I know you want us to stay in touch but this isn't the movies where the hero gets to sit down whenever he wants and write a letter," Frost said tiredly. In all honesty, marines had little time to write. Or at least, average marines didn't. Their time was spent in cryo and fighting. Their MEU and the lack of adherence to slipspace protocol meant they had more time on their hands. One feeble attempt in a few years was all the effort he had put towards letter writing. He sighed, the lie feeling rotten on his tongue. Cutting himself off with a sigh, he said, "Look, Addie, I'm sorry. I promise to write more, okay."

"Alright. It's just good to hear from you. You're doing okay, right?"

"Yeah, I am. I'm good."

"By the way, everyone was wondering who that girl you were holding hands with was."

"Chrissake," Frost muttered, "that's my friend, Jasmine."

"A _friend_?" Adelaide repeated with a twist on the word.

"Yes, just a friend."

"She's pretty."

"Look, I'm a grown man now, the last thing I need is my oldest sister bugging me about girls again."

"But it's _fun_."

"For you, maybe."

"Are you going to call Mom and Dad?"

"Are they there?"

"No. Owen and I are living at the ranch full time now; we're still raising horses but we expanded and we're now a horse veterinary too. Owen's the vet, I raise the horses. Mom and Dad are in Halifax for the winter with Karen and Danielle. Sadie's got her own place in Halifax so she's not here either. I can give you their numbers."

"No, that's okay. I don't have a lot of time to be honest, I've got some things to take care of. Just tell Mom and Dad that...you know, that I...well, just tell'em, okay?"

"Okay."

"Tell Karen and Danielle that they better keep their studies up unless they want me to come back and give them a kick in the ass."

"Alright," Adelaide said with a laugh.

"And Sadie...she okay?"

"She's having a rough time. Rotten boyfriends come and go like clockwork. Became too expensive to run the art bar so she had to close it, which really hit her hard. You know how she likes to paint. Teaching dance is going much better but she's just sort of...in a tough spot. And I think she's getting into drugs."

"Drugs?"

"Yeah. She doesn't look well. She's changed a bit."

Frost sniffed. _You could say the same of me, perhaps. You won't even recognize me when I come home; if I get home._

"Sadie's stubborn but she needs help. Do what you can to get her in line, alright?"

"I will. Don't worry about it, okay? I shouldn't have even mentioned it, you've probably got enough problems out there."

"That's okay, thanks for telling me."

Frost was about to say his goodbyes when he heard the tell-tale sound of a baby crying on the other end of the line. "That Addison?"

"Yeah, listen. Owen bring her over." A moment later Frost could hear the bubbling and sputtering of a baby trying to make words. Frost felt himself smile as he listened. Then, he felt tears in the corners of his eyes. "Do you hear her?"

"Yes..."

"I hope you'll come home soon. I want you to meet her."

"Me too." He quickly dabbed at his eyes. "I can't believe I'm an uncle."

"Hey, you'll be even more shocked when you become a dad," Owen joked. Frost laughed.

"I've got to go now," he said, trying to keep his voice even, "you two take care of yourselves, alright?"

"You too," Adelaide said, "remember to write."

"I will."

"Bye, Jack."

"Bye."

Frost hung up and felt weak. He let his head rest against the phone box. Staying that way for a while, he did his best not to cry. It felt that the slightest movement would cause tears to come raining down his cheeks. When he finally composed himself, pushing away from the wall, he took a deep, shaky breath. He turned around and was confronted with Vivian, who was standing still, hands folded behind her back, looking at him blankly. Her hair, instead of being in a bun, was loose and came down to her shoulders. Her emerald eyes shimmered a little.

Running his sleeve under his nose and sniffing, Frost pointed at her. "I'm not in the mood for your shit. You open your mouth and I'm liable to fucking kill you."

He shouldered past her, walking quickly. Her footsteps followed him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that she was only a few paces behind him.

"Jack, is it?" she finally said after some time. Frost stopped and slowly turned around.

"Only my family calls me Jack."

"If only they knew that their _Jack_ was actually Jack the Ripper."

* * *

Vivian smirked a little as she saw the rage bubbling inside of him. But as he took a giant step towards her, she realized that she had made a mistake. They had walked a short distance and were no longer in the open. No one in the compound could see them between two barracks huts.

Frost's lunge towards her made her step back quickly, almost against the wall of the hut. She thought he was going to throw a punch but he stopped where he was and smiled.

"You're the worst shit talker I ever met." He said, "Try to act tough, try to insult me, but you're scared of me, aren't you?"

Vivian didn't answer. Frost sighed and leaned against the opposite barracks wall, jamming his hands into his pocket and bracing one foot against the wall. "I take it you eavesdropped on my call."

"Yes."

"Well," Frost said with a certain comedic tone, "that was rude of you. But I hoped you learned something from it at least."

"That you like to pretend you're going to attack someone and then smile like a maniac? Check."

"No," he frowned, "that I'm not the monster you think I am. I have a sister, and a brother in law. I have three other sisters, a mom, a dad, uncles, aunts, grandparents. I even have a niece. I didn't just spawn out of nowhere, I wasn't stitched together from dead soldiers. I'm a man. I'm made of flesh and blood, born and raised by a loving family. Not too different from you, I imagine."

Vivian shook her head.

"We're different. I've never killed a human. I've never stopped to that level."

"And that makes me a monster then?"

"Yes."

Frost nodded his head to the side.

"Humans are worse monsters than the Covenant, you can take it from me."

"So you admit it?"

"Admit what?"

"That killing is wrong?"

Frost laughed.

"Apart from being a shitty shit-talker, you're just a really bad conversationalist. Seriously, do you have any idea to have a conversation?" He motioned between the two. "Did it ever occur to you that you'll never get anything, _learn_ anything about me or from me unless you, you know, _talk_ with me? Has it ever entered your head to just sit down and speak with me?"

Vivian glared at him.

"I couldn't even swallow food in the same room as you."

"Is my presence that appalling to you?"  
"Your _existence_ is."

"Why don't you give it a shot?"  
"Talking with you? You must be insane."

"I'm insane for asking you to have a conversation? The whole world must be crazy then, huh?"

"Do you realize what you're asking me, though?" Vivian asked. "You're asking me to sit down with you and talk with you like it's no big deal. You killed my friends right in front of me and now you want me to speak with you? Talk with my closest friends' murderer? Do you have any idea what you're asking me?"

Frost blinked and scratched his bearded chin.

"Wasn't thinking at it from that end," he admitted. "You've got your reasons and they're good reasons. But what's to gain from this? Slinging insults at me, taunting me. How much are you getting from that? How much would you get out of actually talking to me?"

Vivian grimaced.

"Fine," she said menacingly.

Frost grinned.

"Gotta ask me nicely."

"No, I don't. I outrank you."

Frost stood up straight, the feigned pleasantness gone from his face.

"Rank's never meant anything to you. Ever since we first met, rank never got into it. I follow your orders for the good of the ship's crew and complement, not because I respect your rank. When it's one on one, you and me, like this right now, we talk like people, not like soldiers. So ask me nicely."

Swallowing her pride as well as her anger, Vivian put on the biggest, fakest smile she could.

"Sergeant Frost, would you care to sit and have a cup of coffee with me?" she asked. By the end of the short sentence, she was speaking through gritted teeth.

Instead of heading back to the _I'm Alone_ , Vivian and Frost went over to the supply yard. It was really just a giant dump of crates of varying sizes containing ammunition, spare parts, uniforms, food parcels, equipment, and more. It was out in the open but with the day's operations coming to an end there weren't that many bodies around. Frost lit a cigarette and offered her one. Vivian tried one but ended up hacking too much and flicked it away. For a moment, she was worried that some Jerry cans were around; the last thing they needed was for the supply dump to go up in flames. Luckily, no fuel canisters were nearby. Frost continued to smoke casually which steadily began to annoy Vivian.

"Alright, talk."

"Man, you're blunt." Frost chuckled. "What do you want to know?"

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"You know what I'm talking about, don't play stupid."

"This isn't a conversation, Vivian. This is an interrogation. Speak with me, not to me."

"I'm not playing this game with you!" Vivian shouted, slamming her hand on the side of the medium sized crate she was sitting on. If anyone was around to be surprised by her yelling, she didn't see them, nor did she care. Frost's condescending tone and cheeky smile were starting to piss her off. Frost sighed as he took a drag on his cigarette.

"Fine, fine. You already know why. I had orders to shoot anyone who was armed, who was carrying equipment, or was speaking on a mobile device."

"Talking on the phone? Why?"

"Rebels use IEDs from time to time; trigger them by using phones. Old, old tactic, but it works."

"You could have taken them prisoner."

"You're not an infantryman," Frost said matter-of-factly, "and thus you can't think like one. Put yourself in my shoes. I'm part of a team storming and clearing a house filled with suspected hostiles. I have to worry about civilians in the mix. It's dark and by the time I reached the top floor, I'm alone. I'm breaching a room by myself, already foolish of me. I've got no idea who's on the other side of the door. I have choices. Tossing a frag in means I put myself in less danger, but there's no guarantee that it'll kill everyone. And what if it injures civilians? So I ruled that one out. Could yell into the room, tell them I'm a UNSC marine, that I'm armed, and page them to surrender. But that would have let any potential threats know that I'm alone, also gives them time to prepare. No, couldn't do that. Breaching and entering was the only option. Had two choices in it though; guns blazing or use the shock of the breach to disarm and force them to surrender."

Frost took a deep breath. "I went with the latter. Go in and I see the first girl-"

"Willow..." Vivian growled.

"Yes, her," Frost said, almost sounding uneasy as he did, "and she's got a pistol. So that tells me that if there's other people in the room, they're armed. I ask her to drop the weapon and she doesn't, she raises it, I can only assume she's hostile. So I pulled the trigger. And because of that, the rest of the room is hostile. I open fire."

He folded his hands together. "Being a soldier means that you have to be a mathematician. You have to add things together and come up with an answer, which you use then to act. I put the factors together and the result is my action. I have to act. If I don't, I die. Or I get someone killed."

"Killing my friends was simple math, then?" Vivian said quietly. "Math."

"I'm a soldier. I have to operate simply. They were armed, she didn't drop her weapon, so I reacted. No point in asking the others to drop them. I left myself exposed for too long."

"Have you no regard for human life? It deserves a bit more than math."

Frost nodded.

"I'd agree with you if I wasn't a soldier. I've explained it to Jasmine but she's on your side. I'm not saying this to aggravate you. I say this sincerely; you won't understand unless you take another life. A human life."

"I know something about taking life and about saving them," Vivian countered. "I've led my ships in two engagements now, and we've gotten out of both unscathed. No one died because I made choices that kept us out of the line of fire. And my actions have seen a number of Covenant ships destroyed, with countless Covvie lives along with them."

"Killing Covvies is another business. They're genuine monsters and destroying our race. It's easy to kill them."

"Killing people is harder."

"Yes. But you've never done that."

"But you have, so I guess that makes you more knowledge than I am, hm? Is that your point?"

"I know a bit more than you about the business of killing and soldering, yeah. But you act like _wanted_ to kill them. You're mistaken. I never wanted to kill people."

"You earned quite the moniker for it."

"Yeah, I did. Not just because of...well, you know. But because I was good at fighting Innies."

"You say that like you're good at woodworking or writing," Vivian said, rubbing her forehead. She looked at him coldly and said, "I once heard someone say you can't be good at something unless you like it."

Frost blinked and said nothing for a few moments. He appeared surprised-not as though he had received some sort of a revelation-but an expression that showed he had never had that thought before. Vivian watched him intently; she decided she was becoming good at reading his expressions, as difficult it was. Indeed, she enjoyed on some sort of level. The challenge, the steady, snail's pace completion of her quest to see him punished, that's what it was. What their relationship was-linked by murder, war, hate-was a great game. A game to see if she could obtain justice, a game to see if he could keep getting away with it.

"If I told you I liked killing Covvies, what would you say?"

Vivian folded her arms across her chest and thought for a moment.

"I'd suppose I'd agree. The more of them we kill, the less of us they kill."

"There you go, there's the math in it," Frost said, smiling and pointing at her. It wasn't a mocking tone. Actually, it seemed genuine, as if he were glad she were seeing his perspective. Vivian felt anger roil in her stomach like a bad meal.

He then said, "But if I told you I liked killing people?"

"Then I'd say you're a psychopath with no integrity or humanity."

He snorted.

"That's what you already think I am. But I'll tell you something because I respect you-"

"Just a bit earlier you said you didn't respect me," Vivian said.

"No, I said I didn't respect your rank." Frost correct sharply. "I respect _you_ , the person."

"Like I'm going to believe that from the man who shoved me to the deck of our ship and practically pulled his sidearm on me."

"Well, it's the truth. I do respect you, even if you'd like to gut me with my own knife. Do you want to know what I have to say?"

"Go ahead."

Frost leaned forward then, his tone and face growing ashen and distant. His gray eyes seemed to fade. To see such a dramatic change in such a short moment was jarring to Vivian, to the point that the anger left her.

"You can start to like it."

"What?"

"Killing people. If you let yourself, you'll begin to enjoy it, relish in it. Everything else can't measure up. Eating, drinking, sleeping, friendship, love, rewards, nothing becomes as rewarding, as _sweet_ , as killing."

Frost seemed to almost shiver then. Vivian felt partly scared; she felt a great foreboding in the air, a horrible tension. The marine took a breath and blinked, as if he was waking back up.

"All that should matter to you is that I don't enjoy it."

"Did you back then?"

Frost's face became dark and drawn.

"You have no idea what happened on Skopje."

Vivian groaned.

"Not that cop out line again."

"I'd watch what you say," Frost said menacingly, "you're making light of something that would make your heart freeze."

"My heart freeze?" Vivian laughed bitterly. "Tell me then, you tight-lipped son of a bitch. Make my heart freeze," she said mockingly, "I mean, you are Jack Frost. But you're also Jack the Ripper, so maybe you'd like to cut it out and eat it." Vivian sneered. Frost stood up slowly and leaned forward.

"Jack the Ripper didn't just cut out Mary Kelly's heart; he took out almost every single organ. He took a kidney and most of the uterus from Catherine Eddowes, and the uterus from Annie Chapman. Didn't take anything out from Elizabeth Stride or Mary Ann Nichols." He said darkly. "I'm well aware of the murderer. But here's the difference between me and him; I didn't cut out the organs of the people I killed."

Vivian grimaced. Frost stood up. "And another difference: my killing of people-Insurrectionists-however vile it seems to you, saved lives. More importantly, it avenged lives. What I did out there on that mountain, that giant gravestone overlooking your city, was _justice_." Frost stood up straight. "You and I aren't so different."

With that, he turned, flicked his cigarette away, and marched off to the _I'm Alone_ , which sat in its berth, towering over the shipyard. Vivian watched him go, breathing slowly and deeply, trying to control herself. The last thing she wanted was to have something in common with that monster she had speaking too. Justice? A murderer didn't have an understand of justice or rights or and revenge. Murderers were murderers, Vivian believed; they were all Jack the Ripper's.

* * *

" _Just kill me, please."_

" _Water...water...please God, WATER!"_

" _Let me down! Please! PLEASE! PLEASE! LET ME DOWN!"_

Frost stalked down the halls of the _I'm Alone_ , listening to the voices of men from long ago. His heart was beating rapidly and his hands automatically kept curling up into fists. Sailors and marines and airmen who passed by were shadows. Some looked like ghosts. They were frightening to look at, the ghosts. Their eyes were lifeless, yet they contained so much judgement. Part of Frost wanted to shield his eyes from them and quicken his pace, to escape the hall he was in. How many more corridors of the ship were filled with faces from the dead?

Another part of him was growing enraged. Fury was building up in his chest. He wanted to fight someone. He needed to hit something, smash someone's face in-kill something. It had been so long since he had felt the feeling like this. It was frightening and intoxicating at the same time. People were beginning to give him strange looks.

Automatically, he steered himself in a familiar direction. In a blur, he found himself in front of Jasmine's office. He quickly knocked.

"Come in!"

* * *

Jasmine had been working on a report but had been plagued by headaches since the previous night. When she could lose herself in her work, it wasn't so much of a problem. But at the times when she would shift to another assignment, a new report, she began to recall what she had seen on Mors. It was like she had no control. Thinking was beginning to hurt. Had she hit her head when she had been knocked over by the blast of the plasma cannon? No, she couldn't; the testing had been through and showed no signs of a concussion or other head related injuries. Concussions were becoming a big problem for ground troops; plasma explosives could send men flying in any direction. The sheer force combined with the landing caused breaks and fractures, and of course, head injuries. More often than not, soldiers who were tossed about could get back up and continue the fight. Fighting against plasma weapon equipped enemies had its benefits; plasma didn't cause as much damage as a bullet, depending on what type of weapon it was. Bullets were more debilitating than plasma bolts. Plasma explosives had high damage but a short blast radius; for a human to receive the full force of the blast, it'd have to be a direct hit or extremely close to a direct hit. Critical but treatable wounds resulted if one were somewhat close, and if they were on the edge of the blast radius, they'd be thrown back from the force but for the most part escape the actual plasma damage. Force was an enemy of its own though. _I'm Alone_ had plenty of staff and equipment to treat internal head wounds, plus plenty of medicine to hand out to troops with less severe concussions. Still, they needed better armor; shock absorbers could do the trick but line marines didn't have access to that level of equipment. Their armor could soak up some force but absorbers were better. Jasmine made a mental note, no matter how much it hurt her head, to ask Vivian to put an order. Their status as special operations battle group meant that they could order more gear.

Frost's entry was a welcome relief. She set down her data pad and smiled.

"Hello, Nathaniel. How are you?"

He seemed a little exasperated but he managed a smile.

"Good. Better, actually. Just needed a place to sit down for a second. You don't mind, do you?"

"Not at all. How about some coffee?"

"Sure, coffee sounds good. Could I have-"

"Lots of cream, lots of sugar. I know." Jasmine smiled. "You have to be careful with that thought. You could have sugar rushes and crashes."

"Oh, I don't get those anymore," Frost chuckled, sitting down in one of the armchairs. Jasmine grinned.

"Too much could also cause heart palpitations, tachycardia, and an increase in fatigue, although that's a paradoxical reaction."

"Anything else I should be aware of?" Frost chuckled.

"It could make you go to the bathroom more."

"Ah, well, no harm in that. Marines look forward to their shits."

"That's...blunt," Jasmine said slowly. Frost laughed.

"Jas, think about it. You're under fire, trapped in your foxhole. You can hardly stand up to return fire. Enemy artillery firing, Covvie aircraft are screaming overhead, plasma's flying over your head. After so long you eventually gotta do your business, but no one wants shit in the foxhole, and no man wants to shit his pants. So, he holds out."

"And thus comes constipation," Jasmine sighed, "the amount of constipation cases I get from your lot is frightening."

"There's no balance if you're a marine, Jas. You're either constipated, or you have dysentery. Which one's worse, I don't know, because I've had both multiple times."

Jasmine handed him a mug of coffee; she took her own and sat down in the opposite armchair.

"I sincerely hope you didn't come in to chat about problems with the bowels."

"Nah, just thought I'd pop in and enjoy the quiet," Frost said, leaning his head back against the chair and smiling a little. Jasmine drummed her fingers on her warm mug. She was glad he could come to her office to relax but she wanted to talk.

"You used a phrase with me some days ago, about how it gets hard to think. You said it was like ants crawling in your head."

"Mhm."

"I find that description...very apt."

Frost opened one eye and peered at her curiously. Jasmine sheepishly sipped her coffee, enjoying the splash of chocolate in it.

"Thinking about the battle?"

"Yes. But it's strange. I remember that night being so dark. But when I think of it now everything seems so clear. And I saw so much that I just didn't react to then."

"Adrenaline," Frost said with a shrug, closing his eye. "Adrenaline does weird things with the way you see."

"What do you see when your adrenaline kicks in."

"Things get a little darker, that's all," Frost murmured.

"I saw so many men and women die that night. I saw people walking away from the line, wounded. I saw kill an Elite who had cut off his left hand with an energy sword, and he was walking away holding the severed hand. All the screaming, and the moaning, all the noise. And the _smell_. I've smelled wounds before, I've smelled dead bodies before, but when they're soaking wet, all night long..."

Frost opened one eye again.

"It's a putrid smell," he said, "but you can get used to it. I don't recommend it though, otherwise you end up getting a little more nullified towards death. If you're a soldier, that's good. But if not, well, no so much I think."

"Yes," Jasmine agreed. Frost's single eye appeared concerned.

"You want to talk some more about it?" he asked kindly.

"I don't know." Jasmine sipped her coffee. "You said that you put the past in its place. All of the horrible things you saw...put in its place. I understand what you mean, but where do you put it?"

It felt like a silly question. Obviously, there was no physical place to put the past or one's troubles. Some therapists offered tactics to struggling individuals to cope with past trauma by offering to them by having them put certain related objects that held significance into a box. Object-relations theory had been proven though it wasn't for everyone. She wasn't sure if it was a good option to offer to soldiers; not wanting to assume, but she had a strong feeling that the average soldier would find the idea more patronizing them helpful.

The question hung in the air between them for some time. Jasmine didn't mind. Frost eventually smiled a little and raised a finger. He tapped his temple.

"This is where your trouble is," he said, "the more you think, the more it hurts." He brought his finger down and gently touched his chest, right over his heart. "Put it here."

"Deal with it emotionally rather than mentally?"

"If you want to use those terms, yeah. Sometimes it's better to feel the trouble the think it."

"I'd argue that feeling and thinking can sometimes be the same."

Frost shook his head.

"Not with this kind of trouble," he said, "you have to feel it. Feel the trouble let's you accept it; thinking makes it worse."

Jasmine could see the wisdom in that but said no more. She was in the chair closest to her desk, and turned to look out the window. The sun was receding over New Alexandria, making the white cityscape darken.

"Tell me about that ranch house, Nate."

"Hm?"

"Your home. Tell me what it looks like."

"Mm. Well, the house is pretty typical. Large, sort of squarish, normal roof, two stories. Has a back deck with a trellis and a front porch. Vines grow on the trellis and there's all sorts of flowers all around the house. Across from that is the barn, where we keep the horses and all of the things they need to be comfortable and..."

Jasmine smiled as she listened. She closed her eyes. Home. What was home for her? She had spent her life traveling. Reach was where she had been the longest out of all of them. Perhaps it was the closest thing to home. Her parents lived on the planet, so that had to make it home. Although, she had plenty of extended family members in Barcelona. Kasra didn't speak to his family anymore so Jasmine had little communication with her family in Mashhad. Hearing of Frost's home made it feel like the ranch house he spoke of was her own. What a wonderful feeling it was to think of home. A place that never changed, that was always waiting for you, where you could truly be at peace. Peace. When would it come? The Covenant would never extend an olive branch and by this point neither would humanity. Too much blood had been spilled. From the very few prisoners that the UNSC had managed to get, they understood that the Covenant were bent on wiping humanity from the galaxy on whatever religious quest they were on. After so many years, the feeling was mutual; no one would rest until all of the Covenant would die. Then, everyone could go home. Jasmine sighed.

She realized that Frost had stopped talking. Looking over, she saw that both of his eyes were closed and he was sleeping. Jasmine blinked. He hadn't seemed tired when he had walked in. In fact, he had seemed somewhat energized or excited in some way. Yet there he was, asleep in her armchair. Jasmine smiled and walked over quietly, taking the mug from his hand before he ended up spilling it on accident. She finished her own coffee and then sat back down at her desk and continued her work with a little more ease.

* * *

 _Dear Mr. and Mrs. Frost, and family,_

 _Nathaniel is well. He's a good squad leader and keeps us all out of trouble. You wouldn't recognize him, I think, the way he points and shouts and orders us all about. Before you know it, he'll be an officer. I wouldn't be surprised if he made general some day. He thinks of you all a lot, he misses you very much. He doesn't say much about it. You know how stubborn he can get, the tosser. I don't know how you put up with him for thirteen years? I've known him for eight and he makes me want to pull my hair out sometimes. He makes life so bloody difficult for himself. All that talk about being a simple man is a lot of bogus. You'll all have to show him how to be simple again when he comes back._

Steele put down the pen and sighed. He wasn't sure if he liked the way the letter was going. Despite writing to the Frost's for years he didn't consider himself a proficient letter writer. Letter writers had a more dignified tone even with close friends. These words were, more or less, just an extension of the way he spoke. A literature teacher in middle school had told him that the best way to write was to write how you talk. Of course, the first assignment he submitted by that standard had been met with an instant zero mark because of all the curse words and less than charming jokes. So much for writing in his own voice. Even his attempts to sound his normal self in the letter felt needlessly forced.

The others were already asleep and snoring loudly. Carris was finishing up in the bathroom. Only Frost was missing, which was fine by Steele. He didn't feel like seeing him just yet. Although, the room did feel a little odd and empty with the cot beside his empty. Eight years had passed and he couldn't think of one occasion in which the squad hadn't slept in the same room or shared the same outside space to sleep.

He looked over at a soon to be empty cot. Carris was leaving tomorrow. The thought made him feel low and uneasy. Sometimes when he looked at her, she seemed naive in a way. She didn't know the things that he or the others did. Now, she knew a bit more than before they had met, but Steele couldn't help but worry that someone could take advantage of her lack of world experience. Hell, someone could even take advantage of her rigid sense of duty. That thought made him feel angry.

Carris came out, wearing a pair of black shorts and an olive drab tank top. Steele caught a brief glimpse of her scars and muscles in the bathroom light before she turned it off. Her black hair was still somewhat wet and was messy.

He cleared his throat and looked back at the letter. Carris was standing over him a moment later.

"Any progress?"

"I haven't seen the bastard since we fought."

"I meant the letter."

"Oh. Uh, slow going but I'll get it done. Doesn't have to be too long."

Steele had a small book light that he had placed on the stand between his and Frost's bed. He could see Carris in the warm yellow light it provided. She sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at the letter, twisting her body a little.

"I've never seen a handwritten letter before. Most message I've received came from an officer who was just relaying the contents, or was just sent to a terminal for me to read. Is there a special way to write it."

"Not really. See, here, you address the recipient here. Dear whatever-your-name-is, right, and then you skip a line, and begin writing the actual letter under the 'r' of the dear."

"Why?"

"That's classified," Steele grinned. Carris smiled a little, then chuckled. Steele enjoyed making her laugh. Getting reactions out of the others was easy; with her, it took an actual attempt at humor from time to time. Her responses, however slight, were still great accomplishments for him. "Nah, love, that's just the way it is."

"I see."

Steele set back to writing but Carris stayed on the edge of the bed. He stole multiple glances at her. Her pale face seemed to be awash with a mixture of emotions. Sadness, confusion, worry. These were feeling he hadn't often seen too much of her.

"I'll remember to write my letters that way when I write to you and the squad," she said suddenly.

"I hope the PS gets them through on time and to the right place. Would break my little flinty heart if one of your letters wound up in postal limbo."

"Will you write letters to me?"

"Of course we will, love."

Carris nodded and sighed, looking around the barracks.

"This is the longest I've ever spent in one spot. Always moving ships and bases and assignments and postings. I've never had something like this. And the people in my unit, well, they're not anything like you."

"I reckon they ain't," Steele whispered quietly. "But hey, won't be so bad. I'm sure if you stayed longer you'd end up getting sick of us."

He said this as a joke but Carris seemed a little saddened.

"I don't think I could get sick of you and the others."

"Yeah. I'm sure, love."

"Would you get sick of me?"

"Course not love, course not." Steele smiled. Carris nodded slowly. She stared at the floor in such a disheartened way that Steele felt a little sad himself. "Hey, love, listen. Why don't I finish this letter up and you throw on your fatigues and walk with me to the local PS on this rotten Army base, yeah?"

"It's late."

"PS is always open."

The letter was by no means a work of William Shakespeare, but Steele was happy with it. He even managed to make the ending a little upbeat. With Carris at his side they walked through the compound under the blanket of night. Sparking tools in other ship berths flashed, voices carried in the night, and the clanging and banging of machinery echoed endlessly. Steele gripped the jacket of his fatigues tighter.

"I have no idea how that little bastard like this shit," he complained as an icy gust of wind blew through him. Carris smiled.

"I like it. I grew up with these winds. Out there on the plains, that's where it's really cold. It wakes you up and fills your chest up like you're taking a breath just before a sprint."

"Well, you two can enjoy the cold all you want. I'm moving to California once this shit's over and done with."

They delivered the letter to one of the nighttime clerks, who looked more like an acne-ridden zombie than a military clerk. There wasn't much ceremony to the process and it was over in about a minute. With no reason to hang around, the pair left the office and began rambling back to the _I'm Alone_.

"If the entire squad is going to write a big letter to me from now on, I want you to be the one who pens it," Carris said.

"As you wish, m'lady."

"M'lady?" Carris repeated. "Don't get too carried away with yourself."

Steele laughed and that seemed to make Carris happier.

They walked and talked and laughed all the way back to their barracks. The closer they got, the sadder Steele became. When they reached the barracks, he almost didn't want to go in. He eyed his friend somberly and she looked back wearing the same expression. But they did anyways, said goodnight, and got into their respective bed. Steele laid with his back to Carris, staring at Frost's empty bed. Grudgingly, sadly, Steele realized that tomorrow night he'd have two empty beds on either side of him.

* * *

" _Oh yes, wait a minute,_

 _Mr. Postman_

 _(Wait)_

 _Wait Mr. Postman_

 _Oh yeah!_

 _(If there's a letter in your bag for me)_

 _Please, please, Mr. Postman_

 _(Why's it takin' such a long time)_

 _Oh yeah!_

 _(For me to hear from that boy of mine)_

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **This chapter's a little longer than the average at about 13,800 words. Is that a comfortable length for readers? I know some would like longer chapters but please understand that I want to achieve a good pacing. But I don't want the intermittent updates to be unfulfilling so please, let me know what kind of chapter lengths you'd like, either by word count or by pages in Google Docs.**

 **How'd you like this chapter? I wanted there to be a lot of dialogue, more than usual. How'd that work out? Were you able to understand who was speaking and garner what inflections and tones speakers had alright? Let me know.**

 **Alright, comment responses:**

 **Alpha HighBreed: I'd be careful with Holst. We'll be seeing more of him in the next chapter. And how'd you like De Vos? She's going to become a larger player later on, just wait and see. And yeah, Jasmine and Frost get along really well. I'll leave it up to you and the other readers to decide if that scene was plutonic or leaning in a more opposite direction if you catch my drift. We'll just have to see how their relationship develops. I love the way Steele and Carris are turning out too. I like how the two pairs develop different paths but in the same way: teaching and learning. Those two will be major themes throughout the story so hang onto your hat and keep an eye out for them. Not that you...wear a hat or anything while you read the story...don't see why you need a hat for reading...unless you're WEIRD. (JK)**

 **MightBeGone: MBG! Thank you for clarifying the ship names; you'd think as the writer I would have figured it out a bit more easily, huh? And trust me I'm not Patterson; if you want my honest opinion on Patterson, you'd probably be shocked. And you wouldn't have to pay me to teach you; teaching writing is difficult. I can tell you how create a character, set up a plot, pick and chose themes, craft scenes, but the most important tool you need as a writer is a voice. Without crafting your own voice in your prose, your writing will just turn into white noise. Trust me, I've been there plenty of times when it's just plain generic. Your voice can turn something generic into something fresh, unique, and interesting. Best way to find it is to write, write like a madman; fail, make mistakes, try again, keep doing it until you find it.**

 **chase8999: You want some...burn cream for those...? Some clean water at least? You look...dude I'm gonna be honest you don't look so good. You should go to the hospital. Also, the new Harry Potter? Whoa man, I wouldn't go so far to say that; I'm small potatoes compared to J.K. Rowling. Although, you'd probably be surprised of my honest opinion of her. But hey, considering that this is being written by me-a guy who didn't even read the Harry Potter books or watch the movies-I guess I must be doing something right!**

 **Caver Floyd: You may be on the right path there; you're a perspective one. But maybe not, we'll find out next chapter. And I'm glad you're liking Steele. I figured in writing him he was going to be a character readers instantly liked or would grow to like eventually. But I wouldn't give Vivian too much credit though... And yeah, I've got ideas for a sequel alright. Truthfully, if I was done with** _ **I'm Alone**_ **right now, I could immediately start writing the sequel, because I breezed through the development stage with it real quick. Alas, gotta finish this one first!**

 **Thanks for commenting everyone. I appreciate the time you take to chat with me and it just means a lot that you all take the time to read, comment, favorite, and or follow. Thank you to the new followers who have checked out the story, I promise you won't be disappointed. Anyways, thank you again ladies and gentlemen, please take care of yourselves and I'll see you next time!**


	28. Chapter 28: Knee Socks, Part One

Chapter 28: Knee Socks, Part One

* * *

Frost held a ghost in his arms. A shadowy figure with no details just in the shape of a person. But he knew it was hurt, that it was damaged in some way. He couldn't tell how. He simply bring himself to let go. As he sat in the ditch, holding the wretched soul, Steele came to the top of the ditch. The sniper appeared younger, his face slightly more smooth. Horror was plastered to his face. Sobbing, Frost asked him, "What's wrong with these people? How could they do this?"

With a short gasp, Frost woke up. With a few blinks, his vision cleared. He was surprised to find himself in Jasmine's office. The office was dark and silent. Sitting up a little, he groaned. All night he had slept in the same position and now he was sore because of it. Straightening out as best he could, he quickly took notice of several things. Jasmine's white lab coat had been laid over him like a blanket. An olive drab blanket had been wrapped around his legs. And his boots and socks had been removed. Confused, he stared down at his bare feet, then looked at his boots that beside the chair. His eyes darted between the two. Yesterday was a perfect memory until his mind tracked him to Jasmine's office. He didn't remember falling asleep and he certainly didn't remember taking his boots off. Murderous rage had gripped him and her company had been the only entity to soothe him. A heavy sigh escaped his lips.

Just as he was about to stand up, the door opened, the lights went on, and Jasmine came in holding a tray of food.

"Morning," she said cheerfully, "I brought you breakfast. French toast, sausages, a few strips of bacon, two eggs over easy, and some pieces of cantaloupe. I'll make you cup of coffee."

She came over and handed him to tray. "I'd say it's breakfast in bed but breakfast in armchair doesn't sound as good." Grinning, Frost carefully folded her lab coat up and set in on the floor before taking it.

"Did you take off my boots?"

"Yep," Jasmine answered with a smile as she went over to the coffee maker. "They didn't seem comfortable so I took them off."

"Uh, thanks," Frost said he slowly began to eat. Jasmine brought him over another mug of coffee.

"Looks like you had the paradoxical reaction to the coffee; instead of waking you up, it make you drowsy."

"Ah, I was just plain tired," he said, eating at a faster pace as he realized his hunger. "Did you get something to eat?"  
"Yes, I ate already. I bumped into your squad in the mess hall."

"Yeah, how're they doing?"  
"They seem down. I spoke with Carris a little; some members of her unit are coming to the _I'm Alone_ to pick her in a few hours."

"Oh, right. I nearly forget," Frost mumbled with a mouthful of bacon, "We've all gotten pretty used to seeing Carris around. She's like a member of the team."

"I understand, though I hope you don't mind me saying, she's only been around for a relatively short time."

Frost grinned.

"You could argue that we've been friends for a relatively short time," he countered. Jasmine smiled as she drank her coffee in the opposite armchair.

"Point taken. The squad was wondering where you were and I told them you were in my office."

Frost wanted to tell her not to mention that he had spent the night in her office. If a rumor was kindled about them having some kind of affair he'd never hear the end of it. Vivian would probably have a bone to pick with him as well, more than she already did.

"Yeah, I made myself pretty scarce yesterday."

"Why's that?"

"Steele and I got into a major fight. Our first real fight now that I think about it."

"Over what?"

Clearing his throat uncomfortably, Frost readjusted in his seat.

"I, uh, hadn't exactly been writing to my family these past couple of years. Just for some reasons I'd like to remain private. Steele took it upon himself to take the letters, read them, and write back to my family-without asking me first. Said all this nonsense about not letting me screw up my supposedly great family life waiting for me back home."

Jasmine studied him intently.

"Well, even if you are friends he shouldn't have gone through your belongings. Furthermore, if you made a choice, he should have respected it."

"Yeah, exactly."

"But," Jasmine said and Frost instantly felt a blow coming, "he was doing it out of a place of care and compassion. It's not like he was maliciously attacking your character in these letters. He was trying to help. While I understand your indignation, I don't think you should be too angry at him for it."

Saying nothing, he continued shoveling food into his mouth with a little more speed behind it. He could feel Jasmine's eyes on him. "I would go talk to him soon and try to make things right."

"He's the offending party, here," Frost grumbled.

"Doesn't matter. You're both friends and you ought to put the right foot forward."

"Let's have no more words on the matter," Frost said with a sigh, "too early in the morning to be having a discussion like this."

Jasmine laughed.

"Is it? Here I thought you could handle serious talk whenever."

"Well I'm a little out of my element here," Frost joked, "I was tucked into bed and now I've been brought breakfast. No one's done that for me for a long time. So thank you very much."

"Did you sleep alright?"

"Like a rock. I swear I'm not going to be able to stand up straight comfortably for an hour though," he said as he finished his breakfast. Jasmine stood up and motioned for him to do the same.

"Stand up."

Frost did so, grunting like an old man, and stood up rigidly. Jasmine went behind him, grabbed him by the shoulders, and bent him backwards slightly. Grunting again, Frost felt a _crack_ in his back and the tension dissipated

"Well that's better," he chuckled as he turned to face Jasmine. "You've got the magic touch, Jas."

"You have to know these things if you're a doctor," she said bashfully, a little pink creeping onto her cheeks.

"I thought doctors only had to specialize in one...thing. A concentration. Like brain surgeon or heart surgeon."

"Well, yes. But doctors learn many skills and have to be knowledgeable about multiple medical aspects. I myself needed to be well-rounded in my opinion, so I soaked up as many different kinds of training as I could."

"Smart."

"I just want a nice resume after the war," Jasmine joked as she picked up the tray. Frost laughed.

Sitting back down, he slid his socks back on, followed by his boots.

"I hope my feet didn't smell."

"Not at all. Marines stink all the time so you get pretty used to it," she joked again.

"You're on a roll," Frost chuckled.

"I hope you don't mind but a poked around your feet a little. Whoever was in charge of your corrective surgery did one heck of a job. And your physical therapy instructor too. There was a lot of room for something to go wrong during your recovery but it's almost like there was never a break."

"Yeah, we had good people looking out for us," Frost said, "one of the most boring periods of my life, being laid up in a hospital bed. I must have read at least ten different books during that time. And being laid up next Steele made it worse. Poor bastard hated it worse than I did. Granted, he was worse off than me. His back was all messed up."

Jasmine stared him with a little, knowing smile. "What?" Frost asked, frowning.

"You can't stay mad at him, can you?"

"Ugh, you gonna _order_ me out the door to kiss and make up with him?"  
"No, but I strongly recommend it as your friend and your doctor."

Frost sighed and went to the window. He gazed out at New Alexandria, watching people bustle on the sidewalks and cars stream down the streets.

"He told me I have a niece," Frost said.

"Wow, congratulations."

"Steele told me and I just ended up calling my sister. The one who had the baby. I don't honestly remember making the decision to call, I just ended up near that interstellar phone bank they have on base."

"Well, if he was trying to get you to communicate with your family, he got the job done, didn't he?"

"Yeah, he did." Frost shook his head. "I try not to think about home. Sometimes it's nice but other times it's just a...distraction. But sometimes when I get some trouble up there," he motioned to his head, "and I can't move it here," he tapped over his heart, "home makes it go away."

"Trouble, yes," Jasmine said distantly. Frost looked over his shoulder. She had paused in her work.

"Just have to put it where it needs to be," Frost said, remembering their conversation from last night.

"It's hard."

"Ain't gonna be gone in one day. Takes some time before you get the hang of it." Frost chuckled and shook his head. He pulled a cigarette out of a packet retrieved from his pocket and put to his lips. An instant later, Jasmine was in front of him, plucking it from his lips.

"Please don't smoke in here."

"Oh, yeah, sorry."

"Smoking's bad for you."

"Every time someone says that to Steele, he says there are shots for everything now."

"Are lung cancer and addiction worth it?"

"I don't smoke that often."

"And that makes it okay?"

"Geez, Jas, alright, I get your point."

"I always found it strange that the UNSC supplies a steady stream of cigarettes to the troops. It's like they want them to get addicted and to ruin their lungs. How can a soldier be a sprinter if his lungs are dying?"

"We stay in good shape," Frost explained, "not to mention that when we're actually fighting, we're doing a lot of moving. Combat's a good way to stay in shape, let me tell you. And seeing how we're engaged a lot, there's not a lot of time to smoke. Unless you're Steele; he'll smoke whenever he wants to. I'm surprised he didn't smoke during the awards ceremony."

Jasmine grinned at him.

"What?" he groaned.

"Nothing, nothing at all," she said as she went to her desk. Frost grumbled to himself. He decided he was going to take his leave, seeing as how he felt like an idiot sitting around for no reason. But as he stood up, Jasmine looked at him curiously. "Would you be opposed to joining my family and I for dinner tonight?"

"Huh?"

"My parents live and work here on Reach. They heard about what you did for me and would like to treat you for dinner."

Frost blinked. Jasmine seemed a little nervous, like a teenager asking someone out for the first time. He smiled. Despite how good the _I'm Alone's_ food was, he appreciated a good home cooked meal. Missing a chance to eat a meal cooked at home was a crime, his father had always said.

"Do I have to dress up?"

"What? No, of course not. What you're wearing right now is fine. You do have a pass to leave the base, right?"  
"Yep. Hayes always gets us passes, even if we're at a port for just a day."

"Good. Well, why don't you meet me here at four thirty and we'll head out."

"Perfect."

* * *

"Decatur said you needed to see me?" Vivian asked as she entered Holst's office. Holst was sitting behind his desk in the security wing, writing a report. Wearing the trademark black t-shirt of the ODSTs and olive drab pants, the large physique his armor gave him was gone. Still, he was a fairly well built man, broad in the shoulders, trim in the center.

Running a hand through his blonde hair, the clean-shaven ODST stood up and saluted.

"Yes, ma'am!" He said. Vivian returned the salute and motioned for him to sit.

"No need for pleasantries Major," she said as she took her seat, "you're one of the senior members of the ship, I like to think we don't have be as cordial as we do with lower ranks."

"Discipline and respect are important qualities, Captain," Holst responded in his faintly accented voice, "but I understand."

"What did you bring me here for?" Vivian asked politely.

"I'm in charge of security on top of my duties as the CO of the Helljumpers in this task force," he began, "It's my job to see that things are peaceful between crew members, that there are no security breaches, and to take care of belligerent personnel." Although Vivian didn't see the need for him to spell out his duties for her, she nodded all the same. Holst continued, "A member of the medical staff has reported that the medicine stores are off."

"Off?"

"Yes. We've gotten resupplied on all our materials, medicine included. I swear those medical staffers are mad about their checklists worse than the boys in logistics. But their count was off."

"What's missing?"

"Two bottles of...I can't say the name. They're heavy duty painkillers." Holst rubbed his chin, putting down his data pad, and leaned back in his chair. "Yesterday they got a shipment which brought the total amount on the ship to five hundred containers. Got another shipment this morning bringing the total to eight hundred. Apparently, the medical clerks take stock of what they already have in inventory before they add the new material. Their number came up to four-hundred ninety-eight prior to the addition, and now the total is at seven-hundred ninety-eight. More shipments are on the way but the number will be off by two until we find the missing meds."

Vivian grimaced. The last thing she needed was someone pilfering painkillers from the ship's medical stores and doing God knows what with them. Another officer might have written the problem off. Two small containers with about three dozen capsules in each didn't seem like a large problem. Strong, pain-numbing drugs could cause problems if they circled freely among a ship, however.

Holst went on, "I've placed Captain De Vos in charge of the investigation and made Dr. Ebrahimi aware. A list of all the normal clerks, pharmacists, and other personnel who have access to the facility has been sent. I have several security officers going over the list right now and their tightening the search gap. The last count was at nineteen-hundred hours last night and the first count today was at oh-six-hundred. All of the personnel who were there in between those two marks are being noted and will be questioned. Security footage will be used to corroborate the witnesses' testimonies. What's your recommendation for punishment?"

"I'm going to confer with Dr. Ebrahimi on that matter. It's a member of her staff so she should make the decision."

Starships had certain measure of jurisdiction went it came to administering justice and punishment for certain crimes. Depending on the crime, a sentence could be carried out on the ship so as to not waste time going back to a port of call to drop of a prisoner and partake in a needlessly complicated trial. Crimes like murder, treason, and the breaking of the Cole Protocol were different. Offenders were required to be brought to Reach for a trial. Petty thievery and certain acts of misconduct could be dealt with on the ship. It was new autonomous feature of UNSC military law that had been created once deep space travel became a larger system. It was why UNSC officers in training now had to take several extra courses on military crime and punishment. The Army and Marine equivalent was field punishment, such as being exhumed from duty-and pay-for a specific amount of time, being put on work details, and more. Navy personnel referred to it as Common Ship Law.

Holst didn't appear to like that answer. A deep frown creased his brow.

"With all due respect Captain, that decision should be left up to the two of us, the master of the vessel and the head of security."

"Dr. Ebrahimi is one of the ship's senior officers," Vivian explained, "and has just as much say and agency in the matter as we do. We will hear her recommendations and you will carry it out."

"Yes, ma'am," Holst answered, rubbing his forehead. "I knew this was going to happen eventually."

"A thievery?"

"Captain, we have a medical stores with a wide variety of different drugs and medicine. Considering that our medical facility has to function like an actual hospital, patients have to go to the pharmacy after a surgery or operation or something to get meds to take to deal with the pain. Just because we're on a military ship doesn't mean someone can't get addicted to certain types of painkillers."

"Major, the pharmacy isn't stocked with heavier medications. Non-addictive medicines and other items solely make up the stock. Painkillers have to be acquired from the hand of a doctor."

"Nonetheless, soldiers have varying tolerance levels and levels of control; they're still human. No disrespect ma'am, but I think the lack of discipline on the ship might cause issues like these. Furthermore, if it isn't some clerk or soldier or sailor sneaking in to get a fix, it's someone who's stealing meds and trying to sell them when we're at port to make a quick buck. Either way, it's going to cause issues. I recommended to Dr. Ebrahimi at the start of our travels to have at least two guards for the medical stores, but she declined and said that locking them up was enough."

"Major Holst, Dr. Ebrahimi made that suggestion because she trusts her staff and the crew of this vessel. Discipline and respect only get someone so far; trust is the true cement in our line of work. She trusts her staff, as do I."

"Trust only gets you so far, Captain," Holst said, drumming his fingers on the desk. "Trust can be manipulated, taken advantage of, and used against you. If you let it, trust can become your worst enemy. Discipline, respect, _fear_ , that's what keeps our worlds together, at least in the ODSTs."

"You're telling me that one of the reasons your ODSTs are so efficient is because they fear you?" Vivian asked, unimpressed. Holst grinned.

"All of them knows who the boss is; they know I could take any of them in a fight. Even De Vos knows that I'm the best out of the whole lot. It's a fact."

Vivian wrinkled her nose.

"Self-proclaimed facts could be mistaken for arrogance, Major."

The smile departed from Holst's narrow face.

"I've been in the game longer than any of them have. Most of those Helljumpers volunteered for my unit because I had saved their lives."

"So it's not fear that makes them follow you; it's love?"

"Gratitude," Holst correct, "getting your troops to love you is a fine prospect but it falls in line with truth."

At that point, Vivian's tolerance for the conversation had dissipated. She hadn't come up to discuss philosophy on how to run a unit. Both of their ideas seemed valid, she considered at the very least. Holst's ODSTs had performed well in the ground engagements they had partaken in, not to mention their outstanding battle records. As well, the crew of the _I'm Alone_ , ranging from the medical staff to the engineers had all performed brilliantly in all of their actions. Two fleet engagements, excluding the ramming of the light cruisers at Ambition, with no casualties or ship damage; that was no small feat. Hating to admit it, Holst was achieving performances with his Helljumpers on par with her crew. Granted, she hadn't witnessed his command that much in person. Reports from the planetside engagements revealed he was a bit of a taskmaster, always pushing his ODSTs for one more operation, one more firefight. Every time the Pelicans brought them back, his troopers looked exhausted and practically shuffled to their quarters. Pushing soldiers got results, but pushing too hard could result in catastrophe. Stories of tankers falling asleep at the controls of their Scorpion and veering off a bridge or into a ditch came back often, or of pilots falling asleep in the cockpit which sent their aircraft plummeting to the surface. Battlefield exhaustion was becoming just as a problem as military suicides and post-traumatic stress.

Vivian stood up.

"I trust you to this matter," she said. "When you find the culprit, please make myself and Dr. Ebrahimi aware."

"Captain De Vos is on aware to the medical bay as we speak. Shouldn't take too long to find out who it is."

"Thank you, Major."

He stood up and saluted, and Vivian returned it once more before leaving.

Part of her was upset that a crew member had stolen from the medical supply. Jasmine's clerks didn't make mistakes with their counts, so hoping that it was merely an accident was out of the question. Trust was the most vital component to her command. Fear wasn't necessary when the crew was already loyal. Trying to intimidate them into following her orders would only cause resentment and thus a breakdown of operations. But here was the first case of betrayal. Someone had broken the law of the vessels, had stolen, and hadn't owned up to it. Honesty was a virtue, yes, but a necessity in the military. Anyone breaking the trust that had been established between the different sects of the crew-the marines, the ODSTs, the engineers, logistics, the airmen, the sailors, security, the medical staff, and more-risked fracturing their combat capabilities. Although painful to admit, Vivian considered that Holst made valid points. Trust could be manipulated, abused, and used against another. Thankfully, this was only a minor threat, something could be rectified and the natural order of the vessel could be returned. To ensure that it wouldn't cause worry among the crew, she decided to keep the investigation clandestine. Holst was most likely seeing that it was kept that way. The last thing the senior officers of the ship needed was word getting out that there was a theft. Ashamed or angry crew members would want to exact their own type of punishment. Stealing from medicine stores meant for the wounded was low; wounded held a mark of distinction and honor. Making life difficult for wounded personnel was akin to treason and dealt with severely, and usually outside of the UNSC law or ship law. Wounded men placed their faith in the medical staff to heal them and then counted on the crew to make them comfortable until they were combat ready again. Trust. The more Vivian thought the more she realized how founded their little organization was in trust.

Did she trust everyone? Yes, with her life. Jasmine, of course, was her best friend. They'd do anything for one another. Ngouabi was aging but he was wise and honest, he'd never do her wrong. Burgess, down in engineering, he was too enthusiastic to offer her poor advice. Hayes, while eccentric and despite Vivian's own disposition towards him, was battle hardened and his tactical expertise was vital to ground operations. Even Holst was a valuable asset; he may have not been exactly charming but he was a war hero with years of experience and she could count on his bluntness of speech. However, Vivian considered De Vos to be even more reliable than him. Anyone who was willing to drop solo into a death trap, surrounded by Covenant was someone who was utterly insane or was extremely loyal. Considering that De Vos didn't wander around wearing her underpants on her head, Vivian ruled out insane in favor of loyal. Anyone on this ship, in her entire battle group, from the bridge officers to the buck privates in the marines, she trusted.

Then her mind drifted, asking her the same question. _Do you trust everyone? Even him?_ Did she trust Frost, she wondered. In a strange way, she did. If he said he'd do something, he'd do it. Standing steadfast in his beliefs, loyal to the chain of command-and willing to follow the orders of a woman who would rather seem him keel over and die-made him trustworthy in terms of reliability. The soldier's side of him, she supposed, was what she trusted. The human side of it, if it even existed, she did not.

The casual way he talked of fighting rebels was disturbing. Math? Who in the right mind would reduce humanity to that level? Humans were walking sovereign states, with their own thoughts, feelings, beliefs, convictions, hardships, talents, experiences, and so much more. They were beings granted by God or years of development-Vivian didn't know or care which one was-reason and emotion and speech. Each person was a walking miasma of different entities of thoughts or feeling. They deserved more than math. Their lives deserved, required more than math. Death had to be approached with apprehension, with revulsion, with a determination to limit suffering. To become deaf to it, to no longer feel sickened by it, took away one's own humanity. Whatever Frost said to make it appear that he regretted all those killings, most likely countless in their number, were plain lies. It was clear to her during their little conversation that there had been a time where he had loved it, grown addicted to it. Now that he couldn't get his fix, his anger, his hate, his need for bloodshed fell on the Covenant. Would the alien horde be enough to sate his appetite though?

She thought more about the ships she had destroyed. Alien lives didn't mean anything to her. The Covenant were religious zealots bent on genocide. There was nothing redeeming about them. If there was, she couldn't see it nor did she care. Their existence was worthy of the math Frost was so fond of. Applying it to them made killing their ranks easy and rewarding. Seeing as how they delightfully massed their forces for direct assault, relying on their endless numbers, they provided plenty of humans with the chance to avenge their fallen and save the living. Kill them to save lives. Sound philosophy that was. It was probably all they had in common. Not so different from one another, he had said. Vivian had wanted to kill him he when he said that. About the only thing they had in common was that maxim: kill Covenant, save lives. What did he know about revenge? He hadn't lost anything by killing all of her friends. In fact, he had _profited_. Because of the killings, he had a big fancy reputation. The fearsome Jack the Ripper, the bogeyman of Skopje. A tall tale that fathers and mothers whispered to their children at night. "If you're not good, Jack the Ripper will come down from the mountain and take you away." Jack the Ripper, the loved, the hated, the feared. Everyone knew who he was. Even some of the crew members gave him a wide berth. Sure, he looked innocent enough. He had a subtle swing in his arms when he walked, complemented by a hunch in his neck and shoulders. To a strange, they would have thought he seemed almost goofy.

Looking past those surface appearances revealed the real Jack the Ripper. How his hands were always curling into fists. How his gray eyes darkened to a near black and scanned the area he was in, eyeing everyone up and down like a potential target. How his feet fell heavily on the deck, causing an echo that resonated from one of the ship's hallway to the other. How his mouth was slightly open and anyone walking past him could just see that missing tooth. That was the walk, the stance of a man who had taken life, had relished in it, and was looking to kill again. Vivian couldn't be fooled by his demeanour, the war hero facade, the charming smile that made all the female crew members swoon just a little bit. No one could see the underlying rage, the hidden hate that he carried. Yes, she knew him better than anybody else. Better than his own squad, better than Jasmine. Those medals he wore on his chest were drenched with red blood, the blood of the innocent, the the tortured, the downtrodden, the people who had made a choice of their own, to leave free of a yoke they saw as totalitarian and oppressive. She did not agree but understood. Yes, they had killed and stolen, she couldn't excuse that. Murderers had to be punished, had to go through the law, to be tried. Setting murderers upon murderers did away with the rule of law and the common decency of mankind. From it was bred more murderers and needless suffering. The famed 89th MEU, the notorious hunter-killer unit that had cleansed Skopje of its Insurrectionist infection. All of them were killers, yes. But Frost was the murderer, the night terror, the one who took pleasure in it. Redemption could be found in the others, even that surely Corporal Steele. Jack the Ripper, however, did not deserve redemption. There wouldn't be any.

Jack the Ripper, the unknown serial killer of 19th Century Whitechapel, had taken the lives of five women. Brutally, he tore them apart with a blade, harvested certain organs, and disappeared in the night. Justice was never delivered to him. Five women, no matter their character or activity, five innocent women and been slain for no reason. Their deaths, after so many centuries, remained unsolved and unavenged. A murderer had gotten away with it. He taunted the police, tantalized them with the letters, and yet he escaped from justice. This Jack the Ripper had killed more than five and had no only gotten away with it, he had been rewarded. What kind of society awarded medals and commendations and promotions to psychopaths? It didn't matter though. This one could taunt her, tease her, dangle himself in front of her and feel untouchable all he wanted. Eventually, she'd get him. He wasn't going to get away from her.

Promises were promises. Jasmine had exacted one from her. Her word meant everything to Vivian. But Frost was a danger. Not now, at least. Whenever the war ended, if it ended, if they all survived, he'd be thrown back into civilian life. A killer among ordinary people. How long would it take for him to draw that knife again and kill in a dark alley to satisfy that dark need? What he had back on Skopje was an addiction. Anyone could relapse, even the dependable, flawless Nathaniel Frost. If she allowed him to return home, he would become the real Jack the Ripper. Any and all deaths that he caused would be on her conscious. They would be her fault. Oh, she could already hear Jasmine's voice in the back of her. There was no guarantee he would lose control and start killing people when he had strived for so many years to protect them. Good existed in him. Truly, it had to. He had volunteered to sacrifice himself for an entire city. He had saved Jasmine's life. He had even taken a bullet for Vivian. None of that mattered. Good acts did not overshadow the evil ones. Evil ones washed away the good. Whatever good laced within him had been destroyed when he pulled the trigger on her friends that night. Somehow, someway, she had to prevent him from ever going home. All that pain and anger and hate would travel back with him and he'd have nothing to take it on-except people. Vivian made a new promise: for the greater good, he would not return home.

* * *

Midday had arrived but the sun did little to warm Reach up. Reach was a relatively cold planet, with stretches of cool grasslands and numerous white capped mountain ranges. There were some more hotter, barren areas, although those were purely devoted to mining operations and military infrastructure. Even in July there would be a nip in the air and snow on the ground. Granted, Reach wasn't Earth. Still, for any Earthborn, it was quite a surprise to see people in clothing suited for late Autumn or Early winter. Hardy farmers toughed out the cold on their farmsteads deep inland, in between ridge lines or on tracts of clear land. City dwellers managed the cold as well as they could. But no matter what, even a sun shining overhead, unhindered by clouds, did little to warm up any of the cooler parts of the planet. If it wasn't snowing, it was raining too. Sunny days were few and far between. Seasonal depression must have been widespread for any newcomers. Dreary day after dreary day would get anybody. Storm lovers would relish it.

Carris stood on the tarmac, gazing up in the sun. The wind brushed her locks back. She in full armor, her helmet tucked under her left arm. There was no bundle for her; she didn't have any other possessions besides the suit of armor.

Waiting patiently for the squad to arrive, she gazed up at the prow of the _I'm Alone_. Truly, she was a gorgeous and mighty ship. The large, powerful vessel suited her unique role quite well. Any soldier, sailor, or airmen would be lucky to serve on board. A position there would mean plenty of action, a chance to take control of the war. Agency was something that Carris had been appreciating more than ever. In fact, she couldn't even remember a time where she devoted so much thought to absolutely anything at all. Her entire adult life had been spent traveling from system to system, planet to planet, undertaking mission after mission. Battle after battle, she never considered her role in all of this. She had never considered what she wanted. As she stood there, she began to wonder if this was really what she wanted. Going back to the Spartans, to her unit, her friends, what was unappealing about that? A return to that normalcy. The normalcy of abnormality. Carris was no fool. Spartans were different from everyone else, in thought, beliefs, armor, training, upbringing. Everything. Choice, agency, did not exist for the Spartans. For them, there were only orders and missions. Were they greater than the average soldier then? Yes, they had the superior armor and training, the augmentation. Halsey had liked to say they were the next step for humanity. Perhaps they were, but what their counterparts have that they didn't? Choice. How she had grown accustomed to it these past days.

Footsteps fell against the tarmac. Carris turned and saw the squad. They were all smiling but she could see the sadness in their expression. Frost and Steele were standing apart from each other instead of next to each other like usual. That made Carris uneasy and upset. Seeing them acting different practically made her anxious.

"We made you some food for the trip," Frost said, handing her a medium sized tin box. Carris opened it. Inside were some sandwiches, packets filled with chocolate dust to make hot chocolate, sweets, and some other finger food.

"I won't be able to fit in my armor if you keep feeding me like this," Carris joked.

"You're in better shape than everybody here, trust me," Knight joked, thumping his hand on his gut. Carris smiled.

"You take care out there, wherever they send you," Grant said.

"You too," Carris murmured quietly.

"Just keep doing what you're doing and you'll be fine," Frost said, almost fatherly.

"Yes, Staff Sergeant Frost," she said in a deep voice, topping it off with a sloppy salute. Everyone chuckled.

"Make sure to wow your pals with your mad cooking skills," Bishop added.

"And if they don't like what you made, fuck'em, more for you," Maddox said with a shrug.

"We'll try to write you as best we can. It'll be hard to stay in touch but hopefully we can make it work," Moser said.

Carris nodded. She smiled at Langley.

"Make sure these buffoons don't do anything stupid."

"Trust me, I'll do my best," said the little radio operator. Carris looked over at Steele finally. Steele's thick blonde hair was swept to the side in the breeze and his eyes were looking off to something else instead of her. His hands were planted in his pockets and his stance was slouched. He said nothing. Carris wanted to say something but everything she came up with didn't seem right. When his eye finally caught her, she simply nodded. Steele reached over and gave her a solid pat on the shoulder. It might have made someone stumble a step but it did even make her armored arm move.

A Pelican finally descended. Carris looked over at it. The rear hatch opened and three Spartans came out. Two removed their helmets; on the right was Kelly-087. Her brown hair was short and her face somewhat weathered, but Carris could still see the young girl with dyed blue hair from training. On the left was Fred-104, with hair as black as night with silver streaks on the side. He had a firm face. Another Spartan appeared, waiting on the edge of the Pelican's passenger compartment; by the sniper rifle in her hand, Carris knew it was Linda-058. And the one in the center, tall and profound with his gait, his helmet still on, was John-117.

They approached slowly. When they were about a foot away from one another, they stopped. Kelly and Fred smiled, and John swiped his finger across the lower part of his visor. Carris nodded.

"Good to see you," she finally said.

"Likewise," Kelly responded. "You ready?"

"Yes."

"Then let's go," Fred said. The three turned and began walking. Carris didn't exactly expect a warm welcome. That was as close to a big hug she was going to get from them. She turned around faced the squad who had a mixture of confusion and indignation on their faces. Carris had wanted to say something grateful, maybe even profound, about their time together. Instead, the sadness in her chest crept up and took her voice away. She quietly stuffed the tin box into her helmet, tucking it back under her armor upside down so the tin wouldn't fall out. She could hardly look at them.

"Thank you..." she finally managed to say.

"Bye, C," Frost said, and all the others quietly delivered a parting word. Steele still said nothing. Carris gave him and the rest one last fleeting look and turned. She caught up with the others when they were halfway to the Pelican.

Carris hadn't cried since she was in training. For the first time in years, she felt that same urge, that same heat in her nose, the burning at the corners of her eyes. No, she couldn't, not in front of the others. They wouldn't understand.

Taking a look over her shoulder Carris saw that the squad was still standing there. A few of them raised their hands and gave a little wave. She looked forward again. Watching for any longer would make those tears finally fall. For the first time in her life she asked herself if this was the right choice. Would she be able to fit back in with her fellow Spartans? It had been so long since she had seen them. What would they talk about? Training? Missions? There were no stories to tell. Sometimes they hardly even talked. Those conversations she had listened, those insane exchanges about pornography, food, families, funny instances, times they almost died, about girls they had liked when they were younger, about dreams, about goals for after the war, would be gone. She'd never hear their voices babbling as she went to sleep with a smile on her face. All of it would become a memory. Sitting down and laughing at the mess hall tables, cooking with the squad, hearing their snoring and their tasteless jokes. Gone.

Carris looked over her shoulder again; they were still there.

"How are you doing?" Kelly finally asked.

"I learned how to cook."

"What?"

Carris stopped dead in her tracks. The others paused and turned to face her. She looked up at them.

"I learned how to cook french toast, and how to bake bread, and roast a turkey."

Fred and Kelly exchanged a confused glance. As they opened their mouths to speak, Carris cut them off, "I can't go with you."

"What?" the two Spartans said in unison.

"I'm going to accept Captain Waters' offer to join her crew. I'm staying."

"But Carris, it's been years since we've seen you," Kelly said, stepping forward. "And you're going to leave just before we get you back?"

"I know. I'm sorry, but..." Carris smiled and shook her head. She then nodded at the squad, "Those are the strangest people I have ever met. You wouldn't believe the...odd time I've had with them. But...I belong with them."

"You belong with your unit," John finally said, his voice deep and stoic. Carris sighed.

"You are my unit, but so are they. They've...shown me things, things I would never have found or even thought about on my own. They don't treat me like a robot or like a tool. I'm just Carris with them."

"We grew up together," Fred offered, "it's been years. You should come back with us. We need you."

"I'm sorry. They need me too. And I need them."

The three Spartans looked at one another. Fred and Kelly looked at John, who stared at Carris through the visor of his helmet. After a few moments, he nodded.

"If that's your choice," he said. "We won't stop you."

"Thank you, John."

"If there's ever a recall..."

"I'll be there," Carris said. "I promise."

The others, still looking slightly confused, exchanged a glance. But they nodded their goodbyes, turned, and went back to the Pelican. Carris turned around and headed back to the squad. The puzzled expressions on their faces were priceless. Smiling wide, Carris stepped back up to them.

"Forget something, love?" Steele asked, sounding slightly bitter.

"I'm staying."

The squad's faces began to glow.

"Really?"

"You're sure?"

"I'm positive."

Everyone began to shout and cheer and laugh, each one rattling Carris's armor and bombarding her with happy words. It was enough to make her dizzy. Frost was able to get everyone back in order. He smiled warmly up at her.

"Glad you're staying, C," he said. "Come on everyone, let's go home."

Carris began walking back to the ship with them. She looked over at Steele, who was smiling happily.

 _Home._

* * *

"Dr. Ebrahimi, I think we've hit gold."

Jasmine turned around to see Captain De Vos sticking her head out the door of the interrogation room in the security ring. She walked and was surprised to see one of the pharmacists sitting at the table. It was Amanda Maxwell, an eighteen year old with thick blonde hair that came down to her shoulders and big, trusting hazel eyes. She was thin and pale, and seemed rather fragile as she sat with her hands in her lap and kept her head down.

De Vos, clad in a black t-shirt and olive drab trousers, gave up her seat at the table to Jasmine stood beside her. The XO was fairly well built, not rippling with muscle but toned. She had a stern look on her face. Jasmine had heard that some people found De Vos to be rather unemotive and she could see why. The ODST officer was all business and rarely partook in common chatter. Apparently, she had to be in a good mood to do that. Was she in a bad mood all the time? No, but that didn't mean she was in a good one.

Jasmine turned her attention back to Miss Maxwell, who continued to look sheepish.

"Amanda," Jasmine said kindly, "did you take the medicine?"

"Yes."

"Thank you for telling me, but-"

"Sorry Dr. Ebrahimi, I don't mean to be disrespectful but please don't talk to me like I'm five."

"As you wish," Jasmine said, "you do realize stealing from the medical stores is a crime?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Maxwell looked up and looked uncomfortable. She squirmed as if she had to go to the bathroom. "What is it?" Jasmine asked.

"I...I was giving it to someone."

"Who?"

"I don't want to say. I don't want him to get into trouble. It was my idea in the first place and he didn't want any part of it."

Jasmine was confused and exchanged a glance with De Vos, who shrugged. De Vos planted a hand on the table and glared curiously at Maxwell.

"If you don't give up his name you're going to be stuck in here for a while. And if you were taking it to give it someone, but they didn't want it, why even bother?"

Maxwell groaned.

"It's Markov? Okay? Markov."

"Markov?" Jasmine repeated. "Why him?"

Markov had been making a quick and quite remarkable recovery according to his charts. Jasmine had assigned a team to look after him while he recovered as she had to focus on the bigger picture. He had been doing so well, even getting up and walking around, that she thought the case was over and done with. His doctor had allowed him to return to light duties not too long ago.

"Markov's been complaining of bad pain in his gut. When he went back to the Dr. Elbert, Elbert refused to prescribe him anything."

"Why is that? I haven't come across that in any of my records."

"Elbert thought that Markov was trying to get pain meds because he was addicted. So he refused him. But he didn't want Markov getting in trouble or anything like that, so he left it out of his report. Markov's been having such bad pain he's practically keeled over a few times. Elbert just kep saying he was faking to get meds but anyone with a brain could see that he's in actual pain. So I waited for an opportunity and grabbed some so he could stop the pain."

"And he didn't want them?" De Vos asked.

"No. When I told him that I had stolen them, he didn't want them. He told me to put them back. But I didn't listen and made him take them."

Jasmine cleared her throat.

"You were trying to help him."

"Yes."

"Are you friends?" De Vos asked. Amanda Maxwell blushed.

"We're...um...seeing each other."

"Oh," Jasmine and De Vos said in unison. They exchanged a glance.

"Well, Amanda," Jasmine cleared her throat again. "While I can understand your motives, and they aren't as...bad, as I suppose, as I originally thought. Still, you stole from the medicine supply. Captain Waters decided I should choose the punishment for this act but I want to levy it onto you. Do you think you deserve a punishment for what you did?"

De Vos seemed surprised by this, as did Maxwell. She nervously scratched the back of her head.

"I don't know..." she managed to say.

"Let me rephrase the question," De Vos said then, "do you think you did something wrong?"

"Yes, I did. For the right reasons, but it was wrong."

"Right. So, you decide."  
"She gets a three fucking months in the brig," Holster seethed from the doorway. Jasmine and De Vos turned to look at him. He was leaning in the frame, fingers hooked in his belt loops, anger on his face. "You're in for three months, Maxwell, get up."

He stepped to the side and two ODSTs in their armor walked. They took her by the arms and led her out.

"Sir, Captain Waters gave Dr. Ebrahimi permission to distribute punishment in the way she saw fit. She was carrying that out."

"You got the confession, you know who has the meds, case closed," Holst grumbled, "why fluff around with a bunch of talk? Three months is light punishment for a crime committed to help a fuck-buddy."

"Major Holst," Jasmine said in an agitated tone, "I was handling the situation."

"Yep. You got what you needed so now we'll just put her in the slammer for now. Ship law at its finest, eh ladies?"

Holst grinned as he chewed his gum. Jasmine glared at him.

"I'll be having words with the Captain," she said.

"Go ahead. You blabber-mouths have just been beating around the bush. People come to me for efficiency. Waters might disagree with me now but later on she'll see sense."

"Pardon me?" Jasmine asked.

"You heard me," he sneered dismissively. "Have a nice day egghead. De Vos, have the rest of the day off. We'll talk later." With a wave of his hand and quick turn on his heel, he left.

Jasmine walked with Captain De Vos back to her office. Holst's belligerency and disregard for rank were quite appalling. Granted, the Navy servicemen and women on the ship were lax on ranks so perhaps she couldn't have gotten too upset over his blatant disrespect. It all meant much more to Holst. He was about the only officer on the ship that expected salutes from his underlings. When he didn't get them, he was liable to go on a tangent of cursing and insults. Many of the crew members found Holst to be a joke. Jasmine certainly did.

"Your CO seems quite blunt."

"That's one way of putting it, Doc," De Vos said quietly.

"Is he like that often?"

"He has his moments," De Vos answered. "Major Holst is a decorated war hero from early in the war. Serving with him was a mark of distinction for any ODST."  
"Was?"

"Heroes come and go, Doc," De Vos shrugged, "the ones who die get statues built of them and have big buildings and bridges and highways named after them. Living ones, more often than not, fade into obscurity. Until they die."

"That's...morbid."

"No disrespect but I've been in this game a bit longer than you, Doc. Tends to take its toll on social skills."

"I see."

"Holst made a big name for himself when he rescued an entire company of marines from being wiped out by Wraiths. He sneaked around the Covenant line and planted satchel charges on their engines. Then he charged right through the ranks and led the company on a charge through the Covenant perimeter. Received the Medal of Honor for it."

"That was brave."

"Yes, it was. Everyone heard about it. He was one of the reasons I joined the ODSTs." De Vos sighed. "If you had met him about twelve years ago, you would have thought of him differently."

"You're close?"

"We're old friends. Twelve years is a helluva long time."

"I see."

"Holst just gets in these moods where he feels like he has to prove himself to everyone again. I try to tell him that he doesn't have to, but he never listens. Ends up burning a lot of people in the process, rubs them the wrong way."

"Hopefully Captain Waters will set him straight on that matter when she speaks to him," Jasmine said as she sent the message relaying the events of the questioning, the confession, and Holst's actions to Vivian.

"He's not a bad officer. He's not a bad man. His mood just swings sometimes," De Vos said, stopping beside Jasmine's office door. Jasmine smiled softly. The Belgian officer certainly was loyal. Not many would have the courage to stand up for a man who was clearly in the wrong. But it was admirable to see her try. They were such opposites; the loud, mocking, cocky Holst, and the cool, controlled De Vos. A strange relationship indeed, but they served to balance one another out. Control didn't suit every situation; some combat scenarios required an aggressive edge. And glory-seeking could make bad situations worse and cost lives, which could be prevented by a firm voice of reason. Perhaps they suited each other just fine then. Balance was a necessity on a ship. One would argue that in the military, there wasn't a need for balance. In fact, balance could be seen as the end of military order. Hierarchy has its place. Someone had to look at the map and tell the units where to go. Combat effectiveness would go down if each battle was greeted with a democratic vote than orders coming from one experienced leader. Daily ship life, however, required a more delicate touch. With so many different branches present on one ship, cooperation was vital. The ODSTs had a voice, as did the Marine complement, the Air Force personnel, the Navy crew, and everyone in between. Making sure every operation ran smoothly, they had to be willing to work together. Marines helping sailors fix electronic panels in a corridor, or ODSTs lending a helping hand to the airmen fixing up their aircraft was that balance. Sharing duties and burdens, sharing meals and swapping stories. Treating one another as equals. That was what was going to get the _I'm Alone_ through the war, Jasmine believed.

"Thank you, Captain De Vos, that will do."

"Understood."

De Vos took her leave and Jasmine entered her office. Frost was sitting at her desk, reading from a textbook.

"Hello Nathaniel."

"Jasmine," he greeted, engrossed in the book. Jasmine laughed.

"You two..." she said, remembering all the times she found Vivian in her office, planted at her desk, lost in one of her books. Funny how two people who hated one another could be so alike. Though, she decided it was best not to make the comparison. The last thing she wanted to do was spoil the evening with talk of their feud. "You're early."

"Wanted to chat."

"Well, I hope you don't mind if I work while we talk."

"Not at all."

Frost marked his spot by folding the corner of the page. Jasmine practically flew over.

"Ah! Don't do that, you'll make a crease."

"Whoa, okay, geez!" Frost said, holding up a hand defensively. "Have a bookmark or something?"

Jasmine grabbed a sheet of white paper from a drawer, folded it into a neat square, and tucked into the book. She slid it back on the shelf.

"Have you no respect for books?" she asked in a feigned offended tone.

"It's just a-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence if you want dinner tonight," Jasmine said, pointing a finger. She grinned and Frost laughed.

"Alright, alright, I'll shut it. I've been in the dog house plenty of times, don't want to be in it tonight."

Jasmine took her seat while Frost planted himself on the couch.

"What did you want to talk about?"

"I was thinking about my niece, Addison. When I was a kid I knew my sisters would end up having kids. Well, not my second oldest sister. Sadie's a bit on the independent side. But I was always excited about it. I planned to be the _cool_ uncle, you know? Get the kids a bunch of gifts, spoil them, take'em on little outings and stuff. Now that I actually have a niece, I'm not sure I'll be a good uncle."

"Why's that?" Jasmine asked as she began typing a report.

"Well, think about it. I'm not going to get leave to return home anytime soon. When I do, she'll probably be fix or six or older. I don't know. What do you think that'll be like? This big, bearded guy walks up to you, scars on his face, missing a tooth, and tells you he's your uncle? How do you think you'd react?"

"If I were kid again, I'd imagine I'd be a little off put, but given enough time, I could grow accustomed to seeing such a man as my uncle."

"I think she'll just end up being scared of me."

"There's no guarantee she will. You just have to be yourself."

"Be myself?" Frost repeated jokingly. "I'm a soldier. I don't think my niece would appreciate it if her uncle made her march, drill, and salute every time he visited her."

Jasmine laughed.

"You just need to make her laugh."

"It can't be that simple."

"I think it can. You might just be overthinking things. Civilian life may seem more complicated, but you need to apply the same simplicity you do here to there."

"You can't use math in civilian life," Frost grumbled, "frankly, I don't want to."

"You seek complication?"

"No. I want simple. But math like we've talked about can't solve problems at home."

"I'm not talking about _that_ ," Jasmine corrected, "I mean the idea of it. Simplifying things, identifying what will or won't happen if you perform or don't perform a certain act. Use the soldier's foresight to figure how to deal with things."

She looked over at him. He was scratched his bearded chin thoughtfully.

"That makes sense."

"If you don't make her laugh, she doesn't see you as friendly."

"Yeah...yeah, I get you."

"Good. Now, stop worrying about the future. You'll just end up making yourself anxious."

After a moment, Frost chuckled. It almost sounded bitter.

"We live in the present, we soldiers," he said reminiscently.

"Hm?"

"Nothing."

Jasmine finished her work while Frost lay on the couch in silence. It was a comfortable quiet. The presence of a friend made work more bearable. Absorbed into it in a complete absence of noise sometimes made Jasmine feel as though the room was closing in on her. An immense malevolent, weight slowly being lowered over her head. Company dissipated such a feeling. Work became easier, enjoyable even. Showing off could sometimes be applied, but Jasmine wasn't the type, nor did she find administrative reports on the number of patients, medical supply stocks, staff numbers, and other fascinating arrays of numbers that interesting to anyone.

Every so often her eyes would glance over at Frost. He looked relaxed and thoughtful.

"Would you like a book?"

"I'm alright. Sometimes, it's just nice to sit and do nothing."

"Once we're back out there again, I think we'll have little time for it."

"I agree. Honestly, I think this is the last time we'll be seeing Reach for a long time."

That put a wretched feeling into Jasmine's mind. Perhaps the cycle of missions they had been a part of, requiring them to return to Reach, had given her the subconscious impression that she'd never be far away from her family. After all, Earth may have been the heart of humanity, but Reach was the core of its military arm. While many colonies served as major military centers, either for operations or infrastructure, most UNSC battle groups ended up heading to Reach for debriefings or resupplies. Reach was considered to be the 'last stop' before Earth, the final stepping stone and a wide, twisting trail. Wounded personnel being transferred from the front ended up on either Reach or Earth. Evacuees and refugees found themselves placed on the colony before boarding one more shuttle to the mother planet. Dignitaries, governors, mayors, CEOs and business reps, generals-anyone of a high position in the UNSC, the UEG, the colonial administration, any official body, large businesses-stopped on Reach. Some even stayed there instead of heading to Earth. Some considered Reach to be a glorified pit stop; to most, she was a beacon of might and hope. To Jasmine, it was the planet where her parents lived. In the end, looking past all the people she promised to help and heal, the establishment she joined to serve and protect, all that mattered about Reach was her mother and father. Going away from them had been hard even when it was just heading off to Luna. Heading off to war after graduation was harder. Leaving for several months after seeing them somewhat often? Certainly, that would be the hardest.

"What was it like, leaving home? Not for your training but when you left for the war itself?" Jasmine suddenly asked. Frost raised his head, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, I dunno...in a way I was excited. War is the grand adventure is it?"

"After all you've been through, do you still think that?"

"For a while I didn't, but being on a new, special assignment..." he grinned, "kinda got that feeling again. We're _really_ setting out this time. No way to know what will happen. You have to admit, it's a little exciting."

Jasmine blinked.

"We could get all die..." she said, a little surprised. Frost waved his hand.

"No we won't," he responded nonchalantly.

"How're you so sure?"

"I just am."

"Well, you still didn't answer my question."

"Did too."

"That was hardly an answer. Come on, give me something more."

"Not trying to psychoanalyze me or something, right?"

" _Nate._ "

"Alright, alright. I mean, it was exciting. Definitely hard to say goodbye to the family, y'know? Well, my parents in particular."

"And your sisters?"

"Adelaide always tended to coddle me and treat me like I was younger than I actually was. I'll never say this to her face but she can get a _little_ clingy. My younger sisters, Karen and Danielle, were practically attached to my legs-not because they were clingy, more because Adelaide was grown up and Sadie didn't want much to do with them."

"Why is that?"

"I don't know. She was really close with me. Living in Adelaide's shadow, pressured by my folks, nagged by my younger sisters. I was the only one who didn't give her a hard time I guess. My leaving home for the war hit her the hardest. So making her unhappy was the worst part."

"You and her seem very close."

"Yeah, we were," Frost said distantly, then cleared his throat. "Ah, let's not talk about that anymore for now."

"Oh. Okay. I'm sorry."

Frost smiled gently at her from across the room.

"Don't be. Talking about home just makes me miss it more. I never really talked about it much since I enlisted. Never had a reason too, I suppose. Just not used to it."

"You should talk of home more often. Otherwise, you may forget it."

"Nah, you can't forget a place like the ranch, with all those flowers."

"I should like to see it someday," Jasmine said with a smile, "it sounds beautiful."

Frost blinked and Jasmine couldn't tell if a blush had briefly dusted his cheeks.

"Yeah, sure. After the war." He grinned. Jasmine felt her smile grow; she filed her last report and then stood up. "Time to go."

* * *

"Why am I nervous?" Frost asked quietly they walked towards the apartment door. His heart rate and picked up slightly now that they were approaching.

"When's the last time you had a meal outside of a mess hall?"

"Five years."

"That's why."

It wasn't a date. Hell, he had never been on a date. Unless Jessica Howard from seventh grade counted; all they did was hang out a few times after school and kissed a couple of times. They were even real kisses, just a few pecks on the cheek.

 _Not a date. Not a date. Not a date. Not a date. Not a date._

They come up to the door and Jasmine turned the handle.

"Aren't you going to knock?" he asked. Jasmine stopped, turned, and looked up at him.

"My parents live here..." she said. "I don't need to knock."

"Oh, right."

Briefly adjusting the collar of his fatigues, Frost stepped into the apartment after Jasmine. He was greeted by a wonderful smell of multiple spices and cooking meat. Immediately, his mouth began to water.

The hardwood floored apartment was rather large, with a wide open living area, complete with a pair of armchairs and a couch that was strangely familiar to the set up in Jasmine's office on the _I'm Alone_. Frost had to take a double take at. Beyond that was an open area for the kitchen and dining room, with the counters, stove, oven, microwave, sink, dishwasher, fridge and other kitchen staples on the left side and far wall. The table sat in the center; it had a white cloth over it, a chair on each of the sides, and fancy looking wine glasses set up next to expensive white plates. Silver utensils on napkins glinted in the ceiling lights. Beyond that were some rooms, most likely the bathroom and the bedrooms. There was even a door that led to a balcony overlooking New Alexandria.

 _Hot damn..._

"Hello!" Jasmine's father greeted from the stove, waving a hand.  
"Hi, Did," Jasmine said. "This is Staff Sergeant Nathaniel Frost."

Frost wanted to salute; he knew that her father was an officer but he was dressed in civilian attire; nothing fancy, just a pair of jeans and a button down. He wiped his hands on a nearby cloth, walked over, and extended his hand with a big smile. Frost shook his hand and nodded.

"Pleasure to meet you, sir," he said.

"Pleasure's mine; name's Kasra."

Kasra motioned with his arm to the living room, saying, "Dinner's not too far off. Sit down and relax."

"Thank you," Frost said, sitting down on the couch next to Jasmine.

"Luisita, they're here!"

Jasmine's mother, Luisita, appeared wearing a simple green dress over a pair of black pants.

Frost stood up respectfully as she came over and shook his hand.

"Mom, this is Staff Sergeant Nathan Frost."

"It's good to meet you, Sergeant," Luisita said. Frost smiled politely.

"Nathan is fine, ma'am," he said.

"Well, then Luisita is fine," she said with a laugh, giving him a little pat on the shoulder, "not need to be so polite. Make yourself at home."

She went with Kasra into the kitchen to finishing cooking, saying something in Spanish to him. Jasmine laughed when she heard it.

"What is it?" Frost whispered.

"Nothing, nothing. They like you."

"What are they making? It smells amazing."

"Steak stir fry. They add extra spices and dice up a bunch of veggies to put into the rice. They cut the steak into strips. If you want to make the rice have some more consistency, add an egg to it."

"Really? I'll have to try that sometime."

"Maybe you can take a stab at it next time when you and your squad have a family meal. Maybe this time I can get an invitation."

Frost chuckled and then looked around. It was a simple home with a few paintings hanging on the wall and some framed photographs, a rarity in the 26th Century, placed around. A few sat on the coffee table in front of the sofa. One of them showed a younger Kasra and Luisita on a beach somewhere. Another saw the two with a young, tanned skinned girl with messy black hair standing between them. Obviously, it was a younger Jasmine. The third frame saw her dressed in a school uniform with an olive sweater over a white shirt, a black skirt that went to the knees, and gray knee socks. A grin crept to his face.

"Ugh, don't look at that one," Jasmine muttered. "I don't know why they still have that. I was eighteen in that, close to graduation."

"You had to wear a uniform? I don't remember having to wear one when I was still in the school system."

"I was in private schools mostly; the last one I happened to go to before graduation had a uniform policy. I hated those knee socks."

"Why?"

"What do you mean why?" Jasmine asked, not defensively but curiously. Frost blinked and looked away from the picture.

"Nothing," he said.

Dinner was served not long after their conversation ended. After five years of living solely among men, Frost's etiquette skills weren't exactly up to the proper standards. As soon as his bowl was placed in front of him he almost began to shovel food into his mouth. He had to force himself to pause and gently start scooping out small portions of rice and veggies with a piece of steak pierced on the prongs of the fork. While the food was delicious-it tasted even better than it smelled-he realized how slowly eating normally took. Marines finished mess hall meals in about five minutes or less. MREs in the field were devoured in even less time. At least ten to fifteen minutes had passed before his bowl was empty. Every so often he'd glance up at Jasmine and her family. Stories and jokes were passed around the table, cordial and correct at first, and then more humorous and humiliating tales were spun.

"Always reading," Luisita said, "Jasmine always had a book in her hands. When she went to the bathroom, when she was eating, when she was working. I swear she would even read in the shower. I've seen her so enthralled in her books that she walked out of the bathroom holding nothing but a book in her hand."

Frost laughed a little. He expected Jasmine to groan in dismay or embarrassment. Sure, a little pink crept onto her cheeks. Yet, she didn't say anything. She simply smile. Seeing those little blushes on her cheeks reminded Frost of the permanent pink hue of Vivian's own cheeks. Somehow the pair looked alike despite their backgrounds. Jasmine's profile matched the Iberian heritage in her, while small features around her mouth and eyes resembled those of her Persian ancestry. Vivian came from, most likely, an Anglo-Polish line, though that was just what came to his mind first. Plenty of other variables like contributed to the slim, fine, but firm features she possessed. Judging by the last name, she had to come from a British Isles background at the very least. Possibly Welsh or English. Everything about the two friends was different yet they still appeared the same. Jasmine had a very intellectual, scholarly look about her, compounded further by her professional tone and glasses. Vivian had a commanding presence, strong and absolute. She walked with a certain drive, her head forward and shoulders braced when she was in a rush. Other times, in thought, she walked slowly, head down, hands folded behind her back. Contemplative was the word that came to mind. Frost knew about her night rambles through the ship. He knew many things that occurred when the majority of the ship's company was asleep. None interested him more than Vivian's roaming's. Jasmine, on the other hand, always had a slow yet busy walk. Busy in that she was always preoccupied with one or two tasks; speaking with a staff members, communicating through her earpiece, tapping a report out on her data pad. Often, her pace was somewhat quick. The only time her walk changed was when she was with him. Her pace would slow, her focus usually rested solely on him, and she seemed generally more relaxed. So different they were; what made them similar? It wasn't just that pinkness in their cheeks, especially since Vivian's was more permanent. Perhaps it was their voices. They sounded alike. Jasmine was more careful and thought for her words, Vivian rash and demanding. But Jasmine could break and become rushed and harsh in her words, and sometimes Vivian could become more sensitive and thoughtful. Both of them defaulted to such tones. Their laugh was similar too; Frost could still remember Vivian's laughter from their first exchanges, when he was still Nathaniel to her, and she wasn't Vivian Waters, the nobody that was out for his blood.

"What?"

Frost blinked. Jasmine was staring at him curiously. "Do I have something in my teeth or what?"

"Uh, no," Frost said slowly. He glanced to her parents, who were both smiling like they knew something he didn't. Frost cleared his throat. "Thank you for dinner," he said, "I really appreciate the invitation and the fine meal. It's been a long time."

"How long?" Kasra asked.

"Five years since I've seen Earth."

"Five years?" Luisita asked. "Don't you get leave?"

"Shore leave is all we get. Our status as a special unit means we don't go through the same rotation many other units do. A lot of veteran units don't get rotated nowadays. Experience is important on the frontlines."

"I suppose, but the higher-ups should let you go home for at least a short amount of time," Luisita said. "Strange, I haven't heard of any units not getting rotated."

"Well, I'm sure the sergeant knows better than we do. He's out there while we're back here," Kasra said with a shrug.

"I just go where I'm sent," Frost said, "you probably hear more than I do."

"I doubt that. We don't pay much attention to the news. There's too many wounded to take care of and by the time we come home we just want to eat and talk about things not related to the hospital and the war," Luisita said with a heavy sigh. "I hope your conversations don't revolve around the dreadful day in and day out."

Frost and Jasmine exchanged a glance.

"We keep it pleasant," Jasmine assured her.

"Good. There's a time for the tough talking, but when it's done, it's better to relax and talk of other things."

"Jasmine attempt to refuse our offer to you on the basis of fraternization. Given the amount of conversation you say you have, you must not care too much for the regs," Kasra pointed with a grin.

"Captain Waters doesn't care too much for the frat regs," Frost explained. He caught the uneasy look on Jasmine's face at the mention of the oh-so-dreaded Vivian Waters, but he continued anyway. "I'm sure Jasmine's mentioned that."

"Yes. Which is why I found it to be such a poor excuse," Luisita said. Jasmine turned a little red.

"Trying to deny me a decent meal, Jas?" Frost joked.

"You've had plenty and didn't even bother to invite me!" she joked back.

"Oh, this again," Frost rolled his eyes comically, "if you asked I would have given you a seat."

"Just remember I gave you an invitation when I'm patching you up."

"I don't plan on getting wounded anytime soon," Frost said with a wink. He didn't feel it was a stylish as when Steele did it, but the smirk it brought on Jasmine's face assured him he was successful.

"You had many Purple Hearts, we saw," Kasra said. "You've seen a lot of combat."

"A great deal of it, yes."

"We've never been on a battlefield before. We just see the broken men and women they leave behind. What's it like?"

"What happened to keeping the war out of relaxing conversation?" Jasmine murmured.

Frost's mind dwelled on the question though. Yet, the war with the Covenant is not what he thought. Battlefields was the right term when mentioned the Covenant. A clear enemy, a clear position. Defend this objective, attack this objective. There was nothing too complex, too hard to comprehend. No, he remembered fighting the rebels. That mine, those caves and tunnels, that damnable mountainside; none of those were battlefields. Battlegrounds, they were. A battlefield was where a war took place, when the two opposing forces fought. A battleground was a killing field, a proving ground: an opportunity to test one's mettle, fortitude, and prowess. To push the limits of the person, mind and body and soul. Fear, sadness, anger, hate, joy; all of this came together in a strange conglomerate of emotion that made a man fight relentlessly, like a beast instead of a man. And it could be exhilarating. Of course, only Frost knew this, and he knew too that he was alone in that belief. He had to be. If he tried to explain that ideology to his companions he would have been deemed insane. Only a man who loved fighting, killing, would have that opinion of it, he heard someone say. A man like that was an obvious maniac, surely.

"Battles go by so fast you can hardly get an idea of what the battlefield is like. You're focused on your own tiny sector. All I can tell you about battlefields are my sectors."

"Never heard it put quite like that before," Luisita said, "but Jasmine's right, let's keep the war out of this home for now."

"Yes, yes. Now for the real war," he leaned across the table, grinning at Frost, "who's going to wash the dishes?"

"The two of us are," Luisita said with a scolding tone.

"No, please," Frost said, standing up, "allow me. It's the least I can do."

"A guest doing dishes in my house? Absolutely not," Kasra rose to his feet, finished his glass of wine, and scooped up as many plates, bowls, and glasses as he could. Laughing, Luisita joined him.

Frost helped collect the dishes too but paused to watch the pair standing side by side at the sink. They were whispering to one another in a mixture of Spanish and Persian. Smiles and quiet laughter were exchanged between them. Music had been playing quietly since they had sat down, soothing and peaceful, and soon the two began to move just a little bit to it in tandem. The sight brought a smile to Frost's face but it faded. He recalled many times seeing his parents side by side, doing just about anything together. In that moment, he suddenly felt homesick and missed his parents terribly.

"Why don't you stand on the balcony Nathaniel?" Luisita said as he placed some dishes on the counter beside the sink, "Get a view of the city."

Nodding, he went out and felt the cold winds of Reach brush up against him like a hand caressing his cheek. The cold was an old friend. It calmed him down, made him think of home, chilled him into focus. His eyes scanned the city; 26th Century cities were more green than ever. Cities of the past had cast up a smoggy haze to the night sky. Instead of the usual black or deep purple, there was a white-tan glow, turning the night sky in a strange light purple that was just too bright. Now, with technology more eco-friendly than ever, that haze was gone and the night sky could descend as it was supposed to. Production facilities and factories still cast similar hazes into the sky, with their protruding smokestacks and industrial fog. Considering how bad the problem had been centuries before, it was still a marked improvement.

Seeing the unadulterated dark was also soothing. Darkness was something that Frost enjoyed, especially when it was cold. Many soldiers and civilians alike were beginning to dread the darkness of night. The Covenant wore suits of armor with lights on them. Easy targets to pick out in the night but frightening all the same. When they came in the night, they were even more dangerous. Frost himself was unphased. Perhaps it was because he was considered a bogeyman by an entire planet. He looked over his shoulder, back into the warm light of the apartment. They didn't know. Neither did his family. If he ever told them he was Jack the Ripper, what would he become then? A hero still? Doubtful, something inside him said. His legend would follow him; a bogeyman everywhere. Frost, bracing his hands on the railing of the balcony, longed from home, where he had no legend, no reputation.

"Pretty, isn't it?" Jasmine said quietly, walking up beside him. She leaned on the railing with both arms against her chest, the wind rustling the thick black mess of hair on her head.

"You'd like Halifax better."

"You're biased."

"Yep."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

Jasmine turned, standing straight up and staring him in the eye.

"You're a veteran soldier. You're calm, cool, collected. I've heard stories and reports of you helping wounds civilians and soldiers. Even kids. All of them say you maintained that cool head of yours. But when I was wounded, you seemed...panicky. I know it's hard to see a friend get hurt and it can make you rash and can clog your mind. But was there something else?"

"I'm not sure I understand the question. I mean, you were hurt and you're no combatant. Well, you were that night. I, well, you know..."

Frost blinked, unsure of how to continue. There was a seriousness in her eyes that unnerved him slightly. Her gaze wasn't threatening but seeking-seeking an answer. So, he went with the truth. "I saw the whole thing happen. You could have died. You almost did. A step closer to that blast, a flinch in front of those Skirmishers. You came so close to..." He shook his head. "I thought I wasn't going to get to you in time. Thought I'd...thought you'd die in my arms. I was terrified that you would." He smiled faintly. "Just when we're starting to get to know each other."

Jasmine smiled back.

"You're a good..." she trailed off, struggling with a word. Frost didn't know why she couldn't say it, he wasn't sure, and wasn't going to jump to conclusions. So he finished the sentence for her.

"You are too," Frost said. He turned and leaned on the railing, smiling. A few moments later, he began to sing:

" _The late afternoon,_

 _The ghost in your room, that you always thought didn't approve of you knocking boots,_

 _Never stopped you letting me get hold of the sweet spot by the scruff of your,_

 _Knee socks..."_

* * *

" _That was the night Nathaniel started singing that bit from that song. Every time he sang it afterwards, I felt the same thing I did that night: a lightness in my chest. I don't think that night would have been complete without him singing that little tune. It was the first perfect night I ever experience I think. Short-lived though; if I had known what Vivian was going to do the next day, I would have gone AWOL and taken Nathaniel with me."_

-Dr. Jasmine Ebrahimi

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Well, I like this chapter but I'm not sure if it's as good as it should be. It was actually really tough to write. Originally, it was going to have more scenes but I realized it would make the chapter really long. As such, resolutions and events planned for this one will be moved to the next chapter. Again, trying to get that pacing right and trying not to throw too many different scenes/stories in your face at once. And once more, thank you all for reading and commenting and favoriting and following. I'm very grateful for your continued support and your feedback.**

 **Well, let's move on to the comment responses! YAAAAAY! (-Did that in the Kermit the Frog voice)**

 **MightBeGone: You're going first this time. You're working on your own Halo-fic, huh? Well, I'll be interested in reading it. I quite enjoyed your Titanfall-fic, 'The Gap.' It was well-written and impactful, giving life to the game universe but still respecting it. You work on your Halo-fic with that same kind of diligence and simple elegance, and you'll be golden. Heck, maybe your characters can wave at mine! XD You've got to go a little mad to write a story; welcome the madness my brother. You've got three stories out there, go mad for a fourth time!**

 **Alpha HighBreed: I...I feel like I made your heart rate spike at least three times during this chapter. Sorry about that brother. And Vivian is in a unique position. Her experience with rebels are solely through her friends, who she sees as justified in their decision to leave, as she doesn't agree with the UNSC. At the same time, she doesn't agree with the rebellion. To her, their decision to defect was a decision of freedom, not marauding. More factors of this whole dilemma will be explored later on. And I wouldn't get too hopeful of Steele admitting anything; our Steele is, how should we say, still figuring himself out. And yes, Sadie is quite in a mess; will we get to meet her later on? Perhaps. Perhaps not. We shall see; we shall see many things my friend.**

 **Caver Floyd: You have an incredible sense of perception my friend. Seriously, you've guessed me for Carris's interactions with the squad, her staying or going, and now the little dinner party. You either have an amazing perception and analytical skills, or you just might be a mind reader. Or both. Most likely both.**


	29. Chapter 29: Nightcall

Chapter 29: "Nightcall"

* * *

Instead of taking a MagLev train, bus, or cab back, Frost and Jasmine decided to walk. Like they had on Mors, Jasmine had her arm around his, her hand resting on his upper arm. Wind whistled through the nighttime city streets, cars flew by, and other pedestrians walked past. Curious eyes observed the military doctor and marine, their arms locked, passing by. While entirely conscious of the passing stares, Frost was unsure that Jasmine knew. Or rather, if she even cared. She walked beside him, her short, dark, messy hair rustling in the breeze. A small smile remained fixed on her face. Over their time together, Frost had noticed that little smile. It sprung up whenever they were together. Other times when he saw her, her face was cloaked in a serious demeanor. When he hailed her, however, came into her office, that shroud vanished, and that smile replaced it. Part of him wondered if she was unhappy. Perhaps she always felt better for seeing him. Frost knew individuals like that. Mainly, they were his squad. Seeing them again, whether it had been days, hours, or even minutes that had separated them, made him happier. Even in the thickest of combat situations, seeing Steele show up reassured him. Thinking about it more and more as they walked, he rather like the idea of being a port in the storm for her. Being able to relieve the stresses of the day was something he could get used to. More thoughts crept into his mind, thoughts he had never had before, innocent, new, exciting, and terrifying all at once. Unsure of what to make of them, he packed them away. Not a word was exchanged the entire way back.

He stole a glance at her and felt happy to have her arm intertwined with his. It reminded him of walking with Teo when they had passes. Sometimes they'd walk through a city after they had saved a planet-which wasn't often-and do nothing by see the sights and chat. He always held Frost by the arm and walked with his shoulder right up against his. A sigh escaped his lips. He missed Teo and their walks; just two pals exploring, de-stressing after battles, grabbing a bite to eat, talking about everything under the sun. Usually, Teo was reserved and rigid, even among the squad of friends. When they were out and about, just the pair, he acted more his age. While not chatty, he talked more than he normally did. It was like watching a gigantic weight being lifted from his shoulder. Walking with Jasmine then made Frost feel like that same weight had been cast aside as well.

As soon as they approached the compound to the military spaceport, their arms left each other. Flashing their passes, they headed back onto the ship. When they were heading to her office, Frost couldn't help but recall Kasra's parting words, spoken in a whisper:

" _I feel as though I should say something stereotypically fatherly, like look after her or protect her. No. It's not because I don't trust you or I think low of you. In fact, it's quite the opposite, young man. But I say this because Jasmine is a strong woman. Very strong. You, can make her stronger."_

Something inside him told him to feel indignant. He wasn't some child needing advice from an elder. Yet as the words stewed inside him, he found his mood changing. Instead, he began to feel honored with a tremendous responsibility. Still, he took a silent vow to keep her safe. At the very least, it's what he could. The more he thought about it, though, he realized that's about all he could do. Fighting was what he was best at. Being a shoulder for someone to cry on was not his specialty. Nor was providing sagely or helpful advice. All of that seemed to lie in Jasmine's field of skills. She was meant for that. At least, in Frost's eyes for was. Being a port in the storm, as desirable at seemed, in the long run, may not work out. More and more he was beginning to think of what he had missed out in eight years of military service. As they walked silently through the halls and corridors of the vessel, he keep stealing glances at her. The quiet way she moved, the almost dignified expression on her face, the glasses that she was always pushing back up her nose. Combat wasn't for her, even if she had been able to stand on the firing line with the rest of them those nights ago. He wouldn't let her. He missed her arm around his.

"Are you going to try and set up a field hospital in future battles?"

"In siege settings like on Mors, yes."

A grimace crossed Frost's face.

"I don't think that's a good idea," he said as they walked back into her office.

"Why's that?"

"Don't you remember what happened, like, barely a week ago?"

"Of course I do."

"You almost died."

"I _could_ have died. Big difference."

Frost sat down in the far armchair while Jasmine began making coffee. Running a hand down his face, he found himself becoming extremely annoyed. If what she had just said was a joke or an actual correction-he couldn't decide which-he found either one extremely aggravating.

"You know, when I talk about fighting and killing and dyin', it seems pretty normal. When you do it, it's weird. You know of all people I thought you'd understand that we're not _playing_ at war down there. There's no special protective insulation around you. Walls, gun towers, concrete barriers, strong garrisons-none of that will last against the Covenant. Setting up shop in a camp with nothing but sandbag walls was..."

"Was what?"

"Not the best idea, to put it lightly."

"Wounded troops were going to die if we didn't create a hospital. We save hundreds, maybe even over a thousand lives."

"I know, I know," Frost groaned, "but how about for the sake of my...morale...you don't do it so close to the frontline again, alright?"

Jasmine looked at him with squinting, puzzling eyes.

"My father said something to you, didn't he?"

"Yeah, but not what you think."

Jasmine handed him a mug and Frost blew on it while she took a seat in the opposite armchair.

"I'm an adult, as well as an officer. And it just so happens that I outrank you as well. So, I can set up a field hospital anywhere I want at anytime. Only person who can override me in the end, if I let her, is Vivian. Are you going to have a chat with her to make me rethink the field hospital idea, hm?"

Frost seethed.

"No, I won't. I swear one of us is going to end up killing the other. All she does is come up to me and antagonize me."

"Don't be tempted to reciprocate that antagonism. It'll all be just fuel for the fire."

"Doing my best but she makes it damned difficult, and...hey, we're talking about you, not me."

"I'm not a baby, Nathaniel. I know what I'm getting into."

"No, no you don't," Frost said in a deep, authoritative tone, "down there, planetside, when we're fighting the Covenant, that's a fight for survival. You're inches from death, running for your life, trying to get to the next hole for cover. You end up being crushed in these masses of bodies do everything you can to survive. I don't want you near that. You were too close to it last time. You didn't listen to me and jumped on the line."

"I appreciate your concern but I won't be anywhere near a battle in the future."

"Whatcha call Camp Havens then!?" Frost exclaimed. "Do you have an idea how close we came to getting overrun? I mean, do you _really_? This close," Frost held up his index finger and thumb, giving about a centimeter of difference between them. "If they had broken through, everybody would have been wiped out. You, me, the wounded, the garrison, everyone. Dead. That's how close we came. That's why I told you to..." He grimaced, rubbing his forehead. "Why I told you to...opt out...if it came down to it."

Jasmine sighed heavily and looked at him sadly. Her eyes seemed to glimmer then.

"I don't think I could have done it."

Frost stepped closer.

"Jasmine, I've seen a lot of things. I've seen entire families massacred right in front of me with energy swords. I've seen mothers, left behind by the evac vessels, smothering their babies so that they didn't have to die at the hands of the Covenant. I've seen soldiers put a pistol to their heads and pull the trigger in the middle of a battle. I've seen so much..."

He found himself in front of her, his hands on her shoulders. "And I've seen what happens when a field hospital gets overrun. Wounded men get stabbed in their beds, get picked up and torn in half, get beaten to death in their cots by hordes of Covenant. We once had to abandon a field hospital to save our own skins. We ran away listening to the wounded cry after us, begging us to come back and take them with them. Then we listened to them die as we ran. You don't want to hear that, or _see_ that, because it doesn't go away. It never does."

He squeezed her shoulders gently. "What I'm trying to say is that we need you. We all need you operating at one hundred percent. If you break down in some way, if you get wounded, the whole machine that makes up our little world will slow down. And what happens if you die, Jasmine? How many more people will die if you're not around to direct them, operate on them?"

A smile crept across his face. "What happens if I get hit? Who's going to patch me up?" That was enough to made Jasmine smile.

"What happened to not getting wounded?"

"Maybe I just like a good excuse to come and see you. I get tired of the same old faces in the barracks."

"You could just swing by and say hi, like a normal person. Like you've been doing all this time."

"Do I look normal to you?" Frost stepped back, grinning to expose his missing tooth and running a hand through his hair, making it messy. Jasmine laughed-no, she giggled. Then she reached up and fixed his hair.

"Harmless enough," she sighed, contented, "I understand your feelings, Nathaniel. I plan on setting up field hospitals if necessary but I'll make sure to put them in safer zones. Is that fair?"

"Fine by me. Just remember some places don't stay safe for long."

"Understood."

"Good." He inhaled deeply. Silence fell between the pair. She shifted her feet back and forth and he cleared his throat. "Well, uh, thanks for inviting me to dinner. Your parents were...kind to me. I won't forget that."

"You're welcome. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Frost headed for the door. "You can stay here tonight," Jasmine blurted suddenly, "if you want." Feeling heat creep up his neck, Frost slowly looked over his shoulder. She was blushing. "I mean, I know you and Steele aren't on good terms and I don't want to force you to go back to your barracks if it means you'll be uncomfortable for the night. You can sleep on the sofa."

"Where will you sleep?"

"I'll sleep in one of the chairs this time. I slept on the sofa last night."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Well, alright."

Quietly, Frost sat down on the sofa, took off his boots and his overshirt, and laid down. The pillow and blanket were already there. He was tired; they had stayed longer than he had thought. Something about socializing for hours on end drained one's energy, he found. Strange how he did nothing physically exerting to earn this fatigue. More so, it was the years of soldiering. Spending days upon days with no sleep, popping pills to stay awake, dragging on and on, made one welcome sleep. Often it wasn't difficult to just lay down and flip some kind of internal switch. Yet he didn't find that switch that night. Jasmine turned the lights off and sat quietly at her desk, writing something. Frost pretended to be asleep, though he peeked every so often her. Quite a few times he caught her looking at him, as if studying, before typing at her terminal. Why, he did not know. Finally, he drifted off. At some point, he woke up, and he felt a hand gently running through his hair. While it was no mystery as to who the hand belonged to, he didn't find it intrusive. Instead, he found her hand comforting, and although he was awake and wished to take it, he feigned sleep, and let her stroke his hair until he fell back asleep.

* * *

The task force had entered slipspace by mid morning. Vivian once more did not order them into slipspace. They were heading for the Outer Colonies; specifically a zone that had fallen to the Covenant. She felt it was time to go raiding. Hit and run assaults, entering systems quickly, causing havoc, and leaving before the Covenant could respond. Prowlers were lurking in space occupied by the Covenant, and a small fleet was sitting pretty at a planet they had converted into a port. Destroying the fleet and bombarding the port, then retreating to another system, would fulfill her new battle plan.

A planning session for the mission was going to be held in the evening. Other duties had to be attended. First on her list was Holst. She stood in his office, refusing to sit, arms folded across her chest, a grim looked on her face.

"Major Holst you disobeyed my orders and disregarded my authority as master of this vessel and the commander of this battle group. I told you to leave the field sentence up to Dr. Ebrahimi and instead you barged into questioning, seized the perpetrator, and delivered a sentence that I gave you no right to give. Anything to say for yourself?"

Holst was sitting with his feet propped up on his desk, an un-amused expression glaring back at her.

"With no disrespect, Captain, Ebrahimi-"

"Doctor Ebrahimi," Vivian corrected. Holst looked as though he was about to roll his eyes but he stopped himself.

"Dr. Ebrahimi, I believed, couldn't be relied upon to deliver a proper sentencing. I have the benefit of experience and command, seeing as how I've been in this game a lot longer than either of you."

Vivian felt fire in her belly.

"Holst, I don't give a rat's ass about your experience or your command. I'm the Captain of the ship, the commander of this battle group, and when I give an order I expect it to be obeyed and respected. I could chalk you up for insubordination."

Holst sat up quickly and pointed at her.

"My experience should count for something around here, Captain!" He snapped. "I've been in more battles than you have and all of them on the ground. I may be sitting pretty in this office but I'm an infantryman at heart. As a combat infantryman, you learn how to act, react, and adapt. A-R-A. I saw that the criminal who stole medicine reserved for the wounded was about to get off scott free and intervened to make sure justice was done."

"She was taking the medicine for her friend."

"The friend who's been porking her!"

Vivian slammed her hands down on the table.

"You will not talk about _my_ crew members in that way!"

Holst stood up, slamming a hand on the desk as well.

"You're going to let your crew take advantage of your oh-so-treasured benevolence if you don't crack the whip once in awhile! You really want to let protocol and discipline erode away just because you want to preserve the love affair between two Navy squids!?"

"Your reservations are noted, Major," Vivian seethed, "now let me make something clear to you. I will not tolerate insubordination from one of the chief officers of the fleet. If you plan to undermine my authority I'm going to fire you and replace you with De Vos!"

Holst gritted his teeth.

"Is that so?" He growled. "I'd like to see you try."

"One demotion for you, one promotion for her, and you'll simply swap responsibilities. So if you want to keep your job, release her."

Holst straightened up and his angry expression receded into one of indignation.

"Aye, aye, Captain," he mumbled. He pressed a button on the console of his desk, "Open the brig, release the prisoner."

He sat back down. "So, can I keep my job, ma'am?"

Vivian was about to say yes when an idea came into her mind.

"Would you be willing to perform a favor for me? To regain my good graces?"

Holst frowned.

"Depends on the favor."

"Your ODSTs don't get along too well with the marines, do they?"  
"A little cross-branch competition never hurt anybody, ma'am. ODSTs tend to have a bit of arrogance about them, but they've earned it I believe."

 _Guess you fit right in._

Vivian sat down and folded her hands on the desk.

"What do you make of Staff Sergeant Frost?"

Holst blinked, surprised.

"Jack the Ripper?" he shrugged. "He's a good soldier, has one hell of a rep, but I'm not sure how much of it is true and how much are just rumors. Personally, I can't stand to look at him though."

"Why's that?"

Holst tapped the corner of his desk thoughtfully for a few moments. He stood up, went to the door of his office, and closed it. Sitting back down, he leaned forward and spoke in a hushed tone.

"Frost's batshit crazy. Don't let his good old boy routine fool you. He's a psychopathic killer."

 _I could have told you that, moron._

Holst continued. "He loves the fighting. Doesn't matter who. Put him up against anyone and he'll get sucked in. He'll do anything he has to to win, and he always chooses the bloodiest options. You think he stuck himself in that basement because he wanted to save the city? Bullshit. He knew the action would be thick, and that's how he likes it." Holst lowered his tone further. "And I've seem him kill rebels."

"You were on Skopje?"

"No, Captain, I wasn't. Everyone knows he was handy with a knife on Skopje during that rebellion. Of course, everyone who was there likes to stay tight lipped about it, don't they?"

"They certainly do."

"Right. They sing his praises but no one talks about the details. Well, I saw what he did firsthand on another planet."

"Tell me."

Holst sat back and sighed.

"We were on some Outer Colony world about four years ago. A lot of colonies, Inner or Outer, still have elements of Insurrectionist militias, agents, and paramilitary types. I was with another task force at the time and we were dropped to support a counter offensive being conducted by the 89th MEU on the planet. Hard fighting. Rebels on the planet took the opportunity to raid our supply lines, stealing food, water, medicine, and ammunition for themselves. Lots of units in the field were running out of the essentials. So command decided to devote some of the units to hunt down the rebels. Orders were to fire on the Innies only if fired upon; more than anything, they wanted us to take prisoners and get the supplies back. A rebel ambushed separated my ODSTs from the marines, and when we zeroed in on their friend-or-foe tracker, we saw that Frost and his squad had taken prisoners. Saw the whole thing from the underbrush we were trying to push through.

* * *

 _Four years earlier..._

Holst finally broke through the tangle of branches. The woods were packed with dense pushes and tickets, hedgerows and shrubs. Behind him, De Vos and the other ODSTs with him silently struggled their way through. Branches clawed against their armor, making quiet scraping sounds. Every so often someone would lose their footing, and a muffled 'oof' would sound over the comms as they fell.

What a waste of time, Holst had been thinking for the past half and hour. A brief moment of action followed by a hellish struggle through the woods. Supplies wouldn't have been an issue if they kept some troops in reserve to defend the logistics battalions. Security needed to be tightened but everyone in upper command was practically pissing themselves because the Covenant were almost wiped away from the surface of the planet. Everyone wanted a victory. Holst would have rather enjoyed being a party to the final push, where he and his troops could perhaps earn a few medals and commendations in the process. Instead, here they were, groping blindly through the forest searching for some raggedy militiamen who had stolen a few crates of supplies. Yes, he understood the importance of supplies but his ODSTs could manage just fine without them. Under his command, he made sure that all of his soldiers were familiar with the use of Covenant weaponry. ODSTs had to be adaptable. Using Covenant weaponry always felt strange but if picking up a carbine or a plasma rifle meant being alive in the next minute instead of dying with an empty assault rifle, he'd gladly grab one of the odd glowing weapons. Marines were just as crafty with their weapons and their ammunition usage. Of course, their Army cousins just couldn't take one step without their precious supply lines intact. Unable to count on both hands, Holst recalled all of the times excellent offensives were spoiled because the Army contingents paused to fix their stretching supply lines. Nine times out of ten, this gave the Covenant a chance to regroup, counter attack, and win the day of battle. Disastrous results would follow: lots of soldiers dead, lots of civilians dead, and the colony being evacuated of the survivors. Some Army groups performed just fine, but Holst had lost faith in that branch a long time ago.

As he vaulted over a natural hedgerow, he paused in a crouch on the other side when he heard voices. He peered ahead and saw a squad of marines in the clearing. IFF tags on his HUD told him they belonged to the 89th MEU. Finally, they could regroup. Before he stood up completely, the sight before him made him stop once more. Circled around a small fire pit, with a few logs piled in it and burning well, were eight militiamen. The captured Innies had been stripped of their field gear and weapons. On their knees and their hands tied behind their back with plasticuffs, they looked pathetic. Bloody, bruised and devoid of anything military, they just looked like a bunch of bums. Guessing he had underestimated the 89th, Holst got ready to hail them. But then he heard the squad around them speaking once more.

"Frost, I'm going to pretend that I didn't hear that," said an Italian-accented sergeant. Frost? Holst knew that name. The war hero from Skopje. Most folks called him Jack the Ripper. Others simply referred to him as, 'that famous knife fighter from Skopje.'

Frost was standing across the fire from the sergeant, his assault rifle slung over his shoulder. He pointed at the sergeant.

"Teo, you saw what these fuckers did on Skopje, right? You were there, weren't you?" he asked accusingly.

"Yeah I was there," Teo said. "But these guys weren't. This a separate Innie group. They didn't have any part in what happened."

"Doesn't matter, man. They fight under the same flag as them, which makes them just as bad."

"That's surprisingly narrow-minded of you, bruvva," said a smoking Englishman with a sniper rifle in one hand, the stock resting in the brown soil.

"Narrow-minded, Steele?" Frost sneered. "You were there too. Those rebels were a bunch of murdering, thieving, raping-"

"Yeah they were, but these bloody blokes aren't them. They're just trying to survive out here, who can blame them?"

"How many guys have died out there field this month because supplies could reach him. Echo squad wiped out because they had no ammunition. You heard them on the radio, screaming, while they were fucking _butchered_."

Steele, the sniper, lowered his head.

"Yeah, yeah, I did..." he muttered.

"These bastards have the fucking balls to steal from us while we're trying to save their goddamn planet." Frost went up to one and slapped him across the face. "Huh, you little _fuck!?_ Ten of my friends are dead because little cunts like you are stealing from us. What kind of sick fucks steal from the people saving their sorry asses?"

"Yeah, they're ungrateful cunts, we get it," a Scottish pointman grumbled, "but killing them? We could get court martialed for war crimes."

"Hayes won't let that happen. They tried to slate us for trial before, and he shut it down. He can do it again. I say we waste these bastards right now," Frost said. The prisoners remained silence but squired, exchanging quick glances.

"This isn't you," said a German marine, "you're not a murderer. Doing this would be, would be..."

"Sinning? Fuck that. You think any of us have a clean slate? That our hands aren't bloody? We did much worse on Skopje. I don't know why we all have such cold feet about this."

"Those mother fuckers deserved it," Steele said, "these guys-"

"These guys got some of our buddies killed," Teo interrupted, "I get it. You want some payback. But this isn't the way. We turn them in, they get a cell for the rest of their lives."

"No. A cell is too good. That's what you said to me, Teo. Back on Skopje, after we came back down the mountain, you said to me that night that a cell is too good. Your words, not mine." Frost had quickly walked towards him, pointing a finger at him. "These guys deserve to die."

Silence fell between the group. Holst was watching with bated breath. He had silently pinged his troops to hold position. They were all still behind the hedgerow.

Finally, Steele sighed.

"I'm not for it, but I'm not against it neither. I'm sitting it out but I ain't stoppin' you if you go through with it."

"Yeah, me too."

"Fuck'em."

Teo lowered his head. After a few moments, he turned his back.

"Fine. Do it. Don't use your pistol, it'll make noise and we need the ammo. Use the knife."

Frost turned to the nearest prisoner, a animalistic smile crossing his face. The first prisoner couldn't have been more than twenty-five. Stalking towards him, Frost drew a large, serrated blade with a black hilt.

"No, mister, no. Please mister, I didn't want anyone to get killed. I needed the medicine. My daughter, she's three, she was sick! I have a wife and a daughter, please, don't kill me. If you let me go, I won't do it again, please-"

"Shut up," Frost said before going behind the prisoner, lifting his head up by his hair with his left hand, and drawing the knife across his throat with the right. Blood leaked down the man's throat and he gurgled as Frost leisurely pushed the body to the side. The prisoner, with blood still trickling out, kicked a few more times over the span of about thirty seconds before going still. The other prisoners began to sob, beg, and pray. Frost went to each one, slitting their throats, that sadistic grin on his face. Each man pleaded for mercy; they said they had families, aspirations, promised innocence, vowed a crime-free life if they were spared. Nothing stopped him. One by one, each rebel fell to the forest floor, blood staining the soil around him while he choked, gurgled, spasmed, and kicked.

When Frost got to the last rebel, a boy of about seventeen, the boy had tears running down his dirty face. He had blonde hair and green eyes and look absolutely terrified.

"Please don't kill me. I have a little brother who's five years old. He doesn't have anybody else to look out for him. Please, our parents died two years ago and we've been on our own. He has no money, no food, nothing, please-"

"I'm not letting you go, know why?" Frost stood in front of him, grabbing the teenager by the throat with his left hand. His right hand, soaked in blood, still clutched the blade. "Because you threw your lot in with a bunch of people who refuse to fight the Covenant, a race of aliens bent on killing us all. You let the UNSC do all the fighting and you fucking bottom feeders steal from us whenever you can. You _fucking cunts_ , you _fuckers_ ," Frost speaking through gritted teeth, spittle flying onto the boy's face, his eyes glowing with rage, his grip tightening on the kid's throat, "you're a bunch of monsters. Monsters who steal, murder, rape, and destroy. You're fucking subhuman."

"Please!" the boy strained, "I have a little brother!"

"Guess he's on his own now."

Frost let go of the teenager's throat before putting a hand on the back of his head and forcing the kid's face directly into the fire bit. The teenager wailed and kicked wildly as Frost held his face against the burning logs. Sparks traveled upwards with the smoke. Holst was sure that if he had taken off his helmet he could have smelled the putrid stench of flesh burning.

After about twenty seconds Frost withdrew the boy's face and held the limp body on its knees. There was no longer a face. Just a mesh of blackened, melted flesh. In a few parts, Holst could see bone. Some of the hair had been burned too.

Frost laughed.

"Holy shit, this kid's tough. Still got a little bit of a pulse."

His squad, except for the one called Teo, were all watching. Frost took the knife and jammed it right where the heart was, pushing it in slowly always the way up to the hilt, before withdrawing it and letting the corpse drop.

Wiping the blade on his thigh, leaving a dark red stain on his pants, Frost returned it to its sheath.

Teo turned around and shook his head.

"Cut the cuffs from their hands." he glared at Frost. "You'll pay for that later."

"What the hell does that mean?" Frost asked indignantly.

"A few days, maybe a week, even a month down the line, you're going to hate yourself for this. You're going to despise yourself for _everything_. It's going to haunt you and you won't be able to make it stop tormenting you."

Frost waved his bloodied hand dismissively.

"Yeah, right."

With that and the cutting of the plasticuffs, the squad melted away into the forest. Holst stared ahead. It was just then that he realized his helmet camera hadn't been on.

* * *

Vivian blinked. Holst sighed.

"Tried to tell my superiors about it but all they told me that without video evidence it'd be difficult. I kept pressing them and eventually they said they'd take care of it. Nothing ever came of it, though. I don't know on what level Hayes was able to stop the investigation for taking place. Either he stonewalled them or intimidated them, talked them out of it..."

"All of the above?" Vivian offered. Holst shook his head.

"More I think about, I think they never did anything. They probably thought I was trying to instigate something to make myself feel important."

One question had been pestering Vivian since he had begun his story. She decided that before he began winging about how he was a hero and was overlooked was the time to ask.

"Why didn't you intervene?"

"I wasn't sure where I stood on the matter," Holst admitted. For the first time since she had met him, he sounded almost entirely sincere, "I didn't want to take prisoners that much either. Part of me was happy to let them die. After all, they were the enemy, they had been hindering us, and the lack of supplies had gotten some people killed, yes. But what he did..." Holst shook his head. "I'm just as guilty letting those prisoners die as him. I watched and did nothing. I tried to atone, get the proper authorities on him, but no one listened, no one cared."

Vivian nodded slowly. Holst wasn't perfect, that was for sure. At least, however, there was some part of him that was redeemable. Poor co-operational skills, a little too wrapped up in his own image, but he knew what was right and what was wrong. In the end, Vivian supposed, that's what mattered most.

"I don't agree with those Innies, but at least we can try to understand their perspective," Holst said.

"I can agree with that," Vivian said, "they want to live free from the yoke of the UNSC."

"I'm UNSC to the core, but even I know it has flaws. We can be too hard on civilians sometimes, especially in the Outer Colonies."

"Yes. So many died not because they wanted freedom," Vivian reminisced.

"We do have freedom. They wanted a different kind. Can you fault them?" Holst shook his head solemnly. Vivian nodded, then an idea popped into her head.

"You said you were unable to make things right?"

"Yes?"

"What if I told you there's a chance that you can get back at the sergeant?'

Holst smiled a little.

"I'd say that sounds like we'd be breaking some rules."

"We would. But what's more important, rules, or some payback?"

Holst's little grin turned into a sly smile.

* * *

Jasmine had to leave early to take care of her duties, leaving Frost with nothing to do. Still not ready to face the music, he decided to go to the armory to practice his hand-to-hand combat skills. Going about a half hour before midday was his favorite time to go. The armory would always be deserted as everyone would leave for lunch. Only a few of the technicians remained and they either locked themselves in the Weaponsmith or the Armorsmith.

Practicing with a punching bag didn't net the best training; sparring with someone else was always best. Still, it was a good way to limber up, get any emotions out.

Clad in an olive drab t-shirt and the pants of his fatigues, he hammered away. Punching wasn't about throwing one's fists around wildly. Accuracy and planning had to be calculated in milliseconds. A haymaker could be devastating, it _could_ work, but it could miss, leaving him open. Getting in close, maximizing risk to himself, but maximizing damage to the opponent, that was his way of hand-to-hand combat. Punching as quick as a knife thrust in the right spots-kidneys, groin, head, throat-could be debilitating.

He wasn't sure how much time went by before he decided to step back. Taking a swig from the canteen he had brought with them, he wiped his brow. Already he was working up an appetite. Now more than ever he was going to have to keep the squad training. With all the personal meals they had been having, they were pound to put on weight. Of course they needed the calories; too much though could make them slow. Being slow could make them dead.

"Hey, Jack the Ripper," said an unfamiliar voice.

Frost turned. Four ODSTs approached him, wearing their trademark black t-shirts and olive drab pants. They sidled up to him, grinning. He could already see by the smirks on their strong faces that they were up to something.

"How're you Helljumpers today?" Frost asked, trying to sound sincere. Unlike many of his marine compatriots, he didn't harbor too much of a grudge against the ODSTs. Arrogance could be rife among some of the jumper units, but putting himself in their shows, he decided they earned a little bit of it. Becoming an ODST was an honor and the training was extreme. Passing through was an achievement to truly be proud of. That said, he didn't much care for the likes of Holst. Holst was the embodiment of the arrogant side of the ODSTs' pride. For him, it was just about the glory. Anyone who wasn't blind could see that.

"Oh, we're good, we're good," the leader, a tall man with a crew cut and reddish-blonde stubble on his chin. "We saw you practicing over here; need somebody to spar with?"

Frost grinned.

"No thanks. I'm done for now I think. Time for lunch. Coming with?"

He took a step to pass by, but the ODST put a hand on his chest.

"Oh come on, Jacky, why don't you show us your moves?"

Slowly, Frost looked down at the ODST's hand, then back up at him.

"Get your hand off my chest or you'll be eating the deck in three seconds."

The playful, knowing grin disappeared from the ODST's face.

"Sorry bud, you got this the other way around. It's going to be _you_ on the deck."

Frost didn't wait for him to throw the first punch. He grabbed the ODST by the wrist, pulling him forward, then kneed him in the gut. As the ODST keeled over, Frost grabbed the jumper's thumb, applied enough pressure, and broke it.

Someone grabbed him from behind, but Frost brought both of his elbows back into the chest of the man behind him. This loosened his grasp and Frost released himself. He turned and kicked the ODST in the gut, sending him reeling backwards. Ducking a sidewinder, Frost delivered an uppercut to the third. Staggering backwards, the ODST clutched his jaw in pain. Frost sprung forward, tackled him off his feet, and delivered several quick punches to his face. When he raised his fist for another blow, a hand grabbed it. The fourth ODST towered over him. Frost bared his teeth, seeing red, ready to tear him apart. He could see the fear growing in the ODST's eyes, smell it on him. It was driving him mad.

All of a sudden, someone tackled the ODST to the deck. Frost looked to where they had fallen and saw it was Steele on top of him. Steele socked him several times. One of the other ODSTs had gotten to his feet and went to help his comrade.

"C'mere you son of a-" Frost growled as he sprinted forward and punched the Helljumper in his right side, just before he got his hands on Steele. Frost then kicked out the ODST's foot, grabbing him in the same instant, and flipped onto the deck with a tremendous _bang!_ Steele had finished with his man and now stood up.

"Back to back!" he cried. They stood firm with their backs pressed up against one another's. Two of the ODSTs had now recovered; one came at Frost and one came at Steele. Frost blocked a barrage of punches before delivering half a dozen solid hits to his opponent's face that would make the most professional boxer impressed. Frost turned and ended the grapple between Steele and the other recovered ODST. Just as they were about to start beating on him, a voice broke out through the armory.

"What the hell is this!?"

Frost and Steele both paused and looked up, panting. Captain De Vos marched towards them, her usually collected face now contorted in anger.

Frost and Steele both quickly stood at attention while the four ODSTs groaned, muttered, swore, and stumbled as they tried to rise. De Vos got right in their faces as soon as she reached them. "What is this, a brawl?! I come in here to collect my ODSTs and I see you two jarheads bashing on them?! Explain yourselves!"

Frost cleared his throat.

"One of them looked at me the wrong way. Nobody looks at Jack the Ripper the wrong way without getting put in their place," Frost fibbed with a grin. De Vos glared at him.

"Staff Sergeant?"

"Ma'am?"

"Shut up."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Lying doesn't suit you. So someone tell me the truth."

"We started it," grunted the leader with the stubble, finally getting on his feet, "just some friendly competition." He walked over and gave Frost a rough pat on the shoulder, a smile on his face. "Wanted to see what the legend was like and damn did he deliver."

"What happened to your thumb?" De Vos said, pointing to the thumb, which was bent the wrong way. The ODST looked down and thought for a moment.

"I...uh...fell on it and it got busted."

De Vos ran a hand over her face.

"Goddamn fucking...alright, clearly no one's going to give me a straight answer. Helljumpers, you're on field punishment for two weeks. No extra rations, extra duties. Clear?"

"Yes ma'am," they groaned. De Vos shook her head. "I ought to send you all off to the brig. This is a ship of war, not a bar! Save the fight for the Covenant, they're the real enemies out here."

"Yes, ma'am," everyone said. De Vos nodded, her arms folded across her chest.

"Corporal Steele?"

"Yeah?"

" _Yes, ma'am,_ " De Vos corrected. Steele snorted.

"Oh sod off."

"Buzz off, I have to have a word with the Staff Sergeant."

Steele exchanged a glance with Frost. He pulled out a cigarette.

"I'll uh, be in the mess if you want to chat, bruv."

"Sure," Frost said. Steele turned and marched out. De Vos waited until he was gone. She took a step closer.

"Try not to make it obvious, but try and take a look at observation," she whispered. Frost looked with his eyes. He caught a glimpse of Major Holst and Captain Waters standing behind the observation. De Vos nodded. "You see what I see?"

"I do, ma'am."

"That looks like trouble to me," De Vos said. "I know Holst. My ODSTs wouldn't have started this without someone telling them. They're hotheads alright, but they listen."

"You're saying Holst did this?"

"Probably. What's with Captain Waters? Why is she there? And if she was there the whole time, why didn't she stop it?"

Frost chuckled.

"You let me worry about that, ma'am."

De Vos seemed confused.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Knowing her..." he took another glance at the two grim faces staring at him through the observation window. "...she was probably about to stop it. You probably beat her to the punch."

De Vos looked at the observation window uneasily before pushing back a lock of her orange hair.

"I doubt that." She took a heavy sigh. "Alright, get out of here. I need to deal with my men."

Getting goons to pummel him? That was...unexpected. Vivian appeared to be the direct type. Maybe she was trying to send a message. No matter what her reasoning was, the objective she planned for the fight, Frost found it all very laughable. If you wanted to send a message, you didn't send some military men to act like thugs. You sent them to put a bullet in the enemy. There was no mistaking it; she wanted him dead more than anything. Frost could have lost his eyes and known that, seeing as how she whinged about it every time they met. Obviously, she had no idea what she was doing. Being a man who had sent plenty of...messages...in his time, Frost knew there was only two options for him. Both of them involved retaliation, though the method differed. The first option was about reciprocation; an eye for an eye. Knowing himself, he didn't even consider that one. Killing Captain Waters was out of the question. Despite his disdain for her, and her hatred of him, she had gotten them through plenty of bad situations. Considering the staggering amount of vessels he had served on, he had never been as highly spirited or confident than he was on the _I'm Alone._ Sure, the captain was keen to make his life hell until she found a way to off him, but in a way he was safer there than anywhere else in the Milky Way. Instilling fear, foreboding, that he wasn't going to take it sitting down-showing her that he _knew_. Now that was the better option.

All thoughts of how he was going to carry it out left him when he saw Steele sitting at the end of an empty long table. Frost went up, trying to figure out if it was best to sit next to him or across from him. Then he remembered they were friends, and sat down on the bench beside him.

"Hey," he greeted.

"Hey," Steele echoed. He handed a photograph to Frost.

"What's this?"

"That's us. Our dear Katz took a photo of us when we were taking our early morning stroll after we held the turret control center."

Frost smiled. It was a good picture. They were all in line, filthy, exhausted, but they all looked happy. Carris was smiling down at Steele while he rapped a knuckle against her chestplate. There he was, distant looking. Frost wasn't too keen on looking at himself in photos. The others were in various states of conversation, laughter, smoking, and relief at being alive. What a wonderful morning it had been, and there it was, frozen for them.

"It's a good picture. Funny, I thought we would have seen this on holo instead of an actual photo."

"Nah. Katz told me that he only uses real cameras for his war photographs. Because..." Steele reached into his pocket and laid the latest issue of _Time_ magazine on the table. There on the front cover, was there picture, with a captain that read, 'Early Morning Heroes: Real Soldiers' Stories.'

"You're kidding me," Frost said, "we're on the cover of _Time_ magazine?"

"For sure," Steele chuckled, taking a drag on his cigarette. "Course they had to crop Carris's head onto an ODST body but at least they have her face. Bet the ONI censors didn't like that one bit," he snickered. "While you've been gone, Katz came around and interviewed me and a couple of the others. Wrote a whole article about what the real soldiers look like and what they do; said that the things people see in the movies aren't even close to the truth. It's a good article, you should read it."

"Did he quote you?" Frost joked.

"Yep."

"No shit?"

"No shit."

"Please tell me you said something decent?"

Steele grinned. Frost laughed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Jesus, Lou..."

A quiet developed between the two for some moments. Steele rose to his feet.

"Well, better grab some food."

"No, wait man," Frost stood up and faced him. "I'm...I'm sorry Louis. You've been trying to help me out and I was...a real asshole about it. In my head all the reasons made sense but..."

Steele smiled sincerely.

"I'm sorry too. Shouldn't have gone through your things. Probably would have been better if we talked about it first, you know?"

"Yeah." Frost sighed. "I ended up calling my oldest sister, the one with the baby. I heard my niece's voice."

"Good," Steele smiled.

"I'm going to start writing them again."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Well, great. And if, uh, you need help..."

Frost smiled and put his hands on Steele's shoulder.

"I know who to come to. You're my brother, Lou. You are my number one guy."

The pair embraced, clapping one another on the back a few times. They sighed as they parted, as men often did.

"Now, let's get something to eat ya big bastard," Steele said, clapping his hand on the back of Frost's neck and shaking him, "too bad we don't have whiskey. Whiskey's always good after a fight."

Frost followed him to the line, but as he did, he noticed someone watching from across the mess hall. He smiled, almost shyly. Jasmine was standing, smiling wide and her eyes gleaming with happiness.

* * *

After getting some lunch, Jasmine returned to her office. She had a meeting to attend to. When she approached, she found the recently released Amanda Maxwell waiting outside the door.

"Dr. Ebrahimi," she greeted. She did not salute; Jasmine didn't care for it.

"Come in," Jasmine said, opened the door and leading her in. "Coffee?"

"No thank you, ma'am."

"Alright, let's get down to it, then," Jasmine said, trying to sound upbeat and cheerful. After her extremely brief stint in the brig, Maxwell was more of a nervous wreck than she already was. The poor girl fidgeted with her hands constantly and didn't make eye contact. Holst's methods had obviously shaken her up. Thinking of him made her seethe but she did her best not to let it show.

Once they were seated, Jasmine folded her hands on the desk.

"So, you and Markov are a couple?"

Maxwell blinked, then blushed bright red. She nodded, her tousled hair falling around the sides of her face. Obviously, she hadn't expected to be talking about that when she walked in.

"How long have you been seeing each other?"

"We served on the same ship before we got transferred to the _I'm Alone_ ," Maxwell explained, "so I'd say about seven months."

"Did anyone know on the previous vessel?"

"No. We kept it...discreet. Everyone thought we were just friends. When Rear Admiral Travers had me transferred, he asked me if there were any top notch personnel that could be utilized for the mission. I put Markov's name forward and he came with me. I...we couldn't imagine being apart."

Jasmine nodded.

"You're very close."

"Markov's been injured before. That's how we met. The engine room took some hits in an engagement we were involved in. He was laid up in the infirmary for a while and I was part of the medical team assigned to him. While he was there he found out that his older brother, who was a marine, had killed."

"In battle?"

"No. A battle group was responding to a distress signal but they were ambushed by a Covenant fleet. Over twenty ships were destroyed and most of his brother's MEF was killed along with them. His brother didn't make it to an escape pod. I stayed with him and consoled him and afterwards we just grew...closer. He doesn't really have anybody else. I mean, he has plenty of friends but he doesn't like to dump his feelings on them."

Maxwell rubbed the back of her neck. "I know it's against regs but-"

"No one is going to force you to transfer or split or anything of that sort," Jasmine said, holding up one hand. "If anything, I approve of the relationship. It's healthy for both of you and we need every member of the crew to be in a good place physically, mentally, and emotionally." She smiled. "One of the marines told me a story of a famous band of warriors called the Sacred Band of Thebes. The company was made up of three hundred male soldiers; each man was in a relationship with another soldier. Basically, there were one hundred fifty homosexual couples. The idea was that fighting alongside your lover would make you fight harder, to protect him and not to dishonor his name. Couples who reached the age of thirty were rotated out and replaced with new couples."

"Did it work?"

"Yes, they were quite instrumental in many battles. Some considered them invincible, seeing as how they lasted for a good thirty-three years. They ended up dying to the last man in a battle that broke the Thebes...what I'm trying to say is that having somebody to be close with, to love, will help you, not hinder you."

Maxwell nodded.

"Like you and that marine?"

"I beg your pardon?" Jasmine asked, kindly surprised.

"That marine you're always with. The one who told you that story," Maxwell smiled shyly, "Frost, is his name, right? Lots of people in the medical staff think you two are seeing each other. Aren't you?"

It was Jasmine's turn to become red in the face.

"Staff Sergeant Frost and I are friends, not a couple."

"I didn't think the rumor was true," Maxwell defended, "but a lot of other people think so. Everyone says you talk every day and that he spent the last few nights in here."

"Staff Sergeant Frost was was having a little trouble and I offered for him to stay here. Our relationship is entirely platonic."

Then Maxwell seemed confused.

"What's wrong if you are together, ma'am?"

"Well, nothing, I suppose."

"What's stopping you then?"

Jasmine could think of a couple reasons. Vivian was a starter, and perhaps the only good one. She had overlooked her past to make a promise not to harm him and so far she had done a decent job. While she hadn't exactly left him alone, which was what Jasmine had been hoping for, she hadn't hurt him or worse. There was already enough stress between the two friends seeing as how Jasmine was friends with the man. Taking it to the next step-a romantic relationship-would make things worse. Not to mention the moral absolutist in her, manifesting in a nagging voice in the back of her mind, was always trying to tell her he was a murderer. Rules of engagement could only clear someone of wrongdoing to a certain extent; killing was still killing. Vivian's friends had been defecting to the Insurrection, but did that make them true enemies? Jasmine considered herself to be moral, as moral as person could be without becoming narrow-minded in her actions. She could understand the nature of war and the math that Frost so fond of; she couldn't fault him for following orders. As much as she abhorred the killing of humans, she could see his side. But she still saw Vivian's as well.

What would that relationship even be like? Officers and enlisted men weren't allowed to fraternize like that. If the frat regs were obeyed with the greatest strictness, there would be separate mess areas for commissions and non-commissioned ranks. Granted, that's what the military hierarchy wanted. But nobody in the field would enforce such guidelines which many, including Jasmine, found ridiculous. How could a relationship develop on a starship, though? She and Frost couldn't exactly hold hands and go skipping down the ship's corridors or go on romantic dinner dates in the mess hall. Having movie nights, complete with cuddling and ice cream sundaes was out of the question. Neither of them were that type, right? What type was she, Jasmine wondered? His type? Was he her type? Did she have type? Just thinking about it made her feel exasperated. Dating hadn't been the priority in school. Some people probably thought it was old fashioned to go to school to actually learn something. Everyone in high school was searching for the easiest way to get into the dating scene. Jasmine had steered clear of that hot mess as best she could. The showing off, the whining, the shallowness, the fake tears. It made her want to vomit. Still, there had been a part of her that had hoped for something to fall in her lap along the way. Her parents taught her to be herself, make friends, and if things were right, the relationship would develop naturally. All the guys she was ever friends only wanted the answers to the next exam. Takers. Takers and users, they were. Frost wasn't one of those. It didn't take a love guru to see that he was a decent man.

But it was too soon. Jasmine had no designs, no plans, and although the idea would enter her mind in a fleeting fashion, she knew it just wasn't the right time. Vivian would never approve and they were in the middle of a war. Winning the war, saving lives, ensuring that humanity could continue exist was more important than her love life. Yet she was human and the thoughts came, fleetingly, of course.

Clearing her throat, Jasmine regained her composure.

"Amanda, we're talking about you, not me."

"Yes, ma'am, sorry."

"You and Markov are involved, which is acceptable. Your service record is exemplary, and you've done your job well since we've set off. I can understand why you took the medicine for Markov. Once again, though, I will tell you that the proper channels should have utilized for him to receive that medicine. If an event like that arises, I expect any personnel to report the situation to me. I've taken the liberty of speaking with Dr. Elbert and he's going to see Markov as soon as he can to evaluate his condition and give him a prescription if he still needs help with pain management."

"Thank you, ma'am. Dr. Elbert's...not in trouble, is he? I didn't want him to get in trouble."

Smiling softly, Jasmine shook her head.

"No, Amanda. He's not. Elbert used to be a civilian doctor; he worked in the city of Boston and he had to deal with people coming in asking for pain meds to fuel a fix on a daily basis. He was operating from experience, although I explained to him that he should have run an examination before making his decision to refuse a prescription."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Captain Waters and I made sure you were released because of Major Holst's mistreatment of you and because we sympathize with your motive. But I'm obliged to tell you that if you steal medicine again, the field punishment will carried out in full and more. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," Maxwell nodded quickly. Jasmine didn't like putting her foot down like that, so she was glad to smile again.

"Thank you, Amanda. Now off with you, go see Markov."

"Thank you, Dr. Ebrahimi. I won't let you down again."

As Maxwell got up and headed for the door, Vivian walked in. She smiled kindly at Maxwell and patted her on the shoulder.

"Markov's in the mess hall catching a meal. Go see him, I'm sure he's dying to see you."

"Thank you, ma'am," Maxwell stepped out, seeming more invigorated in her pace. Vivian chuckled.

"Think I should have joked and told her to use protection?"

"I think that would have been in poor taste," Jasmine said. "Though not unsound advice. The last thing we need is a crew member getting pregnant. If that happens, you can kiss your career goodbye."

"UNSC won't discharge anybody for that," Vivian said as she sat down across from Jasmine. "They need everybody they can get their hands on. The only people who'll get discharged are personnel who are too crippled."

"Or those that commit a grievous enough crime."

"Right," Vivian sighed, leaning back. She smiled. Jasmine stared at her uneasily.

"Okay...what is it?"

"Where were you last night?"

"Jesus Christ, Viv..."

"Come on, where were you?"

"I was at my parents' apartment having dinner. You told me I could see them whenever I chose so I went to have one more meal with them before we left. We aren't coming back here for a while, so I wanted to-"

"Who'd you go with?"

Jasmine leaned back and folded her arms across her chest, aggravated.

"Frost."

"You brought him to dinner instead of me?"

"What is this, Viv? You want preferential treatment? Is there some contest going on of who can be a better friend to Jasmine?"

"No. I don't care if you had brought me or not. It's that you brought a _murderer_ to your parents' table. Do they know what's done?"

"I haven't told them. They don't need to be privy to that information. They liked him."

"Oh isn't that just great," Vivian muttered, "Mr. and Mrs. Ebrahimi have the wool pulled over their eyes by their own daughter, who brings a cold hearted killer into their home. Wow. Of all the people you could have brought home for the folks-"

Jasmine rose to her feet slowly.

"If you've come in here to lecture me of who I make friends with and how I interact with my family, I can assure you've made a mistake. I expect an apology."

Vivian looked unimpressed for a short time before groaning.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry."

"Have you anything of substance to talk about?"

Vivian glared at her.

"Oh, so talking about the bastard who killed my friends isn't something of _substance?_ Am I boring you or something? Just prattling about the same old same old?"

Jasmine sighed.

"I didn't mean it like that, Vivian. Just...we're part of a bigger picture now. You know that. We're part of something larger than ourselves. Our personal wishes, desires, expectations..." she let out a heavy sigh. "All of that has to come second. Your vendetta is important to you, but our mission and the people under the command should come first."

"They do, Jas, they do," Vivian said, sounding stressed, "I want to be a good officer just like you. But I want to be a _person_ too."

"I'm not sure I follow."

"Jas, I'm still human. Asking me to put all of this behind me is impossible." Vivian sighed. "I mean, how can I possibly make peace with him? It wouldn't feel right in here," she thumbed to where he heart was. "I couldn't live with myself. I know you don't want me to be angry, but even you have to admit it's justified."

"Your anguish and rage are justified. But if you believe him to be a real Jack the Ripper-a heartless, cold, unfeeling, inhuman...monster-I think you'd find more solace in proving yourself to be better than him. Be above this level you think he's on; where he would use force, use diplomacy. Show mercy to those he would rather see dead."

"Yes, but you say the level I _think_ he's on. Like, there's more than one level." Vivian leaned back. "You may believe it or not, but I struggle with that too. Man saved a city; can't deny that. Knew he would very well die in the process but he did it anyways. I have to concede, he is brave. And he saved you, patched you up."

"Any soldier could have done that," Jasmine offered, trying to see Vivian's side. "Not just him."

"True. But it was him. Not anybody else," Vivian said with a shrug. She looked puzzled for a moment, thinking. "You know how there's that little voice in the back of your head that tells you not to do something because it's wrong? I'm starting to think that I may not have one."

Jasmine was surprised to hear something introspective of the self. Vivian was hotheaded and set in her ways. While Jasmine disagreed with her, Vivian always thought she had herself figured out. That she knew who she was. To hear her say that, in regards to Frost, was jaw-dropping. Jasmine walked around the desk and leaned against the edge, right in front of Vivian.

"Talk to me, Viv. What's on your mind?"

Vivian lowered her head.

"I convinced Holst to send some his men to attack Frost. Not to kill him, just to rough him up a little. To remind him who's in charge. I was getting sick of the way he walked around the ship, acting like he was untouchable."

Jasmine was shocked.

"Vivian, that's...you could get court martial-ed for that. Holst too, and those ODSTs."

Vivian shook her head slowly, staring off at the wall.

"No. The only eyewitnesses were me and Holst. And Steele, too, I suppose. Frost won't talk; Holst's ODSTs told him that Frost covered for them, lied to make it seem like he was the one who started the fight, not them." Vivian frowned. "I don't get it. Four guys try to beat him up, then he goes and beats the tar out of them, and then he covers for them so they don't get into trouble? I just don't get it."

She clasped her hands together. "You say I should try to be better than him. What if he's better than me? He took that bullet for me on the _Best of the Best_. I don't think I would have pushed him out of the way if the roles were switched. I would have blamed the ODSTs for starting the brawl if I was him."

"Vivian, I'm going to tell you two things. First, I'm ashamed that you would send people, fellow soldiers, individuals under your supreme command, to attack one of your soldiers, your disposition towards him aside. You should be ashamed of yourself, too. That's an abuse of your power and if you make a habit of it-"

"I won't. I promise, Jasmine."

"Vivian, if you do that again, I promise I will take it to the higher authority. I won't let you hurt him like that," Jasmine said coldly. "And I won't let him hurt you. The fact you did that is appalling to me, and it's only because we're friends that I'm not sending a message to Travers this very minute. The idea that you basically hired goons to mug him is just...I never thought you would stoop so low. I'm just...I'm just so ashamed."

"Alright, Jas, alright. I get it."

"Second...Viv you went through a traumatic event five years ago. Some people would have broke if they were in your shoes. You've got a tremendously strong will and coming to where you are now in such a short time is, quite frankly amazing. You're bitter that justice never came, you're angry at the UNSC and him. It's justified. But that doesn't make you _bad._ Your actions made you bad, or lesser than him. Letting anger and bitterness guide your hand will make you less than him. Merely experiencing those emotions isn't a crime. The fact that you're aware that you can be...bull-headed...is a big step."

"What's the next step then?"

Jasmine put a hand on her shoulder.

"Controlling it. Recognizing you're experiencing those feelings, but not letting them control you."

Vivian looked at her for a few moments, then looked away. She shook her head slowly.

"I don't think I can." A beat passed, then she said, "And a part of me doesn't want to. That anger you're talking about has given me a lot of fuel these past years. There's no on-off switch for it."

"You're right, there isn't."

"Even if there was, I don't want to lose sight of who he is. I don't want to forget what he did. Even if I wanted to forget, I can't. I want him to pay for what he did. But he's an asset."

Jasmine nodded.

"He's a good man. I know him, Viv. And I know you. You're just as good as him."

A look of pain and anger washed across Vivian's face.

"You don't everything about him, Jas. Holst told me a story about him that would..." Vivian blinked and stood up. "I ought to go."

"What? What do you mean? What did Holst tell you?" Jasmine reached and took Vivian's arm in her hand. Vivian stopped and looked conflicted.

"Jasmine, I have things to do."

"You can't use that excuse. If you did, why would you be in here talking with me? What did he tell you?"

"I...I don't want to tell you."

"Why?"

"Because..." Vivian let out heated breath. "Because I know you're friends with him. As much as I...look, I don't want to alter your opinion of him."

Jasmine, again surprised, let go of Vivian's arm.

"Is it that bad?"

"It's bad. It's best you don't know."

Jasmine looked at her feet and her hands slowly curled into fists.

"Viv, just tell me."

"Jasmine-"

"Tell me."

* * *

The rest of the day had been uneventful and now, as the ship traveled through slipspace, evening was crawling in. Frost was glad to be back in the barracks. Seeing his friends chattering and joking like they had been for eight years put him a better mood. Bishop, Knight, and Steele were teaching Carris how to play poker. The four of them were seated on the floor, each with a hand of cards, trying to tell her how to play. Carris was smiling but ultimately looked confused. Steele eventually shushed the other two and began taking her through, telling her all sorts of tricks. Once she finally gained and understand, they began to play in earnest. At first, she didn't do so well. But after a few more hands she began to pick up the strategies and soon developed an excellent poker face.

Langley and Moser were both teaching Grant more of the German language. It was almost humorous to see Grant trying to speak German; Moser and Langley spoke their language fluidly while he spoke in choppy, halting sentences. Even the most basic of sentences were difficult for him. But he kept trying with admirable gusto that, and Moser's and Langley's snickering didn't deter him one bit.

Frost smiled and turned back to Maddox, who was sitting on the opposite end of his bed.

"Can't believe the Doc invited you over for fuckin' dinner," he said, shaking his head.

"What's so hard to believe?" Frost asked.

"I didn't think she was the type of lady to take a man home to her folks on the first date."

"It wasn't a date, man."

Maddox snorted.

"Oh sure, right, right. Not a date my ass. Girl takes you home to meet the parents, have dinner and then," he changed his tone, trying to sound whimsical, "you stand on the balcony at night and look out over the majestic city with all it's pretty lights! Oh, how romantic!"

That earned a couple of snickered. Maddox shook his head, folded his hands behind his head, and laid back. "Christ man, she takes you out on a balcony and you didn't have the goddamn decency to give her a kiss."

"A kiss? It wasn't even a date."

"A balcony at night, secluded from the parents, overlooking the city? Ever heard the term _landing lights!?_ Thick headed nonce," Maddox laughed. "And then you stay the night? Come on man, landing lights, landing lights, landing lights. Do we have to wave you in between her legs?"

Frost wrinkled his nose.

"Maddox, don't talk about the doctor like that."

"Ooh, defensive. I think you've got a regular crush there, mate."

"I don't. We're friends and she was helping me out."

"She was trying to help you unload your balls, bruvva," Steele jested over his shoulder. "But you were just too bloody polite to take the offer. You'd be the worst wingman ever."

"Wingman?" Carris asked.

"Buddy who helps you scores chicks when you go barring or clubbing."

"When did you ever go barring or clubbing?" Grant shot over. "You've never gone out a day in your life! None of us have."

"No he has," Bishop said, clenching a cigarette between his lips, "the proper word is _whoring_ , though."

More laughter rose, including Steele's. Frost shook his head.

"Man, I'd rather be in her office right now."

"Ah, we're just playing," Maddox said, "but hell man, notice the signs next time, will you?"

"You don't even know her. Besides, you weren't there. There's no way you could have known she wanted me to stay for _that._ "

"I don't have to. The very fact she let you stay the night-two nights in a row actually-tells me everything I need to know."

"What do you know about women? I'm the only married one," Knight said after he took a drag on his cigarette.

Maddox frowned.

"I have a woman."

"Since when?"

"Remember when we were garrisoned on that Outer Colony world called Port Edwin? We were there for about three months."'

"Yeah. 2539," Moser grunted.

"Well, we had passes into the capital city. So I went out to get look. I'm walking around and I get to the grand park they have in the center. Bushes and grass and trees and ponds and all that shit city parks have. I plant myself on a bench and I sit for a while, watching the ducks in the pond. Great use of my time, right? Then all of a sudden this girl about my age walks up to me and holds a newspaper out to me. I said thanks and took it, and started reading. I was getting bored anyways. I look up and she's still standing there. I ask if I can help her with something-yeah I can be polite, shove it. She points to the bench. I say what, and she just points again. I look and I don't see shit. So I say what again. All she does is point. So now I'm getting aggravated. I says, 'Whaddya want for Chrissake?' and finally she takes out a notepad and writes down with a pencil if she can sit with me."

"She was mute?" Frost asked.

"Yeah, she was. Needless to say, I felt like an asshole. So I says, 'Yeah you can sit.' And then she starts writing things down on the pad, and starts talking to me like that. Asks me my name and where I'm from. She tells me her name's Audrey. She tells me she wanted to enlist but they wouldn't take her because she's mute. They said she could enlist if she got that surgery where they could restore it, because her muteness was acquired or some shit. But her family couldn't afford the surgery. Besides, it's not a guarantee anyways, even now. She asks me about life in the military and all of that, and somewhere along the line we ended up walking to a restaurant and getting something to eat. We had extended passes so I went to meet with her and spend time with her every evening."

"That's where you were always going, huh? I always wondered..." Bishop said. Everyone had stopped what they were doing and was listening intently.

"Yeah. Eventually she takes me home and I meet her folks. Nice people. Times passed, we saw each other more and more. One day she takes me home and her folks aren't there. Takes me into her room and sits me on the bed. She leans down and kisses me on both cheeks, then on my forehead, and then on the lips. Takes a few steps back and undresses. I won't bullshit you, I was shitting my pants. I had never seen a women naked before. And that's the way it was for a while. She'd take me there when her folks were away and we'd make love."

"Must be strange to have sex with a woman who can't make any noise," Steele said, scratching the side of his head, "I mean, she still makes the faces obviously, but no noise. Must be freaky."

Knight reached over and punched him in the arm. Maddox kept going.

"That was the first time I ever remember being really...happy. Holding her afterwards, things just felt right, you know? All the battles we been in, all the shit we had to go through just didn't exist. No nightmares, nothing. Just...peace. But you guys remember we had to get rotated. I was thinking of going AWOL, I won't lie. Being with her was more important than anything else. And do you remember what happened a few days before rotation?"

"The Covenant showed up."

"Please don't tell me she..." Langley trailed off. Maddox shook his head.

"No. I got her out of there. Remember Nate? Remember how I badgered Teo into taking us to that one neighborhood to evacuate civvies?"

"Yeah, I do. We both thought you were nuts taking us there but we listened. That girl you ended up carrying out, that was her?"

"Yep."

Frost remembered. She was a small, pretty thing. She had short reddish-brown hair and black-rimmed glasses. She had pale skin and shy, hazel eyes. Maddox had held onto her tightly the entire Pelican ride to the evac vessels. Frost hadn't paid too much attention to him and her; he figured she was wounded and he was helping her.

Maddox sighed heavily. "But I couldn't get her parents out. The whole neighborhood was burning. They got trapped. So when we made port with the civilians, I gave her all of my back pay and sent her to my cousin's in Edinburgh. I told her when I came back, whenever _that'll_ be, I'd marry her."

"You two still writing?" Frost asked.

"Most of my letters are from her. She misses me. But she always tells me that she's going to wait." he chuckled. "She doesn't have to tell me that, but she does." Maddox had been sitting up as he told his story. He was looking away, misty-eyed, stroking his orange goatee. He was smiling softly, a rare sight indeed. Then, his glare returned and he pointed at them, "Now don't go telling nobody about that. I'm no softie, alright?"

"Sure, sure, mate," Bishop snickered. Maddox muttered something under his breath then pointed at Frost.

"Landing lights, brother."

"Wha-"

"You don't act on the signals someone gives you, you might just end up living the rest of your life with one big fat regret. Don't let it happen."

He stood up and headed to the door. When he opened it, Vivian was standing there. Everyone was surprised to see her, except for Maddox, who looked unimpressed by the sight of her. "Oh look, the Wicked Witch of the West."

Vivian ignored the comment and stepped past him. She seemed solemn.

"Jack the Ripper?"

"Yes, Captain," Frost said in a low tone, glaring at her. She looked down at him, the solemn look turning into one of contempt.

"Dr. Ebrahimi would like to see you."

For some reason, Maddox's maxim remained in Frost's head. _Landing lights._ If he walked in and there happened to be these 'landing lights,' he was talking about, Frost was unsure of what he'd do. But when he walked into her office, the door sliding shut behind him, he knew he was wrong about that. Jasmine turned and faced him with a mixture of shame, disgust, and hurt on her face.

"Jasmine?" Frost asked quietly; he hadn't seen her like this before and his voice almost cracked.

"Vivian's come to me many times and told me about how she hates your guts. She's done everything she could to convince me that you're a vicious killer. I've defended you from the moment she thought it was you on Skopje five years ago. A hundred times now I've must have said that you're a good man, a decent man. A hundred times. A thousand even."

She took a shaky breath. "And now I found how you killed prisoners of war in cold blood?"

Frost blinked.

"What?"

"Vivian told me that you killed some Insurrectionists who had taken supplies during a siege. You rounded them up and slit their throats. You killed the last one by holding his head into a fire pit and then drove a dagger into his heart." She was trembling a little. "Don't look at me like that. If there's one thing you aren't, it's a liar. You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about."

Frost blinked, feeling anxious at being put on the spot. He remembered then, the young faces, the pleading, the knife, the blood on his gloved hand. He lowered his head and closed his eyes; it was as if the memory hurt him. When he looked back up, Jasmine was still staring at him with hardened, glimmering eyes.

"Is that story true?"

"Yes."

She sniffed.

"How? How could you do something like that?"

Frost grimaced.

"I killed Vivian's friends, I'll admit to that. But that doesn't bother you? Does it? If it did, you wouldn't have anything to do with me, would you? Why is this any different?"

"Vivian's friends..." Jasmine searched for the right words. "That was under the rules of engagement. They were defecting and they were armed. I detest the fact you killed them but you didn't torture them, didn't ignore their begging for mercy. How could you be so heartless?"

"I'm not heartless," Frost snarled, "I did what I did because I have a heart. Because I have a heart, I had the strength to do what I did!"

"Slitting throats and burning a man to death, that's because you have a heart? That doesn't make any sense. That's not strength! That's murder!"

"Those men stole supplies from us and got people killed-people who were my friends. Good people who died horrible deaths." Frost took a few steps toward her. "I was trying to get to their position and got pinned down. I watched as Brutes stormed their position and ripped their arms and legs off. I watch them rip them in half, tears of their heads, and stomp on their bodies."

He now stood right in front of her. "Do you have any idea what it's like to _peel_ your friend off of the ground!? Collecting his guts and putting them in a plastic bin!? Gathering his arms and legs like they were logs of wood!? No you don't, so don't stand there and _judge_ me!"

"Do you really think that makes you justified in the extrajudicial killing of prisoners of war? What you did was barbaric!"

"I did what I did because of what happened on Skopje!" Frost shouted. He took a breath and lowered his voice. "Now, you're going to sit behind your desk and I'm going to sit across from you. And I'm going to tell you a story you've got no right to hear. By the end, you may still find me deplorable, but you'll understand why I did what I did."

When he was finished telling her, Jasmine had removed her glasses as silent tears ran down her cheeks.

* * *

" _I'm giving you a night call to tell you how I feel,_

 _I want to drive you through the night, down the hills,_

 _I'm gonna tell you something you don't want to hear,_

 _I'm gonna show you where it's dark, but have no fear..._

 _There's something inside you,_

 _It's hard to explain..._

 _They're talking about you, boy,_

 _But you're still the same..."_

-Nightcall by Kavinsky

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Awesome, one more chapter before finals! I wouldn't expect another one until May, folks. I've got to buckle down, get through my final exams, presentations, and papers. In about two weeks, though, I'll be able to start cranking out more chapters on a regular basis. Hopefully; I've got to start working and developing some original work, but I shan't forget this story. I promise. Also, by the way, I just want to make it clear that the story is by no means getting close to being over. We've honestly just scratched the surface. Also, that Sacred Band of Thebes is a real thing, look it up, it's an excellent piece of history!**

 **And thank you to all the new followers, and those that have favorited and commented. I really appreciate you all taking the time to read my work and follow it and provide feedback. Saying thank you really isn't enough. For any newcomers, please know that if you leave a comment/review, I'll respond to you here in the author's note. I'll always respond to what you have to say. I'm a firm believes that the comment section or whatever it's called is a place of conversation, between reader and writer. And if you want to chat with me but don't feel like doing it through commenting, feel free to leave me a PM, I'll get back to you as quickly as I can. I keep an eye on the site and my inbox so a response should never be too far away, unless I'm asleep, than there's not much I can do, quite obviously.**

 **But hey, let's get to those comment responses!**

 **Alpha HighBreed: WHAT!? BRUH! You can't just tell me that you started writing something and then be like, 'no need to care!' The fact that you and MBG are planning on doing some writing is super exciting. You both need to upload some stuff! Yeah I'm a writer but I like reading too! Both of you need to grab your pen or...keyboards, and start writing. My personal recommendation, go with pure Halo, I'd be interested to see what a lore-fan like yourself can bring to the Halo universe! No need to care...PAH...that was like, "By the way, I found El Dorado and I'm heading there, kay thanks bye."**

 **And filling your heart with dread is sort of my thing. Do you think I get my energy from food and water? No. I get my sustenance from the suspense and dread my readers exhibit from my work. I'm glad though you're happy Carris didn't leave; trust me, I thought about it for a while, considered some concluded ideas of separation and reunions, but this was a much better turn I think.**

 **MightBeGone: MBG! If you featured my characters in your story, just in passing, I'd be so frigging honored. I have this dream that if Alpha writes his own Halo fic that our stories will coexist in the Haloverse, that we create our own canon, and then maybe one day we can be hired to by 343 Industries to write the plot for the next Halo game and make it so much better than Halo 5's story. *cough* Anyways, I will be very excited to see what you'll post. You bet your ass I'll be keeping an eye on ya! Like I said to Alpha, I love reading others' work too; it's very refreshing and relieving for me to take a break and read. Having nothing to read at the moment, I find the fact that you and Alpha are planning on getting some work on the site is SO exciting for me, because I'm dyin' to read what you have!**

 **chase8999: Oh man, if my cliffhangers are opening up alternate universes, sending you to different ones, then what's coming out of those alternate universes? Just WHAT have we let into our own universe? What kind of horrors could we have unleashed!? What if we have disturbed the natural order!? What if we caused the end of mankind because of this!? OH GOD, WHAT HAVE WE DONE!? ...by the way, if there's any good food in the next alternate universe you jump to, bring some back, I'm curious to see what other universes have for good eatin'.**

 **TheShadeOps: I thank you very much for your freedback. Others have made it known to me that the editing really needs to improve. I've been meaning to get a beta reader, but I'd prefer to have someone from the reading audience who has some personal investment in the story, because I'd want more feedback than just simple editing before I post a chapter. But I do my best but because of time constraints and college and my dyslexia, I still have mistakes even when I take time to really sit down and edit. I do want to be more professional about it, but I just hate making the folks who take the time to read the story wait for too long. Once I have more time on my hands in the summer, though, I'll be able to do a better job of editing. As for the autocorrect, I type my work in Google Docs, which doesn't really have a good spellcheck/autocorrect. If anything, I make more mistakes in Docs. Microsoft Word is better but I hate the interface. And keep me updated about the flow. But again, I appreciate you taking the time to voice that.**

 **And the thing is I DO want you to roll your eyes at Vivian. You, as the reader, have the benefit of being in the heads of the major players in this story. You know things that she doesn't, or have a grasp of what she doesn't know. This makes the notion of protagonists and antagonists kind of relative to which character we're following, which is what I intended. So be prepared for more eye-rolling my friend!**

 **UNSC-HellJumper: Thank you kindly for the comment. I'm glad you're enjoying it so far. Hopefully the next few days will pass and I can head back home to get some major writing done, that way you and the other readers won't have to wait so long for updates. I'm also glad to hear you like the plot; I've been growing concerned that it's become a little repetitive and that I've been taking you all through the same notions. But now that they're setting off for good this time, hopefully that won't be an issue. Stay tuned for the next chapter my friend!**


	30. Chapter 30: Empathy

Chapter 30: Empathy

* * *

Jasmine wiped her eyes.

"Two companies? All of the men?"

"Yes," Frost answered, his face hardened and his eyes brimming with his own tears. "They left the women alive and we carried them back down the mountain."

"Were they discharged?"

"No. We've kept in touch with them. They're all still a part of the Skopje Garrison. It seems condescending to say but...they're tough. Really tough. To go through...that...and continue serving, is nothing but remarkable to me."

"I agree. You didn't say how they tortured the men."

"I can't speak of it anymore," Frost said, bowing his head and gulping a sob back down. "It hurts me too much. This is why I didn't want to bring it up with you before the last battle. It fucks me up. Even thinking about screws with my head. I get nightmares real bad and I can't sleep."

Jasmine nodded and folded her hands on the desk. Frost was in a fragile state; from the moment he had began relating the story to her, he had been an emotional wreck. Crying, verging on sobbing, cursing, yelling even-it was as if the words of the story tore something out of him. Like it burned, almost. Dredging up memories so horrific wasn't easy for anyone. He had already struck her as someone who had that infuriating yet curious ability to talk about difficult topics with ease. If he had that quality, it had not been present in their conversation.

She felt ready to break into tears once more. Already, imagining what had happened to the Army troopers on Skopje had triggered her synesthesia and she could feel the physical pain, the fear, the anger, the sadness. As the feeling had subsided, it was soon replaced by Frost's own anguish. At that moment, she pitied him. No person, she thought, should have to carry that weight; that sight of humanity at its worst. Humanity? No. Inhumanity.

"Nate, I need to ask you more questions," she asked softly.

"Please, Jasmine," he said, his voice haggard. "Not about them."

"No, it's not about that. I want to know about what came after. What did you do, when you went back up the mountain?"

Frost looked up, somewhat surprised. He blinked and wiped away the tears.

"I...I don't want to talk about that."

"Why? Are you ashamed?"

"Not anymore. Well, kind of. Look...it's complicated, Jasmine. We went back up the mountain, we fought the rebels every inch of the way. We killed a lot of them. We fought them in tunnels on the mountainside, in forests, in that mine of theirs. We took a lot of prisoners, and we...made them pay. We sent a message to the ones holed up in the mine, made an example out of their captured friends, the ones who had been involved with the...act."

"You tortured prisoners? Killed them?"

Frost said nothing. His eyes avoided hers. Jasmine decided to take that answer as a yes. "Nathan, you broke the law. Torturing prisoners of war, killing them, that's violates numerous conventions, laws, and rules of war. The law-"

"Law?" he spat. "Maybe the idea of _law_ exists in your world, but in mine-a soldier's world-it doesn't. You think atrocities just _stop_ because we're in the 26th Century? Everyone's holding hands, skipping, and singing, 'Do Wah Diddy Diddy,' huh? No! My world is frightening, dirty, and horrible. I live my life on the frontlines. You've seen a frontline now, what it's like to have thousands of Covvie screamers throwing themselves at you. On a frontline against humans, there's hardly a difference, except they sell their lives more dearly than the Covenant. You have to do everything to survive. You shoot them in the back when they're retreating, you kill wounded soldiers when you take positions, hose entire squads you get the jump on, you shoot them when they're surrendering, and you put a round into the bodies to make sure they're dead. It's about staying alive, about protecting your buddies, and making sure they all die. All of those precious rules-the law-that doesn't apply to a frontline. Frontlines are dirty, frightening, horrid things. It's not the clean, well-defined lines you saw in textbooks. You know that now. Frontlines are lawless. Rules don't exist."

Jasmine grimaced. Frost continued. "I'll admit we did some horrible things. But it was justified, because we were doing it for the soldiers from Alpha and Bravo company."

"It was revenge, then?"

"Yes."

"Justice and revenge are two different things."

"Not on that fucking hellhole of a planet. Revenge and justice are the same exact thing."

Jasmine found herself chuckling then, bitterly. Frost raised a confused eyebrow. "What?"

"You know, you and Vivian have more in common than I realized. Neither of you can separate revenge from justice."

Frost's confused expression shifted to one of anger. It was a look of darkness that she had never seen before. She was so startled, that the bitter laughter on her tongue ceased.

"Vivian thinks she witnessed an atrocity," Frost began, slowly, his teeth nearly gritting together, "but that was an act of war, as you've said. You've seen ground combat. Neither of you have seen atrocities. But I have. So don't presume that you can tell me how I should _think_ or _feel_ about something _you've never fucking seen with your own two eyes!_ "

Frost's voice had risen to a shout. He had stood up and planted both hands on the desk. His hair seemed to bristle and he was baring his teeth, almost like a wolf. Jasmine was so shocked she had recoiled slightly in her seat. For a few moments, she thought he would end things there and storm out.

Instead, he stood straight up and pointed at her. "The only way to carry out justice was to make sure the bastards who did it suffered. Vengeance was justice, and justice was vengeance."

Nothing was said between the two for what seemed like hours. Finally, taking a shaky breath, Jasmine sat straight again. Frost seemed to relax slightly. He took out a cigarette and pressed it to his lips.

"Do not smoke in here," Jasmine said sternly, "smoking is bad for your health."

Frost gave her a glare that made whatever sternness she possessed dissipate. He took out a lighter and was about to bring the flame to the end of the cigarette. Then his eyes darted back to Jasmine, then he rolled them. He flipped the cap back on the lighter with his thumb and tucked it away with the cigarette. Jasmine felt that things had become more stable.

"You were ashamed of what you did though. Weren't you? You've indicated that you've had to make peace with your actions."

Frost's face softened again, though he remained wary.

"My squad mate, Wright, said something to me before he died. He was riddled by a machine gun during the last phase of the battle. We were out of biofoam. His stomach and liver had been shredded-he was a goner. He pulled me real close and said to me that we had...sold our souls and had become godless, so that we could undo horrors by committing horrors of our own." Frost scratched his bearded chin and sat down. "That was his way of saying we knowingly brought ourselves down to their level, to make sure those responsible were brought to justice, and we could avenge Alpha and Bravo Companies."

Jasmine froze for a moment.

"You mean you took the female rebels and-"

"No," Frost said coldly. "We went low, almost as low as them, but not that far. We weren't going to _become_ them. No." He shook his head. "I suppose you had to ask the question but that hurts that you would think that I would do something like that."

Jasmine nodded apologetically. Internally she was relieved to hear his answer.

Frost ran a hand through his brown hair. "What we did...I won't say it was easy, but I won't say it was hard either. When we left Skopje, all of us ended up taking a long, hard look in the mirror. A couple of guys couldn't make sense of it, couldn't make peace with what they had done. Ended up shooting themselves. The rest of us, myself included, were ashamed. But we did the math-we did it for _them_ , the Army troopers, the ones they killed and the ones they left alive. Knowing that we had done right by them, that was enough for us."

"Putting all that trouble in its place?" Jasmine said with a small smile. Frost grunted, affirming.

"I'll be the first to admit we did terrible things to the rebels. It was all my idea in the first place. Everyone knew me as a reliable, honest man with the deadly title. Of course they listened. But we did them for the right reasons."

"Then please, Nate, tell me what you did."

"No." He shook his head. "I don't want to bring that back. I don't want to bring back a time where I...I...was a monster. And..." Frost ran a hand down his face, and then looked away. Jasmine was puzzled yet wary.

"What're you saying?"

"Jack the Ripper, my war name, that's all it is _now_ , just a name they gave me. Back then though, when we were fighting the Skopje Rebels, making them pay for what they had done, I really _was_ Jack the Ripper. I did things I never thought I'd do, committed acts that would make you think I was something out of the Dark Ages. I don't want to be Jack the Ripper again."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I...can't say. I, I _am_ ashamed. Of what I was."

"Nathaniel, please, tell me."

"I committed horrendous acts. But I had to do. There was a just cause behind it all. It was to make those _things_ suffer, for the women they raped and the men they butchered. It was for them. It was for them-it was justice...and vengeance."

Frost looked to be sweating then, his eyes were wider and he seemed exasperated. He was looking at his feet and Jasmine realized he wasn't talking to her. He was talking to himself. It was as if he were trying to convince himself, tossing the pros and cons, trying to make sense of what he was saying.

"Nate, look at me. Talk to me," Jasmine said, trying to sound as soothing as possible. Frost looked up, his eyes glassy with tears.

"I'll tell you this much. I regret what I _was_ on Skopje, but I don't regret what I did. We had justification for it all. It was for those soldiers they wronged, they tortured."

Jasmine stood up, and walked around the desk, and knelt in front of him. She reached up and put both of her hands on his cheeks. He seemed surprised by this, then his expression softened and tears rolled freely, silently, down his cheeks. To her, it seemed that he was doing everything in his power not to sob. She was on the verge of breaking down herself. Seeing him like this was breaking her heart. She moved her fingers a little, feeling the stubble of his beard on her palms and fingertips, his weathered skin, the faded scars from micro-shrapnel.

"Please, tell me what happened. What did you do? Please, tell me. I can help you."

Frost stared at her for a long time. There was fear and anguish in his eyes, accompanied by shame. A great sadness eventually extinguished all other emotions from his face. Soon after, he raised his hands and took her by the wrists. Slowly, he lowered her hands from his face and shook his head.

"I can't. I don't want to bring back what I was. And I don't want you think differently of me. I don't want what we have to change."

Those words struck deep within her. She didn't want what they had to change. Such a short length of time has passed in the grand scheme of things, but it had felt like years. Frost had been a near-constant companion. A face she could spot in a crowd, whose voice she could pick out of a mob. He was someone that she always felt better for seeing. To be the same for him was special to her. Their friendship was important. How badly she didn't want it to change. Part of her was screaming inside, angry that she had forced Vivian to tell her the story. If she had remained unaware, they wouldn't be sitting there talking about such frightening things. Only if she hadn't pushed, he would still be Nate.

"Neither do I...but...Nate, you..." She sighed, aggravated that she couldn't find the words. "I've, I've _defended_ you from Vivian the moment she found out it was you. I made her promise that she wouldn't harm you. I made a promise for your life. You understand that?"

"I do." His voice was grave. Jasmine gulped.

"Time and again, I've told her what a good man you are. Because you have been, you've been good to me. You saved me. You saved an entire city. I even brought you into my home. You sat at my family's table and ate with us. And you've always just been...Nate, to me."

Jasmine's mouth felt dry suddenly. "But...this. Slitting men's throats with their hands bound, making them suffer for a crime they didn't commit."

"They're just as guilty for wearing that raggedy excuse of a uniform, and-"

"You brutally killed people, Nate." Jasmine had wanted to say murdered, but she simply couldn't bring herself to say the word. If she did, then everything would truly change. "It's staggering, jarring how you, the man I've come to know, could do such a thing. It's like you're a totally different person. Don't you regret their deaths? Doesn't that make you feel _wrong_ inside? Please, try to understand! I brought a...a..."

"A _murderer_ into your home?" He said bitterly. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes. "You brought...Jack the Ripper home to meet your parents?"

"Nate-"

"You know Jasmine, everywhere I go I hear myself being hailed as a hero, as Jack the Ripper, the knife fighter, the avenger, the rebel's bane. Can't take a step without it. You were the first person outside of my squad to treat me as...me! Just me! I thought you were the one person who wouldn't judge me."

"Nate, please-"

"Guess I'm just Jack the Ripper then, huh?"

Frost stood up quickly and headed for the door. Jasmine quickly got to her feet and went after him.

"Nathan, wait, please."

She latched her hand on his arm but he whirled around, shaking it off in the same instant. Jasmine's hand recoiled back; she took a step back as he took one towards her.

"If you're going to sit there and judge me, fine. But that doesn't mean I have to sit there and take it."

Tears were running down his cheeks.

"Nate! I'm not judging you, I'm just trying to understand all of this, trying to make sense of it! Trying to make sense of _you!_ "

"What? That I killed some people that got ten of my friends killed!?" Frost wiped his eyes but the tears still came. "I was trying to get ammo to them that I had to scrounge up. But I was pinned down. That other squad-they were my _friends_ -had no ammo. I watched them get overrun by Brutes! I watched those fucking monsters tear their arms and legs off and pound their bodies into _paste!_ I watched one of my good friend's head get pulled right off his fucking shoulders! And you know what happened after? Do you!? I had to go get a plastic bin and clean them up! I had to peel my fucking friends' flesh and guts off of the ground and put them in a fucking bin! Have you have had to take what was left of your buddy and put them in a plastic box? I had to collect their arms and legs and carry them like logs for a fire! So you bet your ass I cut those mother fuckers' throats when I had the chance, because they got ten good men killed right in front of me!"

Frost stood there, tears pouring down his face, panting, chest heaving. "Here I was worrying that things might change if I told you. I guess things already have. I thought, of all people, you wouldn't judge me. I was wrong though. Your precious _rules_ and your _laws_ are just goddamn precious, aren't they? You know what they are? A high horse for you noncombatants to look down on me and judge me when you've never had to do what I've done."

With that, he was out the door and down the hall. Jasmine's legs automatically carried her to the door.

"Law _does_ exist on the frontline, Nate!" she called out to him, ignoring the confused faces of passing crewmembers. "It's there and all it needs is for good men like you to follow it!"

She watched until he was out of sight, turning down another hallway. Jasmine stood there in the door, watching, quivering with indignation and hurt. She didn't know much time passed before Vivian arrived.

"Jas...?"

Jasmine felt Vivian put a hand on her shoulder. "Jas, I just walked up. I heard the yelling just then. Are you okay?"

"No."

Jasmine walked inside sniffing terribly and wiping her face on the sleeve of her white lab coat. Vivian walked in behind her, shutting the door behind her.

"Talk to me, Jas."

"A man I've come to call my friend executed people. Cut their throats. People with families, begging to live. And he didn't show any remorse. And yet...he's been kind, heroic...he makes me laugh. Did I tell you that after the awards ceremony he took me out to eat, and we danced?"

"No, you didn't."

"I danced with a killer."

"You've known he was a killer for a long time now."

"Yes..."

"Jasmine, I've been trying to tell you that he's more than appears. He's not the hero everyone thinks he is. He's done things. I know he has."

"He has. But I know why."

"Why? What did he tell you?"

"I promised him I wouldn't tell anyone."

That's when Jasmine felt Vivian lean in close.

"You're going to keep a promise to a murderer, Jasmine? You're going to be more loyal to him than to me? I need to know, so I can make sure the information can go to Traver. He can pull him from the mission, throw him in the stockade, and see about bringing him to court."

Jasmine said nothing. Vivian then said, "You have to pick a side, Jas. Neutrality only gets you so far. You can't do anything when you're in the middle. What kind of conviction do you have if you're refusing to join a side? Peace? Be real. There's no peace between Frost and I. I doubt there ever will. If you tell me, I'll have evidence straight from him that he committed crimes. And then maybe both of us can gain some solace."

* * *

" _There she was just a-walkin' down the street, singin' 'do wah diddy diddy dum diddy do,'_

 _Snappin' her fingers and shufflin' her feet, singin' 'do wah diddy diddy dum diddy do,'_

 _She looked good, she looked fine,_

 _She looked good, she looked fine, and I nearly lost my mind-"_

Steele laughed; he could see the funny look Carris was giving him out of the corner of his eye. "What is it?"

"That's an...odd song. Do wah diddy? What does that mean?"

"Hell if I know, love. It's some old song Frost's got on his music player. His dad's a musical historian and collected it."

"Oh, right. He mentioned to me that his father was a professor. You've never mentioned what your father does?"

"He works at a titanium processing plant outside of London. My older brother works there too."

Steele pursed his lips and flipped the page of the book he was reading. He had taken it from the selection at the rec area that was beside the mess hall. Frost had recommended it to him not too long ago. It was called _A Farewell to Arms_ written by Ernest Hemingway. In his time, Steele had heard the author's name at one point or another. Apparently, he was one of the great American writers from the 20th Century. Others claimed he was the best of all time. Steele didn't consider himself a particularly learned man. Reading wasn't one of his go-to activities either. But dirty magazines could only sustain him for so long-not to mention the pages of his preferred copy were starting to stick together. So he thought he'd give Hemingway a look-see, based partly on Frost's recommendation, his own curiosity, and a certain patriotic indignation that people had the audacity to believe that some American writer was lauded as the best author of all time. Not exactly a devout patriot to his homeland, but Steele considered himself loyal enough when the skill and longevity of English writers were challenged. Had he read their works? Not really, but that didn't matter to him.

"Titanium processing is important for the war effort," Carris offered.

"Or they could just be dodging the draft, the cunts," Steele muttered, turning the page. "This ain't too bad a read, I have to admit."

"I don't hear any of the others talk about their families like you do."

"Although it's jarring when the spoken bits go on without the little quotation marks."

"How come?"

"Just not used to reading stuff like that. All the books I've read, all the dialogue has the quote marks."

"No, I mean how come you talk about your family so...scathingly?"

Steele groaned.

"Love, I've given you like two big hints that I don't want to talk about that. Gotta pick up on signals, like Maddox says."

"Oh. Sorry."

Steele lowered the book and peered over at Carris on the cot beside his. She had taken Frost's music player and was cycling through various songs from different time periods. A song would play for a few moments, and she'd have a different reaction to them. Techno songs from the 21st Century would make her blink, then she'd start nodding to the beat. Music from the early 1920s brought a confused expression to her face, followed by an awkward chuckle at the way the singers' voices sounded. Songs from very old television productions or musicals were a mixed bag; sometimes she moved with song or found it odd. It was humorous to watch. But she had cast it aside for the moment and her face looked embarrassed, like the way a child who thought they had done wrong did when in front of an irritated parent.

With a sigh, Steele set the book down.

"I'm not trying to make you feel bad, love. Sorry if I did. Just not a topic I like to dive too deep into."

Carris nodded, then she looked over and smiled.

"You must be good at multi-tasking. I've never seen someone read and sing at the same time."

"I'm a man of many talents," Steele said with a playful grin. "For instance, I can do a perfect John Lennon impression."

"Everyone from bloody England can do an impression of the Beatles," Knight scoffed as he walked in. He grabbed a cigarette pack that was on his bed and headed back out. "They've set up a movie in the rec area. You two want in?"

"Does it have naked women and-or fucking in it?" Steele asked.

"No. C'mon brother, you know they'll never show a movie like that. What about you Carris?"

"I think I'll stay here, thanks."

"Suit yourselves."

After Knight left, Steele shook his head before taking the book back up.

"We never get any good movies. Before, we got to see some with tits in it, but now, _nada_. So many mothers badger the UNSC about their choices of entertainment; more concerned with their sons and daughters seeing dirty movies than getting shot. Fucking bullocks. You'd think with all the refugees flooding back from the Outer Colonies and all of the colony worlds being glassed they'd have gotten the fucking memo."

"What memo?"

"The idea that this war is different from any other in our history. Frost could talk your ear off about it, the clever-clogs."

Nothing more was exchanged for a time. Steele became engrossed in the story. He reached a part where the main character, an American ambulance driver, and the English nurse had gotten a room to themselves. He was about to head back to the front, and although it wasn't explicitly stated, Steele was certain the ambulance driver was hoping to bang his hot nurse again. The description of the room they had to themselves was simple but still rather vivid. Steele was no literary critic so he wasn't sure what kind of grade to give it. The two characters then went on to pretend that it was their house, not a hotel room. For some reason that tugged on his heart strings, which Steele had to give the novel props for, as he prided himself on keeping his heart hard and flinty to anything romantic, touching, or cute.

Looking over at Carris, engrossed with the music player once more, he smiled. Then he looked at the empty room they were in. And then he looked back at her.

 _Coincidence. Fucking coincidence._

"Louis?"

Steele had just shifted his eyes back to the book when she said his name. His cheeks felt hot suddenly. Peering over the book, he looked into Carris's blue eyes.

"Uh, yeah love?"

"Can I ask you something?"

Steele blinked.

"Um...sure..."

"When-"

Suddenly, the door opened and Frost stormed in.

 _Bloody good timing._

But Steele's relief was overshadowed by immediate concern. Frost had tears in his eyes and his face was dark with anger. Immediately, Steele set the book down and stood up.

"Whoa, bruv, hold up a-"

Frost walked right over to him and instantly hugged him. Surprised, it took Steele a moment to hug him back. Frost didn't make a sound; he only held him tightly, his fingers gripping the back of Steele's shirt. "Hey, mate, hey...what's wrong, huh? What's going on? Something happen at the Doc's?"  
His friend nodded against his shoulder. "What's the matter? What happened, huh? Come on, why don't we sit down?"

Steele attempted to withdraw from the embrace and lead him over to sit on the bed, but Frost didn't budge. His grip tightened. "Okay, when you're ready mate."

"I haven't felt this way before."

"What way?"  
"I...I don't know. Jasmine thinks I'm...I'm something I'm not. She judged me. I didn't think she ever would and I just feel..."

"Bruv, just sit down, yeah?" Steele was finally able to ease out of the embrace and sit Frost down on his own bed. Steele knelt in front of him, taking off Frost's black bandanna which was tied around the sergeant's neck and then wiped his face with it. He listened as Frost explained what had happened; Vivian had apparently heard from Holst about the incident some years ago when Frost had killed the captured rebels. Steele remembered it clearly. He had no pity for them; they had gotten some of their boys killed and that was enough reason to kill them. Yet Frost had done it not just because of the theft of ammunition and other supplies; he was still on some kind of quest for justice. What happened on Skopje affected him more than anybody else, Steele knew. Every man took it hard, but Frost took it the hardest. The atrocities committed by the Skopje Rebels was etched into each of their hearts and minds. To feel sympathy for the Insurrectionist cause was impossible. Frost treated every rebel like they had been there and had taken part in the act. It was easy to fall into that way of thinking. It had taken Steele a long time to separate the true culprits from the others. Still, those men were better off dead. Had they let them live, they probably would have pilfered more critical items from the supply dump.

Vivian had told Jasmine the story, and Frost's call to her office resulted in a confrontation. From what Frost told him, they had argued extensively about it, and eventually he left.

"Jasmine doesn't think differently of you, bruvva," Steele assured him.

"Sounds like it," Carris said. Steele shot her an exasperated look and she nodded, affirming that she wouldn't say anything else.

"You're right," he said to Frost, "she's not like you or me, she wasn't there. It's different for us and for her. She just needs some time to process this. Give her some time and I'll bet things will go right back to the way they were."

He almost wanted to laugh when he said that. Here he was giving his friend advice on his extremely limited social life like they were a pair of emotionally insecure teenagers. Adolescents became wrecks after they misinterpreted a text message or got dumped by their girlfriend or boyfriend of three weeks. In this case, Jasmine had been repulsed by what she perceived as murdered, perpetrated by a man she admired. And Steele knew she admired him; hell, everybody did. It wasn't hard to tell. All Frost had to do was say her name before she turned around with a big smile on her face and a bright light in her eyes.

"I don't want to speak to her if she's going to sit there and judge me."

"Well, mate, I'm on your side. But bruv, think about her. She's head over heels for you-"

"Lou," Frost growled.

"Look, all's I'm saying is that she's under a bit of shock too. She never saw that side of you like me and the guys did. We were all different on that planet. And you, you were still trying to make sense of what happened afterwards. Those rebels you killed..."

"They deserved it, right? Didn't they? They got Boris, Vernon, Mitchell, Jean, Li, Javier, Derek, Berman, Garrick, and Abdul killed. They deserved it, right?"

Steele grimaced; careful wording was required.

"Yeah, they deserved to be punished. We were out there alone. Letting them go wasn't an option in the end. No time for a court room, no time for procedures. You made the tough call. I didn't want to see the bastards live in the end either."

"Right."

"But the Doc, she doesn't understand. She hasn't been in our boots. Give her some time to process it all, alright? When she's done, she'll come to you and talk, and you'll be able to sort this all out."

Yes, sort the act of murder out. He didn't like using the word, he found. At the time he had been a passive bystander, doing little to argue in their defense. He hadn't seen what Frost had seen, only heard the pained screaming over the radios of Echo Squad. In the end, remembering the remains of the ten dead marines, Steele decided that it had to be done. Like on Skopje; he just had to look at those corpses left on the mountainside, the quivering bodies of the tortured and spared, to clear his rebels didn't deserve to live, and neither did the ones who had gotten their pals killed or the ones on Skopje. Dr. Jasmine wouldn't see it like they did unless she had seen the things they had. Still, justifying what she saw as illegal killings would be difficult. Hell, it'd be difficult to reason it to anyone outside their unit.

"What's up?"

Steele looked over his shoulder. Bishop was in the door; the stocky Scotsman wore a perplexed expression on his face. Giving Frost a reassuring pat as he wiped his face, Steele went over to him and they began speaking quietly.

"Apparently the good doctor caught wind of what Frost did those rebs some ways back, the ones that pilfered supplies and ammunition. Ended up getting Echo Squad from Third Platoon killed?"

"Yeah, I remember. She didn't take it too well, I suppose?"

"Not really. She judged him, though inadvertently I think. I don't know her too well but she's a thinking type-"

"Unlike you."

"-and was trying to wrap her head around all this info. It's just a bad misunderstanding and they both need some time."

Bishop nodded and then ran a hand through his auburn hair.

"Why don't we pay her a visit tomorrow, eh?"

Steele blinked.

"You mean... _pay her a visit?_ " He whispered, then made a fist with his right hand and quickly shoved it into the cupped palm of his left.

"No, dumbass. We say a couple of words on his behalf, educate her a little about what things are like for us. Then maybe she'll get the picture and apologize."

Steele nodded, relieved.

"Sounds like a fine idea to me."

Messing with Frost was messing with him, Steele reminded himself. No one was going to hurt his friend like that and get away with it. A few harsh words would set her in line. Part of Steele wondered if a more delicate touch was needed for the situation. Did they have any right to butt in on the affair? Whatever the answer was, he didn't care. Seeing Frost sitting on the bed with such a look of hurt overruled the invisible boundaries.

He went back over to him and knelt down. Offering a smile, he put a hand on the back of his head.

"Hey, everything's gonna be fine, alright bruvva?"

"Yeah, yeah," Frost said, wiping his nose and sitting up. "It's nothing."

"We've got bigger things to worry about, right?"

"Yeah, there's a war on," Frost said with a smile. With the smile and his dried face, he looked more like his normal self. Steele was grateful for that; the last thing the squad needed was to walk in and see not only their friend but their _squad leader_ in an emotional tiff.

* * *

It was later when Vivian was roaming the halls. She felt shaky. A mixture of anger, pity, and excitement flowed through her.

Jasmine's misfortune would prove to her benefit; with their friendship in tatters, or at the very least on hold, the promise that had been exacted from her could now be superseded. All she had to do was figure out a way to get him come to clean, reveal his actions, and she could arrest him for war crimes.

She would have been lying to herself if the thought of killing him wasn't planting itself in her head once more. The more she considered it, the more she thought it was the best option. Jasmine's promise had been to spare him from harm, to let him be. Surely, with their friendship in ruins, that nullified the promise. She could carry out the act and her friends would finally be avenged.

Would that make her a hypocrite? Not only did she despise him for killing her friends, it was the fact that he had taken human life. This was a war to save humanity, not slaughter those who would refrained from living under the UNSC's flag. Did she consider herself an Insurrectionists sympathizer? No; kidnappings, assassinations, bombings-in short, terrorism-was something she could not abide. However, she respected the idea of living free from the UNSC. Conditions could often be harsh and unequal under their military watch and the other institutions established by the Unified Earth Government. Inner Colony worlds had the benefit of being close to the seat of the government, Earth, and their longer existence had allowed for greater prosperity and stability. Adherence to the law was more prevalent there, due in part to that stability, and the proximity to the center of humanity. Outer Colonies on the other hand were young and distant. Many, or rather those that remained, were still in their growing stages. As such, tensions were high and remained so throughout the war. Patriotic fervor was not as universal as many believed. Colonies nowhere near the frontline had gone dark, taking the opportunity to cut themselves off from UNSC contact. While any military mind saw this as a surefire way to isolate oneself and thus leave an entire planet open to an attack without support, somebody who hadn't condemned the rebels could see that they seized the chance to snatch independence. Freedom was not always granted; sometimes it had to be taken. Vivian could understand such an ideology, as long as no one suffered for it and no one didn't have their freedom taken without just cause. Killing someone-a human being-for wanting freedom was wrong. Human history was populated with tales of people shedding their shackles, gaining their human rights, and setting up their own countries. Fighting for freedom was _the_ human struggle. To shoot or oppress someone striving for their personal freedom or someone else's was something Vivian could not condone.

So, perhaps killing Frost was justified. There were ways to do it indirectly; sending him on a suicide mission. Or refusing to send an evac Pelican when he was pinned down because the situation would be "too hot," or at least that's what she'd write in her after-action report.

Doing it by her own hand would be satisfying, but only a monster like him took pleasure in killing, even if it was for justified reasons. But she could do it if she had. It wouldn't be hypocritical; it wouldn't.

 _It wouldn't. Would it?_

Vivian sighed and rubbed her forehead.

 _Come on, he killed them. How many others did he kill besides your friends? How many did he brutally torture? He's a murderer, with no heart, no empathy, no sense of right or wrong. He's a monster. Monsters have to be killed._

Then another thought entered her mind. _What would happen to Jasmine?_

Jasmine was the only one stopping her from saying Frost. Even Holst's story hadn't been enough to eliminate her faith in him. That condition of over-developed empathy had led her astray. Well, not completely. If she _had_ to find something redeeming about that bastard, it was how he treated her. Always, he was tender with her, respectful. And he made her laugh; that was hard sometimes. To kill a friend of a friend, what would that do to the latter? Vivian knew there was nothing she could do to make her think differently of him. He had cast his spell and she had fallen under it. She couldn't fault her in the end; Jasmine's younger years had been plagued by self-inflicted solitude and rejection. Frost was about the first man who had ever taken an interest in her-was he interested? Were they more than friends? If he had started laying the pipe to her...

Vivian sighed tiredly at herself. Being a protective friend was a step away from being an overbearing one. She wasn't Jasmine's mother; she was an adult and could make her own decisions, even on who to get cozy with. Still, more than likely, nothing was happening. Frost was probably too inexperienced and dumb to figure out what kind of emotional connection was needed for a proper relationship, and Jasmine had more class than a steamy on-ship love affair. Either way, it wouldn't work. But they were friends and Jasmine enjoyed him. And she would never forgive her for killing him.

" _It's not wrong to have to have those feelings, that pain, that anger...but killing him is wrong."_

Vivian's head hung low as she walked. Killing him would bring her down to his level. She wasn't going to compromise her integrity, no. Justice had to prevail, not vengeance. Vengeance, as desirable as it was, would only lead to short term solutions and more problems. Doing the whole thing right, through the military system, getting him locked up for life, that was justice. And she'd be able to exact a small amount of vengeance from that.

 _Alright Jas, I won't hurt him. But he's not staying on this ship. He's going to be punished for what he's done. Those secrets of his won't stay tucked away for long._

Vivian, having made her decision, breathed easier. Finding a way to make sure he could be investigated, tried, and sentenced would be challenging. Working out options was the key. Going into this private investigation of her's all scattershot wouldn't get her anywhere. Acquiring evidence, getting it to the right people, that would-

" _Oh, you look so tired,_

 _Mouth slack and wide,_

 _Ill-housed and ill-advised,_

 _Your face is as mean_

 _As your life has been..._

 _Crash into my arms,_

 _I want you..."_

Vivian stopped and felt her blood run cold. Turning around slowly, she watched him approach. Despite wearing his shiny black boots, he made no sound as he moved down the hall. It had been a few hours since he had stormed out of Jasmine's office. Fatigue gripped his face and it his eyes bore the red, strained look of someone who had been crying. Hands in his pockets, his gray eyes locking with her emerald ones, he continued to sing:

" _You don't agree,_

 _But you don't refuse,_

 _I know you,_

 _And I know a place,_

 _Where no one is likely to pass,_

 _Oh, you don't care if it's late,_

 _And you don't care if you're lost,_

 _But tonight you presumed too much,_

 _Too much, too much..._

 _And if it's the last thing I ever do_

 _I'm gonna get you._

 _Crash into my arms,_

 _I want you,_

 _You don't agree,_

 _But you don't refuse,_

 _I know you."_

He stopped in front of her, hardly a foot away. Remaining apprehensive, Vivian stood her ground and stared him down. Frost stared back, unimpressed by the tough expression she attempted to wear.

Finally, he took out a cigarette, lit it, and began smoking. "That song's called 'Jack the Ripper,' by an old band called Morrissey." Vivian said nothing in response. Frost cracked a smile. "No snappy one-liner, Captain?" he asked. "No gloating of how you've finally won the Doc over? You feel big? Hm? Fracturing a friendship?"

Vivian said nothing. He continued, "I've had lots of friendships that have ended in tatters. Know why? Because they all died."

"Join the club," Vivian muttered.

Frost snickered.

"Never lost a friend like this. Having someone think so differently of you, it just can't work. Won't be the same. I keep telling myself it's only been a couple of months. Just a couple of months. But...damn, this hurts real bad."

"Get over it. Friendships end. That's life. At least you still have some. All of mine-"

"Died five years ago at my hand, yeah, yeah, you're a broken record," Frost scoffed. "You're the one who needs to get over it. I've lost friends, more than you, and I've made my peace with it. They're gone now, they're resting, and there's nothing we can do about it. Make your own peace and move on, like a real soldier."

"Real soldiers don't execute prisoners of war," Vivian said, folding her arms across her chest. "You're a criminal."

Frost grimaced.

"Jasmine told you about Skopje, then?"

Vivian shook her head.

"No. You hardly gave any details about what came after. Whatever poor excuse you gave her as to why you killed prisoners, she didn't tell me. How's that for a _fractured_ friendship; she thinks you're a murderer and yet she keeps her promises to you still. Your precious friendship is hardly busted."

That made Frost blink in surprise. Then his expression seemed to soften and warm. His eyes fell and he smiled, shaking his head.

"She's something else, huh?"

Vivian nodded.

"She is. She's better than me. Better than you."

"Now there's something we can agree on, Captain Ahab."

Frost walked past her, his shoulder brushing against her. Vivian glared at his back.

"Ahab?"

"Still after your white whale are you?" he said over his shoulder. "Maybe you ought to give up and sail home, or else you're going to end up losing more than your leg."

Before Vivian could retort, he began to sing again.

" _And no one knows a thing about my life,_

 _I can come and go as I please,_

 _And if I want to, I can stay,_

 _Oh, or if I want to, I can leave;_

 _Nobody knows me, nobody knows me, nobody knows me..."_

Vivian turned, planning on continuing her walk. But the words echoed in her head. So she whirled around and stormed after him. When she caught up, she clamped a hand on his shoulder and turned him around.

"How do you live with yourself?" she asked quickly. "Tell me, how can you live with yourself when you've shot fifteen year old girls, executed prisoners of war, and committed how many acts of barbaric violence? How do you sleep at night?"

"Because, I remember what I saw on Skopje. Every time I began to doubt my actions, my past, I think of the soldiers brutalized by the rebels. I remember every precise detail and remember why I did what I did."

Frost pushed her hand from his shoulder. "And the rest of the trouble, I bury. I bury it deep in here," he said, tapping his chest, "so that it doesn't come back out."

"You're the most..." Vivian gritted her teeth and rubbed her forehead as a headache took hold. "You're like, the most ambiguous, code talking asshole I've ever met. You can't give me one straight answer, one thing that makes any sense to me!"

Frost chuckled.

"You ever read the Bible?"

"What?"

"Just asking."

"No, I haven't."

"Hayes read some to me when I was in training. I've got no use for most of what's in there, but there were a couple of good bits. When I think about what I've done there, I remember a Psalm. It's 58:10; 'The righteous will rejoice when he sees the vengeance; he will bathe his feet in the blood of the wicked.' And the other one is from Romans, 3:8, 'Let us do evil, that good may come?' I like the second one better." Frost smiled. "Jasmine said you and I agree about justice and vengeance. One and the same, huh?"

"Yes. But I won't choose the bloody path like you. I'm above that."

Frost frowned and gave her a dark look.

"The only path for justice and vengeance is a bloody one. You'd understand that if you were a real soldier, Waters," Frost growled, poking her hard in the shoulder. "You wear that uniform and you have that rank, but you're no soldier. Honor doesn't make a soldier. Neither does duty. Killing is what makes you a soldier. And until you have to kill a man, face-to-face, you won't be. Now, get the hell out of my face," he said, pushing her in the shoulder with two fingers.

Vivian only allowed herself to be pushed back one step before she slapped his hand away and reared her arm back to punch him. When she flung her arm forward, he took a step back and raised his hand. Her fist landed directly into his flattened palm, and she felt the power in her arm deflate. He then yanked her forward by her forearm, and stuck out his foot. Vivian felt her feet leave the floor and she landed on the deck, flat on her back. The air was knocked out of her and she gasped.

The cigarette was still pinched between his lips. He didn't look even slightly ruffled. Standing over her, he gave her a smug grin. "It's best not to open with a haymaker. Haymakers are wild punches with a lot of power, but they're inelegant and to an experienced fighter like myself, they're predictable and easy to counter. Come take one of my CQC courses next time you're in the armory and maybe you'll stand a chance. Someday, at least."

Frost stood up and tapped the side of the cigarette. A few bits of light gray ash landed on Vivian's tunic. He then turned and began walking away. She heard him laugh as she sat up. "By the way, if you go crying to the big man, it won't work. You threw the first punch."

Vivian was about to sling another insult at him as he wiped the ash away, but she paused. An idea had finally taken hold.

* * *

Jasmine looked at the other people sitting in the restaurant. She was surprised to see so many out so soon after the end of the siege. It raised her spirits though. Humans certainly were resilient. Not even war could stop them from going out to spend their money at fancy restaurants, eating expensive food, drinking wine, and dancing like idiots. Seeing folks act like there hadn't been a battle in their city streets made her think that there was no way the Covenant could win.

"How was your burger?" Frost asked before he quickly dabbed his lips with the napkin. It was jarring to see him in his stark white dress uniform and exhibiting table manners. Like most other personnel on the ship he just chowed down into the food he brought to the long tables. Here, he acted quite civil.

"It was really good."

"Better than that fast food garbage, huh?"  
"I've never eaten fast food."  
"You're kidding?"

"Nope. My parents never let me touch the stuff."

"Ha. My parents were the same but my dad always caved. He loved fast food fries."

"How was the steak?"  
"Very good, although I think I could have made it a bit better myself. The chef was trying to do too much. Gotta keep it simple for the best result; little salt, little dill, maybe a pinch of a mild spice, and you've got a perfect slab of meat right there."

"You should open a restaurant after the war."

"Steele's said the same thing to me before. He thinks we should open a little join in London and called it Frosty's."

Frost shook his head, chuckling. "I don't think I could run a restaurant, though."

"Why's that?"  
"Because I'd be the only one in charge; everybody'll come to me for answers and orders and what-not. Here I'm just a sergeant and I'm still getting used to it. Oh, staff sergeant now. Big promotion, huh?"

Jasmine laughed politely. Inside, she knew it was more complicated. Many soldiers who enlisted and didn't go to OCS often came back poorly adjusted. Military life pressed men and women into a life with a lack of agency. Civilian life restored that independence, but after years of being told what to do, it was hard for many to do anything at all, especially in a work environment. Post traumatic stress was something than everybody was in for after the war, Jasmine thought sadly. Psychiatric clinics and therapists would be in high demand for both veterans and civilians. Offices would be overflowing with frayed people looking for answers to their problems. Treating PTSD was still difficult; patching a plasma burn was easy. Extracting shrapnel was east. Even installing a robotic prosthetic was easy. Curing PTSD? Nothing was harder than that. There was no surgery, no operation that just made it go away. Those who wouldn't be able to see proper psychiatrists were just going to get prescribed assortments of pills to numb their senses. Like that would solve anything, Jasmine thought bitterly. Every war dating back to the mid-20th Century couldn't handle the demands of treating veterans with PTSD. Non-war related cases were just as difficult to treat. Pills were tossed at the problems like candy. Doping sufferers wasn't going to solve any problems. Real help was required. No individual was the same. Some would need a constant companion. Others still would need an ear once in awhile. An entire spectrum needed to be considered-

Jasmine blinked as Frost snapped his fingers once, right in front of her face.

"Earth to Jasmine," he said, "you in there?"

"Oh, yes, yeah, sorry."

"Whatever you're thinking about, don't think too hard. We're on shore leave, we've eaten a good meal, we're alive. Relax a spell, eh?"

Jasmine giggled. Frost quirked an eyebrow. "What?"

" _Eh,_ " she echoed.

"Aw c'mon, that's low. The personnel from the U.K. say it more than I do!"

"No, it's _how_ you said it. You sound like you're from America but you have this little accent that gives you away."

Frost shook his head and drank from his glass of water, then stood up.

"That's cuts it. You have to dance with me now."

Jasmine and Frost had agreed to go somewhere that had music and dancing, more so for the former than the latter. Dancing had been more of his idea but Jasmine had no skills whatsoever and had steadily declined his initial offer. She had worried that it would offend him. Luckily, it did not. The idea of dancing made her nervous, especially with so many other people around. It seemed some trifle to get anxious about. After an atrocious battle and almost losing her friend, and treating countless wounded personnel for practically two months, she thought her stomach would have been steeled to anything the war could throw at her. Instead, the idea of moving on the dance floor, inhabited by happy married couples and teenagers trying to cop a feel or impress their partner made her nervous. Vivian had taken dancing classes and from the stories she told, she was quite good. Jasmine had only ever taken four and had performed so miserably that the instructor gave up on her. Such a nice evening was going to be ruined by entering the dancing scene.

"I'd rather not, Nate."

"Nope. You make fun of my _nonexistent_ accent, you have to dance with me."

He reached down and took her hand. Jasmine was pulled to her feet and reluctantly followed him.

"Nate, come on, I can't dance."

"Lucky for you, I know a few moves."

Once they found a spot for themselves and the music changed, Frost began showing her what to do. "Alright, we're going to do a basic waltz."

"Nobody else is waltzing."

"Yeah but we're _classy._ So, you're going to put your left hand on my shoulder-"

"I thought it stays down by my side."

"C'mon, it's 2541 not 1887! Now you'll take my left hand with your right and I put my left hand right here."

Frost's hand settled gently on the small of her back. Jasmine blushed; Frost must have noticed but was too polite to say anything. The smile on his face was reassuring. "Now we're just going to move in a tight square and then get more loose as we get more comfortable. We're not going to do that bouncing shit, we're just going to move and turn in a circle as we follow the square. Copy?"

"We're breaking so many frat regs."

"Yeah but it's worth it to make you smile." Jasmine blushed even more. "Now, don't look at your feet, don't look at anybody else, just look at me and follow my lead."

And then they were off. Jasmine felt sloppy and clunky in her movements but Frost led her along the invisible square he was so knowledgeable of. His waltzing was far different from the way she had learned it but she preferred it. The whole dance was simplified and much easier thanks to him. Soon, as she got the hang of it, they moved a little faster, and the square widened. Then, it widened ever more. And a bit later, they were moving freely among the other couples, who were nothing but a blurry mass. Jasmine's eyes were on his, and his didn't drift from hers the entire time.

* * *

Jasmine stared out of the window of her office. She was watching the lights of slipspace, as she found herself doing more than ever. Although this time she hadn't turned the office lights off. Slipspace was a chance to catch up on the backlog of medical reports, staff rosters, supply forms, post-ops, operating room conditions, and other administrative duties that drove her mad. Although she absolutely detested the responsibilities that came with being the chief medical officer, she was diligent and thorough with them. As such, she was able to get through them rather quickly. When it wasn't her shift in the medical bay, and there were no reports to read and file, there were one of two activities that she could take part in. One was staring out the window at the shifting lights of slipspace. Besides that, she could work on the book she pretended to be writing. That was too harsh on herself, she thought. Studying the coping mechanisms, beliefs, and emotional strategies developed by line marines would be beneficial for post-war therapeutic capabilities. Knowing how marines, or soldiers in general, tried to make sense of it all, could help treat PTSD. Work on it had been slow, close to nothing if she was being honest with herself. After she first got the idea and began writing a few paragraphs, she just couldn't muster herself to the task. Writing such a textbook required her to carry a great deal of research, as her previous works did. Cataloging different coping methods, corroborating them with the techniques used by other soldiers, organizing all of the data chapter by chapter, which cases to focus on for examples-would take a significant amount of time. More so than her others, in-depth and extensive as they were.

A more prevalent matter preventing her from taking to her keyboard was her unwillingness to perform the study. Asking marines about such things might not end well. It wasn't the 89th specifically. Going to anyone and asking how they coped with loss meant bringing up traumatic scenarios, such as the loss of a limb and having it replaced with a robotic prosthesis, or asking about the loss of a friend. Expecting combat troops to just open up that easily about it was unrealistic. Furthermore, she was going to put them through what she perceived as a potentially torturous conversation. Perhaps it would be worth it, forcing soldiers to undergo an instance of emotional hardship for a greater good-creating a psychiatric methodology for after the war. The greater good? Jasmine scoffed at the term. Greater good was just another way of saying the ends justified the means. Acting on such philosophy violated her own beliefs. She was capable of seeing the bigger picture; in fact, she had argued in its favor plenty of times. Forcing Vivian to promise not to harm Frost was asking a lot of her; asking her not to take any action against him was almost asking too much. But by twisting her arm, making her adhere to that promise, she wouldn't disrupt the unit cohesion of the fleet, nor would she jeopardize her position, or lose part of herself in the process. In that context, perhaps asking these men and women to open up for a result that could help them in the end didn't seem to awful. But Jasmine knew she would hate herself for it.

Was asking Frost to open up about his actions last night wrong? Perhaps. Perhaps not. She had to know. To say that she abhorred murder was an understatement. It was such a well-accepted fact, drilled into not just her's but every human's head that murder was wrong. Just saying the phrase, 'murder is wrong,' made it sound stupid. Of course it was! Had Frost murdered? Yes. Could she condemn him? No. Not yet, at least. Jasmine was trying to understand him. He was a difficult man sometimes, she decided. Killing those men at the fireside was murder. It was obvious he had committed atrocities on Skopje as well. Torture followed with murder was illegal, even in a time of war. From his words, Frost claimed that he had become something he wasn't, and he seemed almost frightened by that idea. His actions, he didn't seem to regret. Jasmine wasn't convinced. If she was going to asking anybody about coping mechanisms it was him, because he seemed capable of talking about almost...anything. That man, who seemed at times to possess such knowledge he bordered on becoming some kind of sagely wise man, and other times gave off a mysterious demeanor, talking about anything under the sun.

There was his excuse that he didn't want things to change between them. Jasmine, arms folded across her chest, felt her frame sag. Just thinking of him saying that made her feel depressed.

Labeling him a murderer was proving difficult. She couldn't say it. She just couldn't say he was a murderer. She could call what he did murder, but not say he was a murderer. Not him. Every time she tried, she thought of how they danced. She could still feel his hand on her back, gentle and warm. She could picture her hand in his, how their fingers were laced around one another. It was the first time he had ever danced with anyone. It had been surreal, like a dream. How could a man who treated her like that commit such vile acts? How could a hero with so many medals on his chest, who had saved so many lives, who had sacrificed so much, who seemed so...normal, do it? Was he a sociopath? Possibly. Sociopaths tended to have altered versions of right and wrong when compared to non-sociopaths. Had he made an exception out of it all? Only rebels deserved inhuman punishment? Vivian's friends had been killed cleanly, for the most part, but she personally believed that no killing was ever clean. Pushing past the troubling fact that the rules of engagement-which were mere guidelines on paper-separated her friends' deaths from murder, Jasmine considered it might not be sociopathic tendencies. Frost had a clear, driving, motivation; justice and vengeance. Those two words were synonymous to him. Seeing what had happened to the female Army troopers on Skopje, a crime that filled Jasmine with fury and sorrow, was why he had done it. Did that justify his actions? Maybe on Skopje, but not what he did in those woods. Or, maybe it did. Jasmine buried her face in her hand. Her mind was all over the place. She wanted to stop. But she couldn't.

Writing him off as a sociopath had to be ruled out. It was too simple, to easy. This was a more complex issue, she thought. Some of the most famous serial killers had put up false fronts of charm and intrigue. Both qualities that he certainly possessed indeed. Yet he was motivated by a crime, by a wrongdoing. Had he simply killed the men responsible in combat, that would have cleared him. Yet he took the righteous indignation within him elsewhere and made those who had taken no part in the act pay with their lives. To her, he almost seemed to be a priest come to rid a scourge of witchcraft from a 17th Century town. Answering crime with crime wasn't the answer. Still, the crime that drove him was beyond inhuman; it was hellish, evil. And he hadn't even given her all of the details; it could have been more horrid than she already knew. Could that excuse his acts? No, it couldn't. Could it?

Oh, how she didn't want things to change and yet how she wanted them to remain in the right. Was it right to defend a man who had killed prisoners of war and committed what were possibly even more horrible acts? Was it right to take the side of a person who would see that man killed or locked behind bars, despite his contributions to the war effort and the lives he had saved? Was it right to condone or condemn him for committing acts of barbarism to avenge acts far more savage?

Her mind raced backwards, considering other questions that she had long overlooked. But none of them seemed as prevalent as the very first: was it right to befriend the man who had killed her closest friend's childhood companions? Rules of engagement be damned, what kind of friend did that make her? It had been Frost that she had taken to eat at her parents' home, not Vivian. What an insult that must have been. But he was still good in her eyes then-he was still good, though that was perceived by her heart. Her mind was struggling to paint him as a murderer. And yet, she could not.

What they had was...Jasmine wanted to say special but then found herself wondering just what in the hell did they have? Friendship, obviously. Something more-she didn't know. She hadn't done this sort of thing before. Her romantic interests had never passed the stage of a simple crush, unable to work up the courage to utter a single word to them. They had danced, he had been introduced to her parents, they had slept in the same room, if not on the same piece of furniture. Did she have feelings for him? Jasmine honestly wasn't sure; she couldn't have feelings for a murderer. But she couldn't call him that...

He was...strange. There he had been, some random marine, lying on a cot in her medical bay. He had his hands rest on his chest, a smile on his face, while wounded men and women wailed around him. She was immediately intrigued by him and she remembered all of their conversations and walks fondly. Jasmine smiled. She remembered him standing stark naked during his physical, red-faced and uncomfortable. She had seen plenty of men naked during surgeries and exams. But seeing him there, having known him prior, made her equally pink in the cheeks. He was not a particularly buff man, though his body was toned and conditioned from years of athleticism, either from training or from the rigors of combat. He had a somewhat broad chest despite his somewhat slim frame, with a sheen of brown chest hair, and a muscular back. Jasmine, thinking about the whole affair, began to blush. Part of the exam entailed her to check for testicular cancer, and that had been an...experience for both of them.

Even such an awkward memory was sweet to her. It had been simple then. Two months was a long time for soldiers, she supposed. She wished she had never pushed Vivian into telling her that damned story. For the first time in her life, she wished she had been blissfully unaware of something. Everything could have remained the same. Maybe. Her mind wandered to a recent memory, at her parents' apartment, when they were on the balcony. They had been so close, so close...

The door opened. Jasmine turned around, expecting either Vivian or Frost. Instead she saw Corporal Steele and Bishop, the pointman from Frost's squad.

"Next time I'd ask you to knock," she said plainly, approaching her desk. "Is something the matter, gentlemen?"

"Aye, you bet there is," Bishop growled. He was stocky, though he looked quite short next to Steele, who was over six feet. Steele had a more indignant look on his face instead of anger.

"We're here to talk about Staff Sergeant Frost," he said. "Now, if you think-"

"Look here, _Doctor_ ," Bishop said menacingly, cutting off Steele who seemed surprised. Taking a step forward, Bishop raised his hand and pointed at her. "If there's one thing I can't stand is people who mess with my mates. Especially ones who haven't been what we've been through. You think he's a murderer because of what he did? You might as well call of us that then. We all saw what he did. We all took part in it on Skopje. The Innies had names for us all. Know what they called this lad here?" Bishop cocked a thumb at Steele, "The Hangman. They called me and our combat engineer, Maddox, the Glasgow Smiles. Take a guess at how's we earned that name, eh?"

Bishop was now right in front of her desk, leaving a bewildered Steele standing in the middle of the room. "You weren't there so you don't know the whole story. We all saw things that would make your blood curdle. If you were there, you'd understand. You'd have no qualms about it. A story's one thing, but seeing it with your own two eyes. That's something else. That boy there, Nate, he's a good man and nothing else. He's a _good man_ , who had to do horrible things just like the rest of us, to get rid of a bunch of thieving, murdering, raping, sadistic freaks. Want to know something that we all learned there? Doing good things means you sometimes have to be bad. If you think he's _tainted_ ," Bishop made air quotes in the air as he said the word, "then guess what, we all are. If that's what you think, fine. You go to Skopje and ask those folks at the city garrison, and they'll call us heroes. That's what counts: they're the ones whose thoughts counts, not yours, lady!"

He took a large breath and stared at her with burning eyes. "You think you're experienced now? Think you're a soldier because you fought _one time_ on the lines with us? Think you know war just because you treat the wounded who come in? You've barely got half the picture, lass. We've seen it all, we've been in this for years. We've all had to kill people, and none of us deserve to be judged by someone like you! If you want to judge us, fine, but first, you gotta pick up a rifle and killing an Innie bastard who's trying to kill you just so he can rob your corpse of the kit on it. Once you see how they fight, and you've had to defend yourself against them, then you can fucking judge us! Until then, you keep your gob shut tight about it and you give that boyo of mine a proper apology."

Bishop, red in the face, slowly stepped back until he was beside Steele. "Now, I'll be saying good day to you. And don't you dare cross my lad again."

With that, he departed. Jasmine, feeling shocked, looked at Steele. Steele, seeming quite surprised, cleared his throat.

"Right, uh...well, I didn't think he'd do that. Er...look Doc, what we're trying to say, what I'm trying to say, you ain't got the full picture, see? You can't just write him off as a murderer."

"I've done no such thing, Corporal."

"Yeah, well, take it from me. He's a good man. Saved me and a lotta other folks too. A lot."

"I'm aware, Corporal."

"What he did on Skopje...if you knew the whole story, you'd see it his way, our way. Maybe, I dunno. Maybe you wouldn't agree, but you'd understand."

"Then why don't you tell me?"

Steele smiled then and shook his head, his blue eyes becoming saddened and distant.

"No, ma'am, no. I can't. I can't bear to speak of it. If I do I won't be able to sleep for another five years. No. One day, he'll tell you everything. Right now, though, no. Nate-boy thinks those wounds have sealed up." Steele shook his head as he turned for the door. "He's wrong. Those wounds are half-stitched still."

"Corporal, wait."

Steele stopped and turned back around. Jasmine bit her lip and then said, "Is he...okay?"

"He's alright. He's just trying to process all this. He ain't exactly had to go through somethin' like this before."

"Yes. I forgot you haven't developed normally."

"Whatcha mean by that?"

"Almost none of you developed socially like most other people have. The majority of you entered the military via the Earthen Youth Programs at a young age. You didn't go through the social changes that came with your teenage years. You've had to mature through military doctrine and war. People like me went through the insecurity and confusion of teenage life."

"Oh not completely," Steele chuckled. "But I see what you mean. Though your...knowledge is wasted on me, Doc."

"Frost has endured a lot of pain, has he not?"  
"He has, ma'am," Steele said with a respectable nod.

"Just not like this?"

"A friend hurting him so? No. He and I have our arguments, one of our first big ones not too long ago."

"I'm aware."

"I'm sure ya are. Although I wouldn't say he was necessarily hurt by that." Steele scratched the back of his head. "No, not like this, ma'am. I'm sure if any of us were in his place with someone like you, we woulda felt the same."

Steele sighed and shrugged. "All's I'm saying is that you need to..." He stopped and sighed again. "Nate's a good bloke. But he carries a lot on his shoulders. When he's with you, he doesn't. I'm just asking that you don't hurt him, alright. Even if you think he's a criminal, and he ain't one...just...please don't. You're a good thing to him."

"A good thing?"

Steele smirked.

"I don't have the words for it; I didn't _socially develop_ like you did I suppose."

"I won't hurt him, Corporal."

The sniper snorted.

"Well, you have, ma'am. I suggest you give him a little time and then give the whole thing another chance. If that don't work out, I don't want you anywhere near Nate-boy again."

Steele left then. Jasmine sat down and took off her glasses, and suddenly felt extremely exhausted. Exhausted and guilty; it was at times like these she hated her condition..

* * *

Steele walked out. Bishop had been waiting for him. Silently, the two began walking back to the barracks.

Frank Bishop was a no nonsense type of man. Steele had sized him up from the moment they met. Not as cantankerous as Maddox, although not as serious as say Teo or Frost. Out of the squad, he was by far the toughest of them all. He was the strongest as well, barring Carris and her suit of armor-Steele wanted to joke that the armor was cheating but he didn't want to hurt the girl's feelings. Much like him, she hadn't gone through this proper social development that the good doctor seemed to know about. All the same, Bishop was a resilient man. Having both parents die at war either toughened you or broke you. And he was far from being broken. Bishop was a little older than the the majority of the squad, but still younger than Knight. He had hard eyes the color of thick mud; a lot could be gleaned about him from those two dark eyes. In them there was a general disdain for people outside of their unit. The more Steele thought about it, though, he decided it was more apt to say that he detested anyone who hadn't lost anyone or anything to the war. Even contributors to effort, like Jasmine fixing up the wounded, weren't free from his scorn. Having them render judgement against his comrades was basically spitting in his face. He was surprised the man didn't reach over and throttle the Doc for a few moments.

Losing his parents left a lot of rage in him, but he had control of it. Every soldier carried a fury in him, that was for sure. Control was key, knowing when to contain it and when to let it out. Dr. Jasmine wasn't deserving of their anger. Steele admitted that he was slightly embarrassed by the shouted lecture Bishop had given her. He didn't want to make the woman feel bad about the whole thing. Well, maybe he did, just a little. Still, what he wanted was to see the two kiss and make up and go back to the way things were. Their little friendship had become well known. Sure, there were rumors floating around but Steele knew the truth. It was nothing racy, nothing scandalous. Frost wouldn't let it come down to that, or at least he thought. Hope, he did not. The chump needed to keep loosening up and maybe a little love affair with the ship's doctor would finally work that firmly wedged stick out of his ass.

Bishop had gone in there for different reasons. Steele respected him for it though.

"You alright there, mate?"

"Yeah," Bishop grunted, his fists clenched so tight Steele could see the veins bulging on his biceps.

"Doc means well, you know that."

"She one of those moral absolutists are somethin'?"

"Enh, she's more flexible than that, though not as flexible as we, my friend."  
"

Heh, you'd probably like to find out how flexible she is, eh?"

"No, sir, I do not. I'll ask Frost if he ever gets the balls."

"He's got bigger balls than you. All you do is whip out the money and let the whores do their work. You're no expert on love."  
"Nope. I'm practical. Better we just find and pay some ladies to suck us dry than waste time asking them out on dates."

"What would your mother ay if they heard that trash come out of your mouth? Or should I say mothers?"

"Fuck you, mate."

"Least you still got one. I mean, you've got two; it's like having a backup tire. Consider yourself lucky mate."

"Oh yeah, I'm _real_ lucky aren't I?" Steele shook his head then lit a cigarette. He reached over and gave Bishop a solid pat on the back. "Mate, I think she'll come around."

"Who? Your mum? Step-mum? Which one?"

"No, you bloody idiot. The Doc."

"Ah. She better. Last thing anybody in the squad needs is a broken heart."

* * *

"You know, you can't say the phrases, 'what in the world,' or, 'what's the world coming to,' anymore, can you?" said Lieutenant Bassot.

Vivian looked up from her console. Everyone on the bridge looked in his direction, as he had broken the silence that had reigned for over ten minutes.

"Lieutenant you..." Vivian blinked. "Wait, what?"

"Well think about it, Captain." The stocky Frenchman turned his chair to face her, stroking his red beard. "People used to say those phrases all the time, right? Still do, right? Well, you can't really say it anymore, because each phrase implies that there's only one world. Well, there's tons of worlds now, each with humans on them. So we can't say it."

"I suppose I see your logic, but it is just a phrase and I doubt anyone would care to point out the technicalities," Vivian said, smiling.

"What would you say in its place, anyways?" Tsang asked. "What are these worlds coming too? What in the worlds? Maybe instead of worlds we should say colonies. What in the colonies?"

"No, no, no." Koroma shook her head. "Phrases like that need to ring or have a nice flow. Saying the _colonies_ doesn't flow at at all. Neither does worlds. Besides, there are two different sections of colonies, so you'd have to differentiate and at that point why even bother with the phrase?"

"You could instead say universe," Delaney offered from his station. "What's the universe coming to?"

"Galaxy would be more fitting," Commander Solak grunted as he scrolled through his data pad, his face stern with concentration.

"What's the galaxy coming to? That'll just piss people off, Commander!" Bassot said.

"Mm, I imagine an Outer Colonist would get offended," Delaney said with a shrug. Tsang snickered.

"Hey, what's the galaxy coming to, you'd say to the colonists. And he'd say, 'there's a war on and my planet just got blown to bits, thank you for reminding me dumbass!' or something along those lines."

"You can still use the original phrase," Sosa said, breaking her usual silence. Everyone paused in their chuckling to look her way. "When people use that phrase, 'what's the world coming to,' it's not about the actual planet. It's about the people who live on it. The word 'world,' is synonymous with 'people.' With 'humanity.' When you use that phrase, you're talking about the human race, as we are the ones who cause the changes that we question. Even though we're all over the galaxy now, you can still use that phrase, because you're actually inquiring about humanity, not about the world."

Everyone stared at her for a few moments. Sosa shrugged. "I suppose you could switch it out and say 'what is humanity coming to?' and it flows somewhat well, but the original phrase is what we're all familiar with, it flows, it makes sense, so let's let the matter lie, shall we?"

Everyone chuckled, including Vivian. Sosa was probably the most tight-lipped member of the bridge staff. Not stern or rude or tough, just un-emotive and quiet. Delaney was reserved but once engaged he was worthwhile to talk to. Solak was a man who hardly spoke outside of giving orders, but when it came for him to command, he did so with great speech and aptitude. Meanwhile, Sosa was not in a position to give orders and was nearly impossible to engage with. The most Vivian seemed to get out of here, even in conversation was a simple, 'yes, ma'am,' or, 'no ma'am.' Sometimes she omitted even the yes or the no, and only said 'ma'am.' It didn't necessarily bother her as it did concern her. Sosa was an excellent navigator with an exemplary record. Of course, the glaring item on her CSV was her status of being a sole survivor. In 2536, the entire carrier group she had been assigned to was annihilated. Out of the five ships, she was the only survivor, the only one who had reached a Bumblebee and launched to safety. Surviving an event like that left scars, scars Vivian was all too familiar with. Her lack of engagement made Vivian worry that she wouldn't be able to maintain good relationships with the rest of the bridge staff and cause cohesion to break down at some points. Her input on the conversation alleviated some of her concern however. It was good to see her have a little sense of humor in the subject.

"Well said, Lieutenant," Vivian said with a grin. She stood up. "Alright, listen up. We're going to becoming out of slipspace hard. Covenant ships will be sitting above the planet. We're going to use the MAC guns to disable their shields from a distance. We're then going to stay above their ships as we move; we're deploy Archer missiles to cause widespread damage. As we pass over, we're _Best of the Best_ , _I'm Alone_ , and _Batavia_ , will deploy Shiva nuclear devices from their holds as a parting gift. The Shivas will detonate once we're a safe distance away, and will obliterate their orbital ports along with any ships. Instead of bombarding any planetside facilities, we will focus on the fleet and the orbital stations. We will not be stopping once, ladies and gentlemen, we will be moving at full speed across the system. Once the Shivas have been detonated, we will be jumping to another system. Does anybody have any questions?"

Koroma raised her hand. "Go ahead, Lieutenant."

"Will we be engaging the Cole Protocol, ma'am?"

"Negative. We are jumping to a fallen system from target area. There are no Covenant forces present in the system according to ONI Prowlers in the AO."

"Ma'am, what if there are other Covenant ships not docked in the area we're raiding? What if any survive the Shiva blasts?" Delaney asked.

"The combined det of those Shivas will have a wide radius, but if there are any ships that survive they won't be our concern. We will not be stopping to engage periphery targets."

"Wouldn't that allow any surviving ships to following our slipspace vectors and chase us?" Commander Solak asked.

"Yes it wouldn. We'll be making several short jumps to nearby sectors, looping around them to confuse the enemy and throw them off our trail."

"Madam," Decatur said, stroking his chin. "I have an idea."

Vivian looked over at the AI pedestal and nodded.

"Hit me, Decatur."

"A naval base such as this is bound to have some light ships patrolling the area, keeping an eye out for any intrusions by the enemy, who in this case is...us!" He said this with a little chuckle. "Since we will not be engaging any patrols, they'll follow us, as the dear Commander has noted. Instead of leading them on a merry little chase, I propose that we loop around the planet in the first system, come about to face our slipspace exit point, and wait for the Covenant ships to follow. Once they make entry, we annihilate them with the full weight of our MAC cannons."

Vivian smirked. _A trap to finish off what's left, maximizing the raid. That'll stick it to the Covenant._

"I like the way you think, Commodore."

"One mike to slipspace exit, ma'am," Sosa said. Vivian sat back down and opened up the ship's intercom system.

"All hands...battle stations."

* * *

" _I know no perimeters, frequency, no limiters,_

 _We multiply integers, we back and forth so limitless,_

 _I'm positive, negative combined with infinity,_

 _You can grab a vine up on a line this is synergy,_

 _Anything you can feel, I can feel too."_

-Empathy by Bassnectar

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **I'm devoting more time to editing, so I'm hoping this chapter came out well. Hopefully soon I can get an editor/Beta reader. I've mentioned it before but the offer's open to anyone here; I'd rather have my beta/editor be someone who knows the story so they could also offer advice on plot, character development, continuity, etc. and not just correct my many spelling, grammatical, and mechanical issues.**

 **Also, funny story. A couple nights ago my gmail started to go nuts, as if I were being spammed by review notifications. I was partially confused and excited and a little worried; but lo and behold when I opened them up, they were notifications for reviews you have all left these past couple of months. Turned out the notifications were slow or something, super weird.**

 **Now onto my favorite part: comment responses! Yaaaay! Let's all imagine that was Kermit the Frog going 'yaaaay' there, alright? Alright, who's first goddammit!?**

 **MightBeGone: Ah, there'll be more for Carris and Steele in the future. Best be careful though; I am the all knowing and all powerful writer of this story here, and I can snatch away the life of any character I please! MWHAHAHA! I can sink that ship whenever I please! *cough* But uh, I wouldn't do that. Would I?**

 **I sympathize with you my dear fellow. Time really is the aspiring writer's bane, is it not? We have clever ideas for unique development for characters, interesting plots, and a general want to entertain readers, and yet we have hardly any time to take to our keyboards and type. Just gotta find the time and use it wisely. I'm still interested to see what you can do with the inter-period between Halo's 4 & 5\. **

**And a TV show would be cool but the video game to television adaptation rarely works out. I'm sure I'd get a lotta love from the Halo fans but not much from anyone else. Still, it'd be nice. Right now I'd be happy if it was converted into a webcomic or at least have accompanying artwork, you know? Don't get your hopes up but that may become a possibility soon. *wink, wink* *tap nose* *elbow, elbow***

 **Alpha HighBreed: B170? His/her fate was rather ambiguous was it not? Likely killed during Operation: TORPEDO? Gender, name, and race unknown? I LIKE IT. Potential character interactions with Kurt Ambrose as well as Lucy-B091... *strokes beard* I suggest reading Ghosts of Onyx if you haven't. I'm interested and invested already. Keep me updated on the planning and design progress.**

 **Mm, yes, someone knows about Skopje though still unaware of most of what happened there. Much like the reader. Hopefully this peaks your interest; all will be revealed someday. Not soon though.**

 **My friend, as a maritime historian, lemme tell you somethin'; an iceberg doesn't guarantee a sinking. In 1907, the SS** _ **Kronprinz Wilhelm**_ **rammed an iceberg but was able to stay afloat and complete her journey. There may be hope for that ship yet, but I'll redirect you to my response to our dear companion MightBeGone as to how ships may be handled in this story. *wink***

 **Caver Floyd: Steele will always be there to provide some...practical advice and insight. That's how I envisioned him from the moment I decided to add him, a character that was unafraid to speak his mind and spoke crudely and bluntly. Originally, Steele wasn't going to be included; I didn't think that Frost needed a sidekick or a best friend character, but after I devised Steele I realized how incomplete Frost would be without him, and how much potential there was for a character like Steele.**

 **Once more my good fellow, you hit the nail on the head. That's sort of the challenge for her, really, to actually use her brain, instead of wallowing in pure emotional rage. I won't say much more on the subject of the suspected calamity, because I don't want to spoil. I wish I could though! I guess I'll say it's not what you'd expect.**

 **UNSC-Helljumper: Thank you sir, thank you. I'm actually really glad that you pointed out the usage of sub-genre. Going into this story, I realized I was going to be tackling a lot. Adventure, romance, action, drama, hurt & comfort, horror, and more. I couldn't just make this one romantic epic, or just one adventure epic. It had to be a combination of all of the above. One might say that a story that incorporates everything is a master of nothing, but I disagree. Each genre as you've pointed out gets a relatively equal amount of time and devotion, and it varies which genre we see from scene to scene. This helps me as the writer from falling into cycles and from getting border, and keeps each chapter interesting and less tedious from length for you and the rest of the reading body. It's just a more flesh-out experience for you and me. If I attempted to cram this story under one genre, and have that genre prevalent in every scene, it'd just be boring. So I'm glad you're enjoying the mashup, and if you have any ideas, be sure to let me know. **

**And that's a rap, thank you for commenting and reading everyone! Next chapter coming hopefully soon!**


	31. Chapter 31: Pirates & Raiders

Chapter 31: Pirates & Raiders

* * *

The task force exited from slipspace. Ahead was the barren planet, once a flourishing garden world. Many Outer Colonies were, their surfaces green with forests and fields. Such worlds were perfect for crops and animal husbandry. Animals native to Earth were often brought to these colonies to breed and create a surplus. With such a surplus, alternative methods devoid of animal cruelty could be implemented. Of course, the colony world in front of the _I'm Alone_ had been reduced to a red-tan husk of its former self. All of the trees, all of the fields, the crops, the animals, and anybody who hadn't been evacuated were burned to ash.

Three orbital stations sat beside the planet. They were not particularly large. Closer study revealed they were nothing more than mere orbital docks in fact. Vivian felt a little disappointed; she had been hoping for space stations. Docks were strategic targets, but space stations made for better juicier targets. Yet taking them out would succeed in destroying the waystation they had constructed in the system. Although the planetside facilities would be left untouched. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Vivian felt a terrible pit in her stomach. They would have to stay to bombard the facilities, putting themselves at risk. Ignoring such a prime industrial target would hardly take out the waystation and would end up getting more people killed in the future.

Her eyes widened. No, they wouldn't have to.

"All ships, all ships, slight deviation. _Batavia_ and _Best of the Best_ , you will continue to deploy Shivas among the fleet once we sail over. _I'm Alone_ will be launching the nuke planetside to take out the facilities planetside. All ships, begin charging your MAC guns, prepare Archer missiles, prep Shivas, full speed ahead, out." Vivian turned to Delaney. "What do the scans show? Where's the position of the Covenant base?"

Delaney turned his chair. "Scans put it right below the orbital docks."

"Perfect, perfect, that's _perfect,_ " Vivian quickly clapped her hands together. "Decatur, when we launch our Shiva I want you to guide it and detonate it manually. Don't detonate it until it's reaches the optimal position to wipe that base off the surface."

"With pleasure, madam!"

"Ma'am, we've got the Covenant with their pants down. None of the ships at the docks appear to be steaming up."

"Good, good. How many ships do we have on patrol?"

"One destroyer-" Delaney began.

"-and two light cruisers." Decatur finished. "They are being slow to respond as well."

"How are we doing on the MACs across the fleet?"

"We're almost green across the board," Tsang said.

"Bring up the charges of the MAC cannons on the tactical screen," Vivian ordered. "Decatur, how many volleys will we be able to get off before we have to climb above the Covenant ships?"

"Two, madam. Our first will eliminate the shields, the second will cripple them."

"Two battlecruisers, three Corvettes at the docks. Two light cruisers, one destroyer for the trap. That's a good haul." Vivian rubbed her chin. "Corvettes have no shielding. Battlecruisers do. We have to prioritize. Alright, Koroma, dispatch firing coordinates for the fleet. _I'm Alone_ will take the closest battlecruiser." Their advanced guns would destroy the shields and get a good round on them. " _Batavia_ , take the rear battlecruiser." Their upgraded guns would have the same devastating effect. Vivian rolled the dice in her head. She could have her two frigates and her destroyer target the battlecruisers and deliver fatal blows, effectively putting them out of action for the remainder of the raid. Or she could have each one target one of the three corvettes and deliver a solid knock out punch to the unshielded vessels. She had to maximize the damage of the volley but also factor the enemy's capabilities, thereby decreasing the risk to her ships.

" _Determined Guardian_ , take the furthest corvette. _Lion's Den_ , the middle. _Best of the Best_ , the closest. Coordinates for second volleys are the same as the first. Confirm?"

"This is _Determined Guardian_ , farthest corvette, solid copy!"

"This is _Lion's Den_ , middle target, solid copy!"

" _Best of the Best_ here, closest corvette, solid copy!"

" _Batavia_ reporting, secondary battlecruiser, solid copy!"

"Green across the board!" Bassot cried. Vivian stood and pointed at the enemy ships.

"Fire!"

The ship shuddered as the MAC cannons blasted away. Golden streaks cut across the darkness of space, silently hurtling towards the ships. The battlecruisers, finally roused, began to move but it was too late. Their shields bloomed with the impact of the several MAC rounds and dissipated, while the fourth crashed through the hull. _I'm Alone's_ target developed a large purple-white fire on its starboard side from the fourth round. _Batavia's_ target had a gaping hole where its bow should have been. The three corvettes berthed at the orbital docks were heavily damaged, with large holes in their hull. The one targeted by _Best of the Best_ had been nearly torn in half by its dual MAC cannons.

"Good hits across the board," Bassot informed, "recharging MAC cannons."

"All ships, hold off on the Archer missiles. Our main guns should do the job. Delaney, status of the enemy patrol vessels," Vivian ordered, swinging in his direction.

"They're forming up on our three o'clock but by the time they're in position to attack we'll be past the orbital docks."

"Alright, keep an eye on them."

The orbital docks and stricken Covenant task force were becoming larger as the _I'm Alone_ and the other ships barreled towards them. Looking once more at the tactical screen, she watched the charging statuses of the fleet's MAC cannons in five horizontal bars. By the time they were ready to fire, they had about twenty seconds until they reached the point to ascend over the Covenant orbital docks. It would be close.

"MACs ready!"

"Fire!"

Once more, golden streaks soared ahead of them and crashed into the targets. The Covenant ships' hulls rippled with flame and debris began breaking away like so many clouds of dust. One of the battlecruisers had attempted to move into firing position. However, with a battlecruiser to its rear and an orbital dock to its side, there was little room for it to execute a turn. Now, crippled from a quartet of MAC rounds, it was out of control. The ship seemed to roll to the side and crashed into the dock, crushing the external components. Explosions and flame erupted from the collision point, and the dock began to crumple.

" _Merde_ , did you see that!?" Bassot cried.

"Somebody ought to take a picture," Tsang joked.

"Police that noise, focus!" Vivian ordered. "All ships, ascend! Sosa, get us up, _up!_ "

Sosa's fingers danced along her terminal and the _I'm Alone_ lurched upwards. Instead of watching their handiwork, they were greeted by a blanket of darkness populated with white dots. Moments later, they leveled out.

"Ma'am, it appears numerous dropships are fleeing from the battlecruisers. Some are heading for the surface facility. The rest are diverting to the patrol ships."

"They're not our concern Decatur, we're after bigger game. Most if not all will be caught in the blast." Vivian took a breath. " _Batavia_ , _Best of the Best,_ deploy your Shivas now. Transfer detonation control to _I'm Alone._ Decatur, have you control of the Shivas?"

"Indeed, madam!"

"How long until that Shiva hits that base?"

"About a minute, Captain."

"I want the det of the orbital Shivas to be simultaneous with the ground det. Understood?"

"Of course, madam."

"Ready, commodore?"

"Most definitely, Captain!"

"Launch the missile now!"

Vivian's eyes went to the tactical screen and could see the three projectiles on the map, marked by radiation symbols. Two sat side by side among the wreckage of the docking area. The third was making a speedy descent towards the planet.

"All ships, input the slipspace jump coordinates but wait for my command to execute the jump," Vivian said over the comms. She watched the symbol of the Shiva nuclear missile descend further and further. It broke atmosphere and came ever closer to the position of the Covenant facilities below.

A bead of sweat rolled down Vivian's temple. She looked at Decatur. The blue hologram stood with one hand behind his back and the other holding his commodore's hat. He looked straight ahead.

"Detonation in five, four, three, two, one-detonation."

"All ships, execute slipspace jump!"

With a tremendous tremor, the ship entered slipspace. Exhaling deeply, Vivian sat down. "Decatur, how long will this jump be?"

"Well, the system you have selected is right beside this one. Well, in layman's terms at least. Rather, there is a great deal of distance between the two but by the standards of slipspace travel-"

"Decatur, time."

"Twenty-nine hours."

"Alright. Let's see if those ships took the bait. If they do, they'll be right behind us. We need to make sure we get around the planet in the second system and be in formation facing the exit point."

"Yes, madam."

"Good work people, good work. Three orbital docks, one extensive industrial facility, two battlecruisers, three corvettes. Not bad for a day's work."

"And a destroyer and two light cruisers for an encore," Bassot grinned.

* * *

"You know, I've only ever watched Italian porn."

Steele blew a cloud of smoke into the air and looked at the faces of his comrades. They had all just sat down in the barracks after returning from the hangar. During orbital engagements of any kind, their battle stations were there. Marines had to muster in the hangar and standby in full kit alongside the Pelicans. Pelicans served as secondary evacuation flights if a ship was disabled. Personnel who couldn't reach the Bumblebees could in turn hop on a Pelican if they legged it to the hangar fast enough. As well, it was a sort of formality. Long ago, marines on sailing vessels had stood by to board along with their Navy cousins. Once broadsides had disabled an enemy ship, the grappling hooks were thrown, the boarding blanks were latched on, and the marines stormed over with bayonets and muskets. Steele considered it a waste of time and was glad to be back. His squad mates didn't seem to be in the best of moods. Frankly, it was a bit of a pisser. All they had to do was stand there and wait. It was awful. There was no way of knowing which way a battle was going, whether they were winning or losing. Answers wouldn't come until they had defeated the enemy ships or their ship was retreating or about to explode. Stressful was too weak of a word to apply to that kind of waiting period.

Not wanting to be in a room of sulking fatheads, he decided to rouse them into conversation the best way he knew how. Knight, Bishop, Maddox, and Langley were on the floor getting ready to playing a card game. Moser and Grant were about to teach Carris how to play chess. Frost was sitting on his cot, beside Steele who was on his own.

Everyone looked at him with a mixture of disgust, confusion, surprise, and the slightest hint of curiosity. Steele kept grinning, his cigarette dangling from his lips, and his arms outstretched expectantly, waiting for someone to throw him the bait.

"Yeah, go on," Knight finally mumbled.

"Well, I've watched American porn and I say, it's quite strange. They're always screaming and swearing and oily and they don't ever look like they're enjoying it."

"Mhm...okay..." Bishop grunted. "What about British porn?"

"It's the same thing but with better accents."

"Is there going to be some kind of test at the end of this?" Grant asked.

"Yeah, should I be taking notes?" Maddox joked.

"Italian porn is best, see, because they actually look like they're fucking enjoying it. And because they speak in a different language, there's a perfect amount of cultural difference to make it less _weird._ Know what I mean?"

Everyone stared at him, unamused. Steele kept smiling. Finally, Moser shrugged.

"You could say that about European porn in general. Continental Europe that is."

"I didn't think such a godly man as you would dare to look at the stuff," Steele said. Moser shook his head.

"I have not looked at any. I'm just applying logic to this...argument, you propose."

"By the way," Grant said, "when have you ever actually watched porn? You've been a Marine since you were thirteen. We don't have access to computers or the extranet in general."

"Mate, I was watching that stuff when I was ten years old. Nobody else was using the home computer we had. Put it to good use when nobody else was home, know what I mean?"

"Ten? Either you're an early _early_ bloomer, or you're truly fucked up," Bishop joked.

"Your depravity knows no bounds," Frost said to Steele jokingly from his cot. Steele grinned at him, triumphant that he had gotten the slightest hint of a smirk from Frost. The staff sergeant nodded at him. "But that's enough Lou, nobody wants to know any stories about your jerking off to porn. Bad enough that you wear your debauchery on your sleeve."

"Alright mister stick in the mud," Steele said, laying back.

"What the hell does debauchery mean?" Maddox asked.

"If you look it up in the dictionary, the little example that comes with the definition will say something about Louis-Henry Steele's drinking and whoring habits," Bishop remarked.

Silence resumed. Cigarette smoke soon formed into a light gray cloud hanging above their heads. Steele watched the game intently for a bit. Langley wrinkled her nose and coughed.

"Do you all really have to smoke in here?"

"Where else are we going to smoke?"

"Can't you wait until you're off the ship?" she persisted. "Some of us are going to end up getting problems from second-hand smoke if you keep it up."

"Bigger things to work about than lung cancer," Bishop said, clenching a cigarette with his lips as he looked at his cards. "Like getting shot or stabbed or blown up."

"In case you've forgotten, we're in a _starship._ We are literally sitting in a pressurized cabin, do you know dangerous it is to smoke in that kind of environment?"

Everyone looked at each other, and then back at her.

"No."

Langley rubbed her forehead.

"Just...Just, just, _just_...play the hand for Pete's sake."

Steele sat and smoked, watching the card game unfold. Langley had become a good poker player. Still, her resolve to be a scolding mother towards the others hadn't been broken yet. He had hoped by this point she would stop nagging them about their chain smoking and other bad habits. Apparently, it wasn't acceptable to leave mustache hairs in the sink after he trimmed up a bit. After she discovered that he was sure he was about to start another galactic war. But he liked her; she was a good sport. She didn't mind their proclivity for drinking whiskey and their cursing, and she had stopped pestering him about his collection of pornographic magazines.

Carris, their other new addition, was still getting used to things. Sometimes, he felt bad for her. When the squad got to talking fast and began speaking over one another, she often looked quite enthralled. Happy, even. He supposed she found something charming about their overlapping and confusing banter. While he didn't consider himself too biased, he firmly believed their squad had the best conversations in the entire MEU. Other squads talked about home and family and ideas for how to live after the war, like a bunch of _normal_ people. What rot, thought Steele. Here, their cabin was the only place where one could partake in an introspective analyzation of the global pornographic industry and then start talking about the risk of smoking cigarettes. Steele chuckled to himself.

But poor Carris. Every so often she had this disappointed look on her face as she remained silent during a conversation. How could she join in on most of them? Her military career was something different from theirs. She had been on her own. And just by the greeting her own unit members afforded for her, he could see they didn't exactly have conversations like they did.

 _Bunch of sods._

Who greeted a friend like that after so many years? Not even a hug? A handshake? Hell, if he hadn't seen Frost or anybody from the squad in a decade he probably give them a wet, sloppy kiss on the cheek! That's why whenever she laughed or smiled or was able to join in, Steele had a bit of a victory on the inside. Making her enjoy herself seemed like taking a stab at those unemotive armored bastards she called her brothers and sister. Causing life to be so drab, bland, and boring, even in the military was akin to torture in his mind.

"Budge over."

Steele looked up and saw Frost standing over him.

"If you want to cuddle, you need to make popcorn and grab a movie that has at least three stars," he joked sarcastically.

All the same, he moved over and Frost sat down beside him, swinging his booted feet onto the bed. They sat shoulder to shoulder. Frost had a book of his own-something written in French, with no words that Steele could read. He decided to pick up _A Farewell to Arms_ again and continued reading.

Minutes ticked by-every five or so, Steele took a glance out of the corner of his eye at Frost. He _seemed_ like his normal self. Of course, Steele knew him better. Whatever hurt was plaguing him, whether from injury or elsewise, he kept it on the inside. It must have been tearing at him then, as he wouldn't have just decided to sit down beside him for no reason. Words sometimes failed Steele-he didn't consider himself proficient enough with wordplay to be any help in bad touchy-feely situations. Being an ear to listen to one's ailments was something else, but Frost wasn't too keen on utilizing him for that. Having their shoulders pressed against one another was enough comfort. Soldiers utilized such a manner of contact as another means of speech and of communication. What it said was: I'm here for you.

So Steele rolled his left shoulder, pressing it slightly against Frost's. Frost didn't reciprocate the action but Steele knew he had acknowledged it.

"I wish we could go fishing," Frost said, then.

"Fishing?"

"Yeah. I used to go fishing with my dad and my uncle. Just sit there all day long with the rods pointed out, waiting for a tug on the line. We got a lot of big fish dinners that way. Having some fish would be a nice change."

"We have a five-fuckin'-star restaurant on this ship and you're complaining about a lack of fish?" Maddox asked.

"Fish is better for you than red meat," Langley said with a shrug.

"Yeah, but red meat makes you a _man!_ " Knight joked and in an exaggerated fashion, flexed his arms. Bishop laughed.

"You ain't got shit, boyo!" he said, rolling up his sleeves, revealing his own large, toned muscles. He flexed and the veins bulged.

"Carris has you both beat in the abs department," Steele joked, pointing at the operative. Carris looked like a deer in the headlights for a moment. Then, she smirked a little, and Steele swore he saw a slight pink hue in her cheeks. "She could probably lift a Warthog without that armor, couldn't you?"

"Probably not. But I know I could probably pick you up and toss you like a ragdoll."

"Now _that_ I would pay to see," joked Grant.

"Hey, maybe we could go fishing next time we get shore leave," Moser said over the laughter. "I'm sure they wouldn't mind."

Frost smiled.

"We don't have any fishing rods, or tackle, or bait."

"Christmas is coming up," Moser said. Frost rolled his eyes.

"Lucky son of a bitch gets to have his birthday on gift-giving-day. Can you believe that?" Grant said.

Steele put his book down and clamped both of his hands on Frost's shoulders.

"That's alright; this is God's gift right here!" he said. "Jesus-resurrected in chiseled Nova Scotian perfection."

That made Frost and the team laugh.

 _Ha, victory is mine._

* * *

" _The late afternoon,_

 _The ghost in your room, that you always thought didn't approve of you knocking boots,_

 _Never stopped you letting me get hold of the sweet spot by the scruff of your,_

 _Knee socks..."_

Jasmine felt light in her chest listening to him sing. She had no idea what song it was, what time period it came from, or what it was even about. All that she knew was that it made her blush and get butterflies inside.

The wind brushed against the pair as they stood on the balcony overlooking New Alexandria. Shouting voices drifted upwards, cars streamed along below, horns honked, orbital vessels shot by overhead. Every so often an Army Falcon would buzz past them, its propellers making the tell-tale _chop-chop-chop_ far off in the distance.

She looked at him from the side. The rugged beard, the soft gray eyes, the ghost of a smile on his face, the way the wind played with his hair. All of a sudden, he turned and looked at her.

"That was a nice picture of you. You looked good in those knee socks."

Jasmine blushed a little.

"It's a bad picture."

"No, it ain't."

"Those knee socks were the worst part."

"Not in the slightest. They...uh..."

Frost suddenly blushed. Jasmine smiled slyly.

"They what?"

"Well..."

Jasmine took a step towards him and placed her hand on his as it rested on the balcony. Frost looked down, almost in shock, and turned redder. "Well...er...it seems forward to say."

"Please, be forward."

"Well, you've got...nice legs...and those knee socks, well..."

Frost cleared his throat and stood up a bit straighter, turning to face Jasmine. She stood right in front of him, and moved her hand from his up to his face. Frost's cheek was warm and her fingers tingled with the bristle of his short beard. He then moved his hand up and placed it over hers, and closed his eyes for a moment. He seemed to press his cheek into her palm a bit more then. Gray eyes seemed to turn as blue as water then, and Jasmine found herself stand up on her toes. He leaned down a bit, and she found that they had come so close that their noses were side by side, and there was hardly any space between their lips. Jasmine began to close her eyes, putting her other hand on his chest.

"Jasmine! Nathaniel! Dessert is ready!"

Jasmine automatically pulled back, turning bright red, fearing that her parents were about to step out onto the balcony which was thankfully concealed by a curtain.

"Alright Mom, thanks."

She sighed and looked at Frost. The marine scratched the back of his neck nervously, a blush crossing his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

Jasmine cleared her throat.

"Raincheck?" she asked. Frost smiled a little.

"Yes, sure, I'd...yes, definitely," Frost said with a little stutter. Jasmine smirked and came a bit closer.

"Good. Besides, it should be you that kisses me," she said, putting a finger on his chest. Frost smiled that old boyish smile of his, exposing his missing tooth. "Promise?"

"Promise."

* * *

Jasmine was back in her office, tapping her pen against the edge of the desk. Friends didn't kiss like that, or almost kiss like that. Did they? She wouldn't know. Vivian was her friend and they had never kissed. Then again, she had never had feelings for Vivian like that. With an exasperated sigh, Jasmine decided to finally own up to her emotions. Of course she had feelings for the man. Who wouldn't, besides the obvious? From the moment she had met him he had been strange, intriguing, charming, funny, smart, and compassionate. Courageous as well. Selfless beyond a doubt. Heroic? He was the spitting _image_ of heroism.

When she was around him, she felt happier, more capable, more at ease. Stresses of the day disappeared, worries of the future became non-existent. He never asked for much and burdened her with little. Except now, his past had come to be a great weight on her mind and her heart.

Part of her just wanted to face-plant on the desk and cover her head with her arms. What would she sacrifice if she didn't condemn him and they continued on like nothing had changed? Her personal code of ethics? Her beliefs? Her morality? Her humanity? Everything she stood for?

He was a _good_ man. He was! He had to be! Throughout the two months they had known one another, he had never done anything too grievous to make her think otherwise. There had been that one time where he had shoved Vivian to the deck. To say she had been riled by that was an understatement. Differences came with every friendship, and Jasmine had plenty with Vivian. But none of that mattered. Friendship demanded that the two parties overcome their differences and she was more than happy to do that with Vivian. Ever since they met she had admired Vivian, her tenacity, her strict moral code, the way military tactics and strategy came so easily to her. And during her tenure as the _I'm Alone's_ captain and the commander of their strike force, she had put the lives of her personnel first. Even in such a time of war, military commanders were still lusting for glory, awards, and advancement. Because of those selfish desires, good men and women paid the price with their lives. Calling in danger-close fire missions got an officer medals, yet forced them to put his or her troops at greater risk. Friendly-fire incidents were rising throughout UNSC-controlled space. Some officers just weren't up to the task, didn't possess the abilities and qualities that a real leader needed. This was a war for survival and they hadn't realized that yet. Propaganda ranging from news bulletins to cheesy, overly-patriotic movies had indoctrinated them into joining the service. Because of their wrongly-perceived 'selfless' choice, they wanted something out of it. They wanted a film made about their exploits, or their name to show up in a book, or be interviewed by war correspondents. Those kind of officers were being weeded out, mainly because they were getting themselves killed in their less than gallant quest for glory.

Vivian was the ideal leader. Skilled, selfless, brave, highly intelligent, and above all, _caring_. Caring seemed then to be such a weak word to describe how she treated the combined personnel under her command. All the time, she was touring the ship, stopping in every facility to see how her people were doing. From the bridge to engineering, security to the kitchens, intelligence to ODSTs, she called on them all and checked on them. As soon as she popped her head into a door, everyone would turn, salute, and beam with smiles. Vivian would swear and joke with the ODSTs, would go over analytics with the intel staff, would help mechanics carry tools and secure bulkheads or damaged armor plates on aircraft and vehicles. Sometimes she would even chew a little tobacco with a few of the marines, or go study the reactors with Chief Burgess. The science team on board, reclusive as ever, remained the only bastion of personnel which she didn't grace with her presence. Frankly, Jasmine was alright with that; the science team hadn't left their laboratory once since they first set off. If they didn't want to interact with the crew, fine-they could have their meals delivered to them and they could do their busywork while everyone else did the real work.

Frost and Vivian seemed so similar. Two people who put others before themselves. Two individuals who were willing to risk themselves for a greater good. Two people who would rather die than dishonor their comrades and the individuals under their command. Two selfless, honorable, _good_ people. With glaring flaws, of course.

Both of them were less than perfect. Wallowing in an emotional anguish and allowing that to influence her actions was the most glaring issue with Vivian. While it never came into common execution of tactics, Jasmine was concerned one day that it would. Separating her battle prowess from her past became impossible when Frost was in sight. The very thought of his existence brought out that fury that turned her into an entirely different person. Would that drive her over the brink? Surely, she would keep her promise. Jasmine did her best to have faith in her, but her doubts persisted.

And Frost, what he had done was his obvious shortcoming. What he had done was...complicated. Events that happened after Skopje were more cut and dry. However, his actions on Skopje were different. He had witnessed an atrocity, one that had never been disclosed to the public. To think of it made Jasmine want to vomit. Anyone who had seen what he had seen would have fallen in line with him. Rage, hate, sorrow, all of it had driven him a bloody path of revenge.

 _And justice._

Clasping her hands together, Jasmine nearly shivered as her mind began to agree. If she had been in his shoes, had seen what he had, would she have maintained the moral high ground? Would she have taken those men prisoner, allowing them to be tried? Or would she have done what he had? Saying that she would have argued for their lives was a complete lie. Men who had taken part in a mass rape of captured female soldiers were not worth defending. Was torture necessary? Part of her believed that true pursuers of the law had to be above the criminals they sought. Bringing themselves down to their level defeated the purpose. The other side wondered what kind of punishment a lifetime in a cell was for those...monsters? Death was better. Torture? Jasmine found herself not feeling too appalled by idea of a rapist being tortured.

Making an exception for what he had done on Skopje was a compromise on her integrity. Saying that murder on one planet was sanctioned and on another planet it wasn't seemed insane. Yet the Skopje Rebels did more to deserve such a punishment than the ones that Frost executed. Those men he had killed had caused the deaths of servicemembers, men Frost had known for over three years. It could have been avoided. Knowing the fate that had befallen his comrades, and the one that Frost had carried out against the thieves, it seemed to follow the age-old maxim of an eye for an eye. Could that be justified in a time of war? Undoubtedly, those men would have been tried and executed for theft of military goods; in a time like they were in, the UNSC justice was not kind to rebels. The majority were often sentenced to death; the governing mentality that once a rebel, always a rebel, and the less of them, the better. So, what did it matter? They were dead, their crime repaid. Jasmine rubbed her forehead.

What had he meant by he had become something he wasn't? The 'real' Jack the Ripper? Jasmine was no fool; she had a brain and enough sense to figure out that what he had done had been so cruel that even he was shocked that he had done it. Did he have some kind of split personality? No. Soldiers became different in combat, she had seen that for herself. At Camp Havens, she had seen honest men who had been cracking jokes, helping their wounded comrades, and lamenting over the distance between themselves and home become animals, stabbing, strangling, shooting, and pummeling the enemy as they attempted to break through. Howling and roaring, their faces contorted with a kind of fury that made them almost unrecognizable, Jasmine had been terrified. But that was part of war; soldiers had to kill, and killing changed them. Thrust into a chaotic situation such as that, fighting for their very survival, how could they not become animals? Perhaps the same strain of logic could be applied to the events on Skopje, despite how they remained mostly unknown to her.

She could still feel his shaky breath washing over her. His rough hand in hers, his beard underneath her fingers. The wind pushing against them, as if trying to make their lips meet. And then she could feel his trembling fingers as it applied the burn cream to her injured back. The concern of his voice still resonated in her ears. The goosebumps on his arms as he stood naked in the examination room, the scars all over his body. His smile and gentle hand on her back. The sadness that gripped him as he stood over the dead body of his sergeant. He was a good man. A man of pain.

Jasmine realized she had never asked him how the events, what had happened to the women, had affected him. What had that done to his psyche, how did impact him emotionally? It was obvious it had affected him, but she had never gone deeper. Jasmine almost wanted to tear her hair out. She had been so quick to jump into examining his actions and whether or not she could label him as a murderer that she had overlooked her number one duty as his friend: making sure he was okay. Jasmine nearly buried her face in her hands.

* * *

Pacing in her office, Vivian ran through the possibilities of acquiring some kind of proof to incriminate Frost. She realized in doing so she would most likely incriminate the entire 89th MEU. Several thousand crack troops would be pulled from the operation and be examined for war crimes. No matter how the trial went, the unit would most likely be disbanded, the troops who didn't get tossed into a cell would be spread out among different units, and their legacy would be forever tainted. Was losing an entire expeditionary unit of troops with five years of experience and numerous wins under their belt really worth it just to see one man get the punishment he deserved? During the past two moments, she had done her best to be friendly with the marines. Many of them had begun to take a shining to her, she realized. They paid her as much respect as they did to their own officers. That was no small feat, she realized. Different branches were extremely loyal to their commanders and were wary of officers from other wings of the military. To have them salute her as smartly as if they were on parade was an achievement. Some of them, the ones she knew, were quite good men. Having to chew tobacco with them was always a chore and she always had to give her mouth a firm cleaning afterwards, but seeing their faces brighten when she sat down with them and take part, it always felt worth it. Jasmine didn't approve; the habit she said was just as bad as smoking. Vivian considered herself healthy enough to partake once in awhile. It wouldn't become a habit.

With a heavy sigh she decided if the 89th had to go down with Frost, then so be it. Besides the few squads she knew, she was suspicious of the rest anyways. If Frost had killed rebels on Skopje, so had they. She couldn't forgive them for taking human life. Perhaps some would be dishonorably discharged and sent home. At least that was one positive aspect; she could get them away from the war to enjoy what peace was left. No, she wouldn't sugarcoat it. Frost was a criminal and many had probably acted as brutally as him, maybe worse. To get rid of them was ridding the ship of pestilence.

What could she do? She then remembered that Jasmine had begun to take photographs right before the investigation of the _Best of the Best._ Katz had arrived not too long after. Between the two, they had begun to create a ship's photographic log. Or at least that's what Vivian called it. Calling it a collage of their 'adventures' as Katz put it made her feel immature, as if they were on some high school road trip.

It wasn't uncommon for ships to keep a collection of photographs depicting their actions, however. Most ships had an unofficial cameraman or two, while others carried entire combat camera crews. Ground units also had them. A unit with the prestige and longevity of the 89th had to have a scrapbook or collection. Perhaps there would be some evidence there, tucked away and out of sight. Finding it would be the key.

She held the advantage. Almost none of the crew or the marines had any idea of her history with Frost. All she had to do was ask one of the marines if they did and then go find it, take any photos that might hold any evidence of what they did on Skopje, and present them to Travers. Travers could recall the task force to Reach and detain the entire MEU for investigation. With such damning evidence, sentences could be levied against Frost and other personnel. Maybe she could even get Holst to testify as an eyewitness to the killings after Skopje. That would be enough to bury Frost and his entire squad. A clean trial with the right people and evidence would get the guilty parties behind bars. Or maybe shot; even if it was just him put up against a wall, that was fine by her. Getting some new marines without human blood on their hands would make her feel more at ease and she could finally enter the damned war without having to deal with him. And she could finally put the past to rest. Her friends could finally be at peace.

 _But what if that doesn't work?_

There was Katz, then. Katz was still a pest but he had at least shown that he wasn't entirely useless. While many were still suspicious of him, the general consensus was that he wasn't the vulture everyone had originally thought him to be. Still a bumbling idiot, but harmless enough. He had earned a good reputation with the marines for getting Frost and his squad on the cover of _Time_ magazine. Some of the ODSTs apparently had a welcoming attitude as well, as Captain De Vos had been included in the photo. What mattered to her was that he seemed good natured. Taking advantage of that apparent good nature was the plan; leak the eyewitness account, her own story, and any photos to him. Then, he could publish them and cause an uproar for the 89th's removal and a subsequent court martial.

 _And what if he refuses?_

If all else failed, she could instigate Frost into slipping up. Everyone thought he was some paragon of virtue. That clean, boyish look he had, that apparent perfection which disgusted her to no end, had to break. If she could push him over the edge, make him slip, make him act aggressively against her in some way, she could report him to Travers and have him court martialed. Having him lash out against someone else was out of the question; Vivian wasn't going to put any of her people at risk. The only person she was going to risk against him was herself. Was putting Katz up to it putting him at risk? No, she could protect him. Only she would provoke him. There was something murderous inside of him, something willing, hungering to kill. She knew it. If she could bring it out, even at the cost of her own life, it would get him off of her ship and make him pay. The big hero who had gotten away with murder, no matter what she did, would end up rotting in a prison cell.

Contented with the plans she had devised, Vivian went to sleep easily for a change. No nightmares plagued her slumber.

* * *

It was late. Steele was sitting at one of the long tables in the mess hall alone. Only a few other personnel were there, picking up coffee for the graveyard shift or a quick bite to eat. Some were asleep at the tables. Others smoked lazily as they read a magazine or a book. Katz was over at one of the other tables, looking over photographs he had taken. Steele smirked. Kid was annoying, but at least he was diligent with his work. Part of him regretted making a fool of the correspondent in the mess hall some time ago. But putting him in his place in such a spectacle had been too much fun.

Sipping his tea, and reading his book, Steele didn't notice Carris walk up.

"Hey, love," he said. Then he chuckled. "Can't sleep?"

"I can. I just thought you'd be out here. Is something wrong?"

Carris sat down across from him, wearing the fatigues that they had given her when she had first arrived. Steele could see the toned muscles pushing against her clothing. She wasn't buff like some of the other muscle-heads around. Yes, she had a eight-pack of abs that put everybody else to shame-it was toned though not disgustingly blocky some of the marines Steele knew-but her arms were not huge. Her muscle culture was well-defined, that's what it was; especially on her back.

"Nope. Just wanted some tea."

"Seems strange for a man who chugs whiskey to like something so formal as tea."

"Oh, tea's not that formal."

"Seems like it. Don't you ever drink water?"

"I'll be damned before I drink that swill," Steele joked. Carris smiled, which in turn made him smile. She had a nice grin; she had pale pink lips that matched her almost porcelain-like skin tone. It gave her an almost fragile appearance, complemented further by her jet black hair. Those vivid dark blue eyes as well; they almost reminded him of doll's eyes.

"I wanted to ask you something a few nights ago."

"Mm?"

"Why didn't you say anything when I was about to leave with the members of my old unit? Everyone else said something, and you didn't. I thought you would. You just looked...I don't know. Indignant, almost."

"Indignant?" Steele quirked an eyebrow. "Love, too big a word for me."

Carris didn't smile that time. Steele coughed.

"Right. Well, see love, I don't do goodbyes that well. They're hard for me. Don't like'em. Hellos are more of my thing."

"Why are they hard? With what you say about your family, it doesn't seem like saying goodbye to them wasn't that hard."

"It wasn't, love, it wasn't," Steele said bitterly into his cup, "I was glad to leave them."

"Not so much me, though."

Steele looked down a little.

"Yeah."

"Why is that?"

Clearing his throat, Steele let go of his cup and clasped his hands together. Tapping his booted foot on the deck a little, his leg bouncing nervously, he searched for the words.

"Well, you may find that in war," he said, finding the almost official tone to his speech appalling, "friendships are forged rather quickly. For instance, look at Frost and the good doctor. Two months in and the two are a few steps away from taking their vows."

Carris quirked an eyebrow.

"Are you trying to say that we're like them?"

"What? No, no!" Steele said, waving his hands quickly. "That's not what I'm saying! I mean they, well, it's pretty obvious that they, well, you know-they've got something for one another."

"And you're saying that we don't?"

"No! Wait. Maybe. Uh, yes. No. Wait, what?"

Carris continued to look at him, perplexed and astounded.

"I thought we were friends. I may not know that much about the whole _concept_ ," she said, making finger quotes, much to Steele's entertainment, "but I was under the impression friends were friends because they had feelings for one another."

"Right! Friendship feelings!"

 _Christ, what a stupid phrase. Blimey, Lou, get it together._

Carris nodded.

"Right. Frost and Dr. Ebrahimi, what they have is a bit different. More, romantic?"

"Right."

"Then I don't see how the comparison works."

Steele ran a hand down his face.

"That's not what I was trying to say. The comparison is, in the relatively short time they've known one another, yes, they've developed a close relationship. You have been here for a short time, see, and you and I, at least I believe, have become quite firm friends."

"I don't disagree," Carris said with a sweet smile, "it was you who was holding my hair when I was hurling on Thanksgiving."

"Yeah, right," Steele said with a smirk and a chuckle, "and saying goodbye to you, my friend, well, that's hard stuff, C. You had fit in with us quite well, you fought with us, you almost died with us. That makes us real close friends, see? After all of that, saying goodbye," he sighed, "well, it wasn't really something I wanted to do. If I had tried to say somethin' I might have, lost control of my emotions."

"Really?"

Steele blinked and coughed a little.

"Well, not breaking into hysterics and such. But, you know, shed a tear or two. When it comes to goodbye, I just want to get'em over with, y'know? Quick, with no fuss, no bother, no hugs, no kisses, no parting words. Most I'll ever do is a handshake."

"Didn't even afford me a handshake."

"Like I said, I didn't think you'd be staying. Just wanted it done so I could move on. Everyone else said that junk about staying in touch but that was a load of shit. We're in the middle of a war. Communication with home is hard enough; trying to get word to you, always on assignment and the like, would have been nearly impossible."

"I see. Well, thank you for clarifying. I've just been curious."

Carris stood up then. Steele found himself standing to.

"Uh, won't you stay for another cup of tea then, love?"

"I shall not," Carris said kindly, stepping around the table and putting a hand on his shoulder, "and neither should you. You should come back to the barracks and get some sleep. I have a feeling that our services will be called upon tomorrow."

Carris then walked past him, heading towards the barracks. Steele watched her until she stepped into the corridor. He couldn't help but grin and find her a strange, fascinating girl. Curious and determined, always learning, constantly observing, like she was performing recce. Those blue eyes of her's, always watching, always sparkling, and a quiet voice, quiet like the way she moved.

 _And one hell of a body._

* * *

"We're in system ma'am," Decatur reported as Vivian marched onto the bridge and took her seat.

"Delaney, scans?"

"No Covenant ships in-system."

"Give me a report of the planet."

"No name, just a letter-number combo: X177. Slated for development three years ago but was chanced upon by the Covenant. Eighty-five percent of the surface has been glassed save for a swamp region on the northwestern continent. No signs of Covenant facilities of any kind, ma'am."

"Alright...where is that swamp region in relation to our orbital position?"

"Our exit point is directly above it, ma'am."

"Good. _Determined Guardian, Lion's Den,_ move your ships to these coordinates respectively."

Vivian found herself changing strategy again. The plan had gone smoothly despite the deviations. Traditional officers maintained that a plan should be followed through even though new developments may arise during the operation. Vehemently, Vivian disagreed. Any wise, modern commander, like many she had studied under at Luna OCS, remained flexible during an operation. Rolling with the punches was a sound way to lose ships and personnel on top of failing the mission. Moving her frigates to the left of the exit point, forming a battle line of in front of it with the heavier ships, and keeping the planet to the right trapped the Covenant. Moving backwards was not an option once the enemy vessels exited slipspace. With X177 on their right flank, they wouldn't be able make any evasive maneuvers without dealing with the planet's gravitational pull. Backing straight up was a fool's errand; all it did was make them a slower target. Their pursuers would be perfectly boxed in, making for an excellent shooting gallery.

"Sosa, take us around the planet, fast. Sending coordinates to other vessels as well. I want plenty of space between ships, is that clear? Over."

All of the other captain confirmed the order. Vivian sat on the edge of her chair as they circled around the planet. Drumming her fingers quickly on the arm of her chair, she waited. Once they were finally in position, she stood up. "Fleet message: charge MAC cannons, arm two Archer missile pods. I want our weapons hot. We have the element of surprise but this works both ways; we do not know what kind of formation they will appear in. But we can be certain that they'll exit right where we did; they're advanced tracking tech will prove their undoing. There will be no firing coordinates; when they appear, I will give the order to fire at will. Is that clear, over?"

"Clear."

"Understood."

"Solid copy."

" _Da._ "

Vivian nodded and wiped the sweat from her brow.

"Bassot, are you ready?"

The stocky Frenchman turned in his seat and nodded.

"Yes, ma'am. They won't know what hit them."

"Good. Knock their lights out."

With all ships green across the tactical screen, their weapons fully charged, they were prepared. Now all they had to do was wait. Waiting was the bane of all military men and women. Vivian found it unbearable. Nobody on the bridge uttered a word. Not even a whisper. Fingers were lighter on their keyboards. Tapping on data pads became softer. Soon, all menial work ceased as everyone stared ahead out of the bridge at an empty section of space. Eyes kept glancing between the planet and two frigates to their right. Sweat glistened on everyone's forehead in the fluorescent light of the bridge.

"Decatur," Vivian finally said. "Have any good stories?"

"When my squadron was blockaded at New London during the War of 1812, there were two times in which I have never been so tense," said the the AI. "When I first attempted to escape with my ships up the Thames River of Connecticut, it was a dark night; black like the sky when a gale rolls in, churning the sea and blotting out the moon and stars. I planned to use the cover of darkness to sneak through the blockade, so that we may fight the British another day and not have to spend the rest of the war in port. My men were made hungrier for combat by our engagement with the HMS _Macedonia._ My chaps were brave...brave good lads. Brave like the lot of you." The blue hologram of the centuries-old commodore smiled. "Our ships sailed up the river, quietly, the current taking us along, the little waves lapping against our hull. Not a man our deck or in the hold made so much as a squeak. A cough was like a pin dropping, though on a night such as that, it would have been akin to a cannon firing. As we approached the mouth of the river, however, I spied, to my dismay, two blue lights. I was in a fury; blue lights. I say, there were traitors in that town who started those blue, burning lights. It was a signal most definitely to the British blockade. I had to call an end to the action. I never found the traitors but if I did I would have had them clapped in irons and thrown into the darkest part of my vessel's hold."

"And the second time?" Lieutenant Koroma asked. Everyone on the bridge was now looking at the AI hologram, wide-eyed and mesmerized.

"Well, the second came not longer after. I offered to the commander of the British squadron a duel. Although, not a duel of pistols and swords. One ship, versus one more. One American, one British. If we won the duel, then we would sail free. If they won the engagement, we would admit defeat. My counterpart, a man by the name of Hardy, communicated back to me that his ship _Statira_ would battle _Macedonia_ , the latter having been added to our squadron. His claim was that they were sister ships and as such, should be the ships to participate in the duel. Although I found it quite strange that sisters should war with one another, I agreed on the terms that _Macedonia_ would not be returned to the British. Hardy would not accept that offer. There were many communications under the flag of truce between us. The air was thick with tension. We wanted to be out of the wretched blockade and to fight. But I found I couldn't trust Hardy to the duel, and he found that I was not to be trusted either."

"But you're quite honorable, aren't you?" Vivian asked with a smile.

Decatur smiled slyly.

"I would not use such a word to describe myself. I have only ever done my duty, by my parents, my flag, my men, and the Navy. But a good sea captain shall always remain wiley, if they are to ensure their enemy's defeat and keep their vessel preserved to the utmost." With a chuckle, he put on his hat, and rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. "Remain wiley, my dear Captain Waters. Do not be deterred by the wait, no matter how long it gets."

Vivian nodded and looked ahead. Everyone else did. As if on cue, as if the enemy had waited politely for them to turn their attention forwards once more, the destroyer appeared flanked on either side by the light cruisers.

"Fire at will!" Vivian cried.

Golden streaks raced across the darkness of space. _I'm Alone_ had fired on the destroyer; the first two MAC rounds eliminated the shields, and the next two struck the destroyer on the nose. _Determined Guardian_ and _Lion's Den_ fired into the light cruiser in front of them; their rounds struck just after _Best of the Best's_ two rounds. With the shields gone, the frigates' MACs caused the light cruiser to explode in the center. Ruptured, the bow and stern broke away from one another and began floating in opposite directions. A cloud of twisted, fractured metal billowed out in a perfect sphere between the two halves. On the other side of the destroyer, _Batavia_ had destroyed the bow section of the light cruiser. The ship's front became a smoldering ruin.

Vivian sprung forward and clapped a hand on Bassot's shoulder. "Archer missiles, now!:

"Archer missiles, aye, captain, aye!"

"All ships, fire one Archer pod, wait for my order on the second!"

Missiles streaked through the gap between the unscathed UNSC vessels and ruined Covenant ones. Orange puffs of flames appeared with each missile impact. None of the destroyer's point-defense weapons had been activated; all of the missiles reached their target unhindered. Both light cruisers were out of commission, with one split and the other beginning to break up from internal explosions. The destroyer was scarred and beginning to suffer internal detonations like its fellow ship. Vivian squinted at it, studying. Then she saw something beginning to flare. Her eyes widened. "Bassot, is the MAC charged again?"

"Yes ma'am!"

"All ships, fire your second Archer missile pod! Target the destroyer! Bassot, fire!"

Cloud of missiles swarmed the Covenant ship once more. More flames appeared. Four MAC rounds barreled down range and smacked into the destroyer. Vivian saw the growing flare on the enemy plasma turrets flicker and fade. The destroyer began to break up. Everyone on the bridge stood up and gave a cheer. Vivian joined in.

"Man, they didn't know what hit them," Bassot cheered.

"We hit the Covenant on turf they thought they had conquered," Commander Solak said, the only man refraining from the celebrating, "we destroyed a major complex that was undoubtedly vital to their local operations."

"Does that make us pirates?" Tsang asked.

"What? Pirates have to steal something, not just blow it up!" Koroma argued.

"Actually, no they don't," Delaney explained, "piracy is characterized also by violence on ocean based vessels or starships. What we have done is an act of war, but..." he smiled, "piracy sounds more romantic to me."

"Then that's what we are then!" Bassot said. "We're Waters' Pirates!"

Everyone cheered once more, louder than ever. Vivian laughed. She quite liked the idea of being called a pirate as well. Of course, there were no rules governing of how to properly attack Covenant shipping. Delaney was correct, what they were doing was militarily justified.

Being a pirate was far more stylish, however. The only one not too keen on the idea was Decatur, who folded his arms.

"Pirates are a blight and a scourge of the seas, I should remind you all," he said, matter-of-factly.

This just made Bassot laugh.

"That's right! And we'll be a scourge of the Covenant!"

Vivian laughed and was about to reassure Decatur when Ngouabi strode up beside her and pointed ahead.

"Look Captain, Phantom dropships are deploying from the destroyer. They're heading planetside."

Vivian looked at the tactical screen.

"Decatur? Have you picked up the Phantoms? Zoom in with the bow camera."

The screen shifted to the camera. A few zoomes later, she saw the purple-armored Phantoms descending. "How many, Decatur?"

"It appears that eighteen Type-52 crafts are heading towards the swamp region on the planet, madam."

"I took the liberty of having a Longsword wing ready to scramble. I can have them deployed and have a second up right after," Ngouabi offered. Vivian stroked her chin for a moment and turned back around, an idea popping into her head.

"Phantoms carry what, sixteen to thirty Covenant soldiers, excluding the crew, correct?"

"Indeed," Ngouabi answered, his old gaze curious. He stroked his beard thoughtfully.

"Most likely fully armed?"

"Maybe not fully but most certainly having some weapons. Phantoms often carry supplies; weapons, equipment like grenades, munitions for needle-based weapons. I think it would be safe to assume these Phantoms are survivors from the battlecruisers we obliterated. If so, then there's a guarantee they're carrying battle-ready troops and supplies."

"Then I want those Phantoms."

Everyone looked her way-even Decatur-in surprise. Ngouabi blinked.

"You...want them...?"

"Yes. Standing orders are to collect Covenant weapons and equipment as best we can so we can send them back for the techs to study. Eighteen Phantoms, plus all of the weapons and cargo inside, and the equipment on the Covvies inside sounds like a pretty good haul to me. How about you?"

Ngouabi couldn't help but grin.

"It does, ma'am."

Vivian nodded.

"Decatur, get me a fix on their landing area. Have _Determined Guardian_ and _Lion's Den_ comb the wreckage. Commander Solak, get me Colonel Hayes."

* * *

Jasmine joined Vivian and Colonel Hayes in the hangar. The two were discussing plans for the attack. A supply crate had been set up with a printed map of the Covenant position, as well as stills from surveillance drones. Hayes and his officers were standing around it. Vivian was the only Navy officer present and had her hands planted on the large, waist high crate, her eyes studying each spot Hayes pointed at. Sidling up behind her, Jasmine peeked over her shoulder.

"The Covenant position is in the shape of a square. From the photographs taken by the drones, it looks like some of the Phantoms were carrying some defensive materials. Light barricades, those vertical energy barriers, those kind of things. It's not a hardened position however; the Covvies are using the natural mounds and small rises in the swamp to use as cover, and they've chosen they're spot well. See, their position gives them perfect field of fire in four directions. Each accesses route to the position will lead right into the mouths of their guns."

"What's your suggestion, then?" Vivian asked.

"We don't attack the lines of the square. We attacked the corners, that way they can't bring their plasma turrets to bear on us. Plus, look here; because they're using the rises as cover at their corners, my troops will actually be able to approach from those angles and fire _down_ into their position."

"Sounds good to me. How many men are you sending?"

"Three rifle platoons from Bravo Company and one from Charlie Company, all pulled from the Vanguard."

"Four platoons in total? At most that's about, what, one-hundred twenty troops? Colonel, _eighteen_ Phantoms landed. Considering their total capacity, there could be a maximum of five-hundred forty Covenant troops on the planet."

Hayes and his team scoffed and laughed. Holding out his arms to the side like an entertainer, he smiled wide.

"We've defeated larger forces with less than one hundred men." Hayes stepped away from the huddle. "Staff Sergeant Frost!"

Jasmine turned to see him, fully clad in his armor and kit, at the rear of a Pelican. Frost wheeled around and stood at attention.

"Sir!" he said loudly in the bustle of troops, mechanics, and pilots.

"There might be over five hundred of the bastards down there, what do make of that?" Hayes asked with a cocksure smile on his face.

"Sounds like good odds to me, sir!" Frost answered.

Hayes turned to face Vivian with an expectant look on his face.

"My boys can handle it. Besides, their actual figures are probably smaller considering the Phantoms had to make room for the Type-42 turrets, barricades, and supply crates they brought with them. Can't your drones get closer, zoom in, get more accurate figures?"

"Nothing we can rely on," Vivian admitted, "the Covenant dropships are in the center and troops keep coming and going between them and their defenses. Considering the count has only reached two hundred means there might be more inside."

"Guarantee two hundred. Good enough for my Vanguards."

"Four Pelicans will be able to transport your men," Vivian said, "once the area is secure, we'll deploy all of our Pelicans to start ferrying the Covenant gear to _Batavia._ She has the larger cargo hold. Ngouabi assures me that he has men who have had the opportunity to be inside Phantoms before so they'll be in charge of shuttling them up to the carrier. I hope my orders are clear: no unnecessary destruction of Covenant ships and other equipment."

"Understood, Captain," Hayes said. "Alright you lot, get to your platoons. Lieutenant Conroy, you're ranking officer, so the operation is yours, understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Good on you, get it done."

Hayes clapped his hands and went off with his command staff to the bridge. Vivian was about to follow when she noticed Jasmine behind her.

"Jas, good to see you. Is the infirmary ready for casualties?"

"Prepped and ready."

"Great, thank you."

"Congratulations are in order, I think," Jasmine said with a smile, "two battlecruisers, three corvettes, two light cruisers, one destroyer, three orbital docks, an entire industrial facility, and thousands of personnel, vehicles, and other small craft. That's one hell of a victory."

"With more spoils to come, my friend," Vivian said gleefully. "We kill the survivors, gather up the loot, and steal their ships, then we really will be pirates."

"All should fear the dread pirate Waters," Jasmine joked. Her gaze drifted back to Frost, who was checking his assault rifle.

Vivian must have noticed because she took a step closer.

"Let it go, Jas."

"Viv..." Jasmine said, exasperated.

"Look, you're my friend. I say this because I'm worried about you. I don't think it can work."

"I'm going to make it work."

"But with a _murderer_?"

"Don't...call him that," Jasmine said in a growl. Vivian frowned.

"You're really going to ignore what he did?"

"He's my friend. He deserves more consideration instead of blatant condemnation. He saw his friends kept ripped apart by Brutes and-"

"I have no sympathy for that sob story," Vivian stated firmly, "I watched my friends get gunned down by _him._ Apparently, that's acceptable, but his friends get killed and suddenly revenge is totally justified?"

"I'm not saying it was justified."

"Then just what in the hell are you trying to say? You're okay with a man who mercilessly slit a bunch of scared shitless rebels' throats?"

Jasmine trembled at the thought.

"I'm not okay with it. But I'm trying to look at it through a soldier's lens. Vivian, think about it. You and I graduated from OCS four months ago; we've been on assignment for _two._ Frost has been fighting on the ground for five years. _Five,_ Viv. Even you have to admit he's more experienced with war as a concept than we are. We're newcomers still, fresh, and even still, we're up here on the ship. Think about it; you may never have to set foot on a battle ground. Are we really going to think what he's done hasn't been committed by hundreds, _thousands_ of other Marines and Army troopers? What's appalling to us may just be the norm, Viv."

"That doesn't justify it."

"No, it doesn't. I don't agree with it. But we can't judge him for it. Frontlines are a different world Vivian, one that we haven't experienced as he has."

"The law just doesn't disappear because men are on a frontline."

"I agree."

"Then how can you justify what he did?"

"I'm _not!_ I'm trying to understand him. He's my friend and I...I care about him." Jasmine looked at him again and felt sad. "I care about him very much."

"How can you when he's committed such crimes?" Vivian asked, her voice soft.

"Because I know that he's good. You might think he's a monster. But I know him. He's a good man. There's something there, inside him, that's not the real him. What he saw on Skopje changed him. If you think he's a threat, then let me help him get it out of him, that rage."

Vivian scoffed.

"So, a boy gets his face roasted in the fire and the rest get a blade taken to their throat. All by his hand. And you think he's good?"

Jasmine took a step closer.

"Vivian, what do you think they would have done with those rebels if they were handed over to the military authorities? For causing the deaths of UNSC servicemen through theft of materials, what punishment would they levy?"

Slowly, Vivian looked down at her feet. She knew the answer. Jasmine nodded. "That's right. They would have put them up against a wall and shot. This isn't 2525, Viv, it's 2541. The UNSC is through with putting up with Insurrectionists. You know that unless a rebel as any kind of skill, they're either going to be executed or locked up for life. For an offense like that, they would have been executed. There's no more sympathy for rebels. The brass wants them all dead."

"So, you're saying that what Frost did was basically cut out the middleman-due process-and decided to be judge, jury, and executioner himself? Jasmine I can't believe I'm hearing this out of you. Has he really corrupted you?"

Jasmine took a step closer and got right in Vivian's face.

"That man, is not corrupt. He is hurt, in here," she point at her chest, "but I never thought I'd side with such an argument either, Viv. What place does due process have if the same outcome will occur either way?"

"Due process sets us apart from criminals, Jas! Don't you see that? It keeps us from being killers!"

Jasmine shook her head.

"You insult your senses, Captain Waters. In a span of two days you've destroyed many ships with thousands of lives on board. Do you think your hands are clean? Those ships were destroyed on your order, those aliens killed on your order; you killed them. It's the same as when Frost pulls the trigger and guns down an Elite. You're both killers out here. Out here, you are judge, jury, and executioner, because this is a frontline."

"Sorry Jas, but I'm not convinced. Saying that we can mete justice out anyway we want makes us above the law, and I will not do that."

"Then how about this? When you realized it was him, what did you try to do?"

Vivian's arms dropped to her sides and her face became blank. Jasmine nodded. "You tried to kill him. He killed your friends, so you tried to kill him. Now, you condemn his actions against the people truly responsible for the death of his own friends. That just makes you a hypocrite."

Vivian blinked a few times. Then she regained her composure.

"If you're going to try and spin it that way, then you'd be saying I'd have to kill the men who ordered the assault. Colonel Hayes, or perhaps Hayes' superiors. Because their order got my friends killed."

Jasmine shook her head.

"You don't even believe that, do you? You've always maintained that the person who does the killing is the real culprit, not the person who orders it. It was him, it was his choice, and thus he had to pay for it. That's what you've always said to me, what you've shown me. Don't try to argue something you don't even believe in, because that makes you hypocritical _and_ contradictory of your beliefs."

Turning to go over to him, Jasmine took one step before Vivian took her by the forearm. She glared into her eyes.

"I'm going to see him put behind bars. I will _not_ kill him."

"Vivian, you're my best friend," Jasmine said with sad smile, "but I don't believe you."

Vivian's eyes widened with hurt and she let go, her arm falling limply to her side. Jasmine sighed. "I trust you with everything Vivian, everything."

"Just not him," Vivian muttered, "I get it."

The two looked away from one another then, both awkward and hurt. Vivian looked at Jasmine then and said, "Well, I made you a promise. I'm going to stick to it. No matter how you feel about him, I'm going to see that he's going to be tried and sentenced. But not killed."

"Fine," Jasmine said. She began walking towards the Pelican, then stopped, turned, and said to Vivian, "I thought as someone who is looking for vengeance because of your loss, you actually _could_ sympathize with his actions. You're above hypocrisy and contradiction, Vivian."

Not looking back this time, Jasmine walked over to Frost, composing herself on the way. It wasn't much, she wasn't disheveled by any means. She just hoped she didn't look upset, otherwise Frost would realized harsh words had been exchanged between her and Vivian.

Frost had finished taping his ammunition clips together for quick reloads. Standing among his squad, who were all packing extra ammo, he jammed the dual clips into his pouches and pockets.

"I knew Hayes would be sending you down there for this raid," she said, doing her best to keep her voice from shaking. She was nervous.

Frost didn't respond; he didn't even look at her. She cleared her throat. "You'll...be careful down there, right? Nothing brash or thoughtless? I don't want to see you in my medical bay tonight."

He remained silent. Frost slammed a clip into his assault rifle and turned to enter the Pelican. Jasmine reached out and took his hand, pulling him back. Frost complied, turning around and facing her. His gray eyes finally met hers. "Listen to me," she said, "if you won't talk, fine, but listen. I know you're hurt because of what I said and I'm sorry. I want to talk about it because you're my..." she faltered. Friend was a word she did not want to use. "You're...you're important to me," she whispered, "please don't just shut me out. I've thought about it and-"

"Frost, we've got to go, bruv," Steele said from the compartment of the Pelican. Everyone was climbing in now. The pilot, Jasper, was also there.

"You're holding things up," he grumbled, "But by all means, stall the raid so you can tell your lady-"

Steele elbowed the pilot in the ribs.

"Shut it, Pelican-jockey."

"Need I remind you this _jockey_ has pulled you out of the fire multiple times now?" Jasper said as he disappeared towards the front of the dropship. Jasmine sighed but didn't let go. She put her hand on top of his free one.

"Nate, please. I understand what you were trying to say. I understand why you had to do it. I don't agree with it, I can't condone it. But I _understand_ now, and I won't judge you for it, I won't write you off as a, a, mindless, unfeeling murderer. You're a good man. You don't have to carry around that anger any longer. You don't have to be Jack the Ripper anymore. You're not Jack the Ripper."

Frost betrayed no emotion. His face, adorned with his traditional three jagged lines of gray war paint, showed nothing. For few moments he remained silent. Jasmine looked into his eyes, waiting.

"Take your hand off of mine," he finally said in a low tone. Jasmine did so reluctantly. Frost inhaled sharply and said, "We will talk, but not soon."

"When?" Jasmine asked.

"When I no longer feel hurt," Frost answered. With that, he climbed into the Pelican. The rear hatch closed. Jasmine stepped back and watch the dropship with three others depart from the hangar. She began to walk back to the medical bay, a pit forming in her stomach. Frost was coming back unscathed, she knew. It was waiting for him to speak to her again that she was anxious about.

* * *

Frost crawled towards the enemy camp. Slithering through mud, swamp water, reeds, and other muck, he was wet and covered with filth. They had landed several kilometers away to ensure the Covenant did not see them coming. Hopefully, their motion trackers wouldn't pick up their slow crawl either. Small movements, such as slow crouching or going prone made one virtually impossible to detect on motion sensors.

Pausing to look over his shoulder, he observed his squad. Everyone was keeping pace with him and Lieutenant Conroy. Carris' large armored frame stood out in the dark but she made as little noise as the rest of them.

Jasmine's voice echoed in his ears. He was curious to hear what she had to say. Yet the thought of sitting back down in her office and listening was just too much for him. Seeing her moved in such a way had made him feel very low. It had taken a lot of restraint not to speak to her. He felt he had to, but he worried that the words he would utter would not be his own. The last thing he wanted to do was barrage her with another, curse-riddled tirade. Hurt would drive him to anger. Besides making him even more enraged the only service it would provide was widening the rift between the two.

Jasmine hadn't been in his world. Hadn't done what he had, hadn't seen it, hadn't experienced it. Soldiering was different from doctoring. A soldier had to be willing to do horrible things and had to make choices on the battlefield. Killing those men that day had been to avenge his fallen comrades and because of the banner they had labored under. All rebels were scum that needed to be put down. That anger she spoke of was necessary. They had to pay-die-and he had to be the one to do it. No one else: him.

" _Please don't kill me. I have a little brother who's five years old. He doesn't have anybody else to look out for him. Please, our parents died two years ago and we've been on our own. He has no money, no food, nothing, please-"_

Frost paused mid-crawl as he heard the rebel's voice drift through his mind. He kept moving.

" _I have a little brother who's five years old."_

He shut his eyes as he moved.

" _You're a good man."_

" _He doesn't have anybody else to look out for him."_

" _Law does exist on the frontline, Nate! It's there and all it needs is for good men like you to follow it!"_

" _He has no money, no food, nothing, please-"_

" _...I won't write you off as a, a, mindless, unfeeling murderer."_

Frost stopped again, opening his eyes as he heard her voice against the boy's again. He wanted to block both out. He had done right by killing that boy and his thieving friends in the woods. They had gotten Echo Squad killed and deserved to die. They were Insurrectionists; terrorists and murderers, the whole lot of them.

" _Please! I have a little brother!"_

" _Guess he's on his own now."_

Frost lowered his head slightly and saw a charred face looking up at him from the murky water to his side. He jumped to the side, stifling a gasp that threatened to leap from his throat. He felt Steele's hands latch on the back of his vest as he crawled up behind him.

"Shh!" he hissed quietly. "What's wrong? You alright?"

Frost looked at him, then back at the water where he had seen the face. It was gone. He nodded and picked his assault rifle back up, resuming the crawl.

Was he wrong, killing those boys? If the theft hadn't occurred, but the ammunition somehow didn't reach Echo Squad, would the troopers in the supply dump be responsible? Or was it just the Brutes who were responsible? No. No, no, no. Those rebels were the true culprits. They had to be. Monsters who thought of only their own and tortured UNSC personnel; they weren't men, they were animals.

" _I have a little brother who's five years old."_

Frost felt his jaw clench. He couldn't get the thought of his head. Had he just taken out his rage on some poor bastards who had been trying to get ammunition to defend themselves and some food for their families. No. Thieves-thieves! Immoral bastards who would rob the men and women trying to protect them, despite their loyalty to another faction. Throwing your lot in with the Insurrectionists was pledging loyalty to isolated bands of murderers, rapists, torturers, bombers, assassins, and worse.

Was that blubbering kid on Skopje fall in any of th0se categories? No. He was no rapist. He hadn't killed anyone, or detonated a roadside bomb, or assassinate a politician, or torture UNSC prisoners, or murderer prisoners of war. Men who had done that had a look, an air, about them that gave it away. No, Frost thought- _he_ himself was a man who had assassinated leaders and tortured prisoners of war before ending their lives in the most brutal ways he could. Who was more like the Skopje rebel then? That wailing boy or him? Which?

" _You're a good man."_

"No, I'm not," he whispered.

"What?" Steele whispered from behind.

"I made my choice," Frost whispered again.

Steel reached up and shook Frost's leg.

"Mate, I can't hear you."

"Noise discipline!" Lt. Conroy seethed from the front.

Frost slowed down as Steele slithered up beside him.

"Bruv," he said in the lowest tone he could manage, "you good?"

"Yeah, yeah," Frost assured him and kept moving.

 _They're all the same. They're all criminals. They're all monsters. Wright said it himself; we brought ourselves down to their level, willingly, to get revenge. To do evil, so that some good may come. What I did was right. It has to be. I made my choice to do evil. If I do evil for a greater good, does that still make me a good man? It has to. It has to..._

Determined to clear his head, Frost made a decision. A promise, to himself. In five or so days, he would return to Jasmine's office, hear her out, and then try to see things from her side. And if, in the end, there was still something between them, which he already knew she was striving for as well, and kicking himself for not reciprocating that desire in the hangar, he would make good on that promise he made to her on Reach. Maybe then he could clear this smoke from his head.

Finally able to focus again, Frost paused as he saw Lt. Conroy raise a fist in the air, signaling for the crawling column to stop. He made a motion with his hand. The platoon converged on his position.

He turned on his back on the embankment.

"The Covvies are right below us. Second and third platoon are in position. Charlie's first platoon is also where they need to be. We're going to all get into position along the embankment, pick our targets, and fire simultaneously. Snipers target Elites, designated marksmen aim for Grunts on turrets and Jackals. Once we eliminate the bulk, I want assault rifle-armed troopers, shotgunners, and SMGs down in there. Above all, maintain a base of fire. No frags unless absolutely necessary."

Everyone crawled further up and took up position on the crest of the mossy embankment about a dozen and a half feet above the camp. Frost found himself between Steele and Bishop. Just below them was the enemy camp. To say it was shoddy was an understatement. Barriers that they had been set up were partially sunk into the soft soil of the swamp. Turrets, numbering at around five or six, were lopsided as their tripods had also sunk partially into the ground. Supply crates had been overturned to use as cover. Frost found it almost laughable. Strange how they didn't carry entrenching tools of any kind. Maybe they thought a foxhole was just too human and primitive for their own use, despite the cover it afforded. The only real cover they had came from the vertical energy shields they had tossed on the ground and the Phantom dropships themselves.

Grunts milled about rather aimlessly, their chunky arms dragging along and their heads low. Jackals squawked and screeched at one another as they tapped into their food stores. Instead of commanding their lesser troops, Elites were congregating together and growling among themselves. No Brutes or Skirmishers were present, and that was fine by Frost.

Evening was about to dissipate into night. No moon hung in the sky. The blue-purple sky was dotted with shining stars, with a sheen of white on the horizon of as the sun finally set. Frost adjusted his sights and took aim at a team of Grunts.

"Open fire!" Lt. Conroy hollered. Pulling the trigger, Frost mowed down the small group but had to close his eyes for a moment. All four platoons had followed the order to the letter, simultaneously firing together. The muzzle flashes had ripped the night up with such sudden force, however, that he was dazzled. Having learned to fight despite the setback, blinking quickly, Frost took his rifle back up and began firing. Grunts ran around trying to find cover and were cut down in seconds. Jackals attempted to deploy their wrist-mounted shields, but being surrounded on all sides meant that their sides and rear were exposed; they were swiftly dispatched. Sniper rifles resounded among the chatter of other weapons, their heavy rounds striking Elite after Elite in the head.

Corpses piled up quickly and as soon as Frost heard the order, he got to his feet and charged down into the camp. A war cry rose from the assault troops. Leaping over the sinking barriers and wading through bodies, they killed the wounded they came across and began combing the camp. Many of the defenders were already dead. The first volleys had been extremely effective. Frost and Bishop cleared a one of the dropships, then another, and another. As they entered a fourth, Bishop lowered the barrel of his shotgun. Frost paused as well, listening to the sporadic gunshots and shotgun blasts outside the Phantom they were in.

"Guess we're done here," Bishop said.

Frost turned to face him.

"Yeah, I-"

"Look out!"

Frost turned and ducked as an Elite, emerging from the cockpit of the Phantom, swung an energy sword at him. He rolled backwards and Bishop squeezed off a shell from his shotgun. The distance was close enough that the Elite's shield was broken but the enemy remained standing. Swinging the sword down again, the alien cut off the barrel of Bishop's shotgun. Frost leveled his assault rifle, but the Elite slammed it out of his hands with his free hand. All three lost their footing slightly as the Phantom started and began to rise. Another one was in the cockpit and was attempting to take off.

Both Frost and Bishop then charged forward, tackling the Elite.

"Get the sword, get the sword!" Frost yelled as he began socking it in it's split jaw. Focusing on hitting the beast, Frost couldn't see how Bishop was faring.

"Got it, got it!"

"Kill him!"

Bishop raised the energy sword but the Elite punched him in the gut and pushed him back. Frost was also thrown off. The Elite then reached down and grabbed both of them by the throat, turned, and slammed them against the hull of the dropship several times. Frost reached up, clawing at the Elite's elongated hand as it squeezed his neck. He reached for his knife, ready to stab the alien in the arm.

All of a sudden, a war cry rang out. Langley appeared on the Elite's back, drawing her knife and stabbing it repeatedly at the base of his neck. The Elite dropped Frost and Bishop and attempted to shake her off, but after a dozen blows it had no strength left and sank to its knees, then slumped to the side.

"Lass, I've never been so happy to see ya," Bishop said as he caught his breath, putting a hand on Langley's shoulders as she stood up.

"Good work, we're not out of the woods yet," Frost said, "Let's get this pilot."

The dropship was not high off the ground yet and suddenly Carris jumped up. Without a word she went into the cockpit. Frost hear scuffling for a moment, then a _crunch_. Shuddering for a moment, the Phantom then gracefully descended back to the ground. Carris emerged.

"Damn," Bishop grunted. Frost smiled.

"Forgot that armor was spring loaded. But how did you get up here, Nora?"

Langley grinned.

"She tossed me."

"Carris threw you up here?"

"Yep. It was too high for me to jump but not for her to give me a toss and make the jump herself."

Frost laughed.

"That's some damn good thinking you two. Excellent job."

They walked and the rest of the squad greeted them.

"Thought you were going for a little ride there, boy," Steele joked.

"The Elites were looking for a couple of good-looking guys to take on a date," Bishop said, "but they weren't our types."

"I don't think you have a type," Knight said as he clapped his companion on the back.

"Camp's clear, Frost," Grant said.

"Good work."

* * *

Jasmine went planetside with Vivian to look at the spoils. When they arrived they entered the camp and found Navy personnel and Marines all over it. A huge pile of plasma rifles, carbines, beam rifles, needlers, needle rifles, energy swords, and turrets sat in the center. Another pile sat beside it, made up of the supply crates put, which were overflowing with grenades, armor for varying Covenant species, and other supplies. Somebody also added the energy gauntlets that the Jackals wore as well as special equipment such as the cloak that Elites used. And then there were the Phantoms in a neat little circle.

Lieutenant Conroy stood beside the pile of weapons. Dirty but triumphant, he approached them while a smile. Saluting smartly, he gestured at the weapons.

"Over three hundred weapons collected and counting, ma'am. We haven't finished cataloging the equipment, either. Some of the marines have even stripped the dead of their armor and added it to the pile. All the Phantoms are intact."

"How did they attack fare?"

"Smooth as silk. We landed far enough away that they weren't expecting us, we had elevation. About sixteen wounded, no deaths. Death count for the enemy is about three hundred seventy-five."

"Excellent work, Lieutenant," Vivian said, "your execution of the operation was seamless. I'll be putting you in for a commendation."

"Not necessary, ma'am," Conroy said with a nod, "I'm glad we got to stick it to the Covenant like we did."

"And that nobody was lost," Jasmine added. Conroy pointed at Jasmine with a smile.

"That's right. If you'd excuse me, Captain," Conroy saluted and the nodded, at Jasmine, "Doc."

Vivian reached down and picked up one of the plasma weapons.

"Such a strange thing," she murmured.

Jasmine stood beside her.

"Viv, are you and I...?"

"We're still friends, if that's what you're asking," Vivian said as she dumped the Covenant weapon back in the pile. "We've never let our differences get between our friendship, even the big ones. Most people would have cut it off a while back. Then again, I like to think you and I aren't most people."

"I don't want him to come between us," Jasmine said.

"Neither do I."

Jasmine nodded and looked off in the distance. Marines who had finished their duties had made small squad-sized camps on the drier parts of the swamp. Small rises and islands each had a small campfire blazing in the night. Frost and his team were close. She could see them from where she stood.

She felt Vivian's hand on her shoulder.

"I'll never hate you for having feelings for him, or even protecting him, if that's your concern. You're my friend and it'd be wrong of me to do that. I won't agree but with it, but I'll never let that damage us. Just like how when I was bent on killing the son of a bitch, you didn't send me packing."

"Because you're my friend, Vivian. Now and always."

"Yes. But no matter what, I will see him put in prison."

"I know..."

Vivian walked away. Rain began to fall and thunder rumbled.

* * *

Frost and his compatriots sat around the fire. All of their armor and kit had been removed and they sat in their fatigues. All except for Carris, who sat in her armor next to Steele, with her helmet resting in her lap. Steele was leaning back against her shoulder, reading his book, resting it on his thigh. Frost sat at his feet. Bishop, Maddox, and Knight all sat in their tank tops, and Langley checked her radio, wearing a t-shirt. Moser and Grant sat back to back beside the fire; Grant was shirtless, and his muscular physique glowed in the dancing firelight. A light breeze pushed against them all, playing with their hair. Other fires dotted the night and lit up the swamp. Phantoms from the captured camp began to ascend to the fleet in orbit. Crates, weapons, and equipment were piled into the craft. Pelicans also came down, picking up other materials. Rain fell gently; they didn't mind. It slowly washed away the grime on their faces.

He was thinking about something he had read some time ago. An idea that the raid had given him.

"Ever heard of the Marine Raiders?" he asked. Everyone looked up.

"No," Langley answered.

"The Marine Raiders was a special initiative the Second World War in the 20th Century; American light infantry to perform special operations in the Pacific Islands against Imperial Japan. Made a couple raids and fought in a few big battles, but never came to much else. Got revived somewhat in the 21st Century but we don't have anything like it in the UNSC."

"Unless you count the ODSTs," Maddox grunted.

"Yeah, right," Bishop muttered. "That'll be the day."

"What're you getting at, Nate?" Steele asked.

Frost stood up, his face glowing orange from the flames.

"This task force is going to be conducting raids regularly. I don't think it should be just the Navy. What we need is a platoon sized unit, light infantry armed to the teeth, who can deploy fast, attack fast, and exfiltrate fast, causing massive damage to enemy installations, killing numerous personnel, and taking whatever intelligence and valuable equipment they can get their hands on. The 89th MEU has a Vanguard, but it needs a section of commandos, to really strike back at the Covenant. For all of the friends we've lost, the planets that have been burned, the civilians that have been massacred. We'll be able to take the fight to the Covenant whenever we want in tandem with our ships."

Thunder rippled and a jagged line of white lightening cut through the night sky behind him. Frost had made a fist with his hand as he said this. With a wolfish grin, he folded point at his squad. "What do you say, _Raiders?_ "

As they all nodded in agreement, Jasper ran up.

"Guys, we just got word to head back up to the _I'm Alone._ Another colony is under siege."

* * *

" _Staff Sergeant Frost got a taste for the raiding after that. Because of the successful attack that night, he revived a lineage centuries old. This is what truly set him on the path for greatness."_

-Nina De Vos, ODST

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **BOOM! Another one! This soon? You betcha! I'd like to say here that this chapter was a** _ **breeze**_ **to write compared to that previous on. Chapter 30 went through about seven revisions just on the first POV section. Needless to say, this was a lot of fun and I'm getting back into my groove.**

 **Now, onto the responses!**

 **chase8999: Uh...is it...Harry Potter? The janitor guy? I don't remember, I never read the books and only watched some of the movies. I faintly remember the janitor though, mainly because he's the same actor who plays Walder Frey in Game of Thrones on HBO. I recall him saying that phrase, I think.**

 **MightBeGone: Well, I'll let you decide my friend. If you want me to look at it, send me the link. If you don't, you don't have to. It's your work, so it's your call. Just know I will give you honest, critical feedback, as I do with all of my fellow creators, so if that's something you want or don't want, either send the link or don't. Either way, I'm comfortable with either decision you make. And I wouldn't go so far to call yourself a cheapskate a world-building. World-building is important but this is fanfiction; by nature the majority of the world-building has already done. That's what I love about fanfiction writing; it gives aspiring writers a chance to find their voice, develop their style, figure out what kind of genres they want to hit. I started writing in the sixth grade which was probably ten or eleven years ago I think and that's when I first started dabbling in fanfiction. Because of that dabbling, I was able to excel in creative writing classes some years later and now I'm starting to write my own original stuff that hopefully I can get published by the end of the summer. By I digress; I am interested to see what you do with it. It's up to you to make that period come to life and jump out at the reader, which I'm positive you can do.**

 **And Bishop is a lot of fun, even as a background character. Actually, Bishop, the squad, and the bridge staffers are going to be getting a lot of more 'screen time' I guess we can call it in the future. Maybe even guest point-of-view characters from time to time, like Langley or De Vos. And will any of them die? Um...I dunno. Don't ya trust me?**

 **AlphaHighBreed: "The Bishop" treatment. Just because of that and the fact the MBG like him, I'm going to make him a bigger character in the future. And go easy? Frankie Bishop ain't exactly an easy kinda fellow, know what I mean? And I hope the action of this chapter did it for you; kept it short, sweet, and staggered, rather than the longer slogs we've been going for. Bigger battles are on the way however, believe you me.**

 **Ugh, exams. Pain in the ass; don't get me started about education systems. I could talk your EAR off about what I despise about it, especially the exams. Yes, a test of multiple choice questions, some short answer questions, and an essay question is a great way to evaluate the complexity and varied skills of ALL students. It's not like students all have different talents, interests, and skills in a specific field, and to evaluate them something hands on could be done, like a special project in their focus, or perhaps an essay with no constraints. But NOPE, just gonna make'em do an exam because that's what they've always done for education; doesn't matter that it's the 21st Century, it's not like the system should, oh, I dunno, CHANGE AND IMPROVE.**

 ***deep breath* Anyways. Don't worry about posting late. I don't want you think that you're obligated to leave a response on each chapter, you don't have to. Nobody else has to; commenting is helpful but I don't want it to feel like an obligation. I have my stuff going on in real life, you have yours-everybody does. We can to read and write when we're able. Speaking of which, I like the way you're thinking about character interactions. While I'm very into the SII scene, SIII's are very interesting; they have shoes to fill and their nature isn't one of long-term special forces activities but rather massed attacks against the Covenant interior. High risk, high casualty rate, but excellent results. It brings about a new moral issue on top of the whole kidnapping children, replacing them with a clone, and subjecting them to hardcore military life and training, and augmentation that could cause their death or impairment. Looking forward to what you have.**

 **And that's the ballgame, thanks for commenting and reading folks, next chapter coming soonish.**


	32. Chapter 32: Questions

Chapter 32: Questions

* * *

Frost sat on a crate in the hangar by himself. Pilots and crew chiefs checked over their aircraft with mechanics. Personnel in forklifts carried munitions to Longswords and Shortswords. Supplies were secured. Preparations were being made for the slipspace jump. It was going to be a short journey but this time Captain Waters wanted everybody in the cryo bay. Strange, seeing as how most of the time they remained awake during the jumps. Even so, orders were orders. Excluding the skeleton crew, they were all going to take their spot in the freezer.

Every time he thought of Jasmine his chest ached. Besides the brief exchange before the raid, they hadn't uttered a word to one another for days. Needless to say, it was quite jarring. After spending so much time in her office, even going so far to sleep in there, it felt odd to ostracize himself from her. Time, he just needed a little time. Regain his composure, formulate what he wanted to say and speak with her aboat, ensure that anger would not fuel him. She deserved better than shouting and swearing.

He thought about that night on Reach. How his heart thumped in his chest, how he felt incredibly warm on the inside. Nose to nose, their lips had almost met. Then they were interrupted; he should have just taken her by the shoulders and kissed her. Every fiber of his being had wanted him to. But he had gotten cold feet and chickened out. She wanted him to and he still refrained! Frost shook his head. In 2540 he had charged a Covenant MG position in a window of an apartment building, head on, and lobbed a frag through the window before ducking down. During that entire fifteen second episode, he hadn't been afraid in the slightest. Confronted with a beautiful girl who wanted nothing more than to kiss him, he became nothing but stutters.

 _Even if we fix everything, if we find some kind of compromise, reach an understanding, anything...will it be like before?_

"You wanted to speak to me, Jack?"

Hayes sat down on the crate beside him, clapping him on the back. "Why the long face?"

"Oh. Uh, nothing sir, nothing," Frost said, rather tiredly.

"Is it about the good doctor?" Hayes asked. Frost looked over at the tall half-Russian officer.

"How did you hear about that, sir?"  
"I'm your CO; I'm supposed to know what's going on with all of my marines," Hayes said with a smile. "You two had words over your past dealings with the rebels. Didn't go so well, did it?"

"No, sir. She says she wants to talk but I want to give it a little more time. Want to make sure I'm in the right place up here," Frost tapped the side of his head, "so I don't say anything I don't mean and hurt her."

Hayes nodded.

"Smart. Lots of kids don't think like that. They just blunder way into love and end up hurting themselves even more. You have to devote time to think, ask yourself questions, make sure what you're doing is right for you. My eldest son was like that; a thinker. Was always so careful when it came to girls; he never had more than one girlfriend."  
"Really, sir?"

"Mhm. That girl he met became his wife a couple years later. And he was happy for a time," Hayes sighed. Frost knew what he meant: the Covenant had begun their conquest and his family had paid the price.

Frost grimaced.

"Sir...what we did on Skopje. What _I_ did on Skopje...it was right, wasn't it?"  
"Jack, of course it was. What you did after was too. You took control of bad situations, sorted it out, make the tough decision, and got the killing done. Rebels don't deserve anything but a bullet in their head. Those ones on Skopje had to be put down; the fact that so many got away, melting into the deeper part of the Skopje hinterland, and others defected to the UNSC, was a damned crime. If I had my way, we would have razed their base to the ground entirely and killed them all."

Frost blinked.

"Even the women and children, sir?" he asked slowly.

Hayes looked at him for a moment, his expression hard. Then he smiled.

"No, son, not them. Now, listen close. I don't want you doubting your actions. You're a damned hero for what you did and don't let anybody make you think differently. You're a soldier. It is your duty to annihilate the enemy in the most brutal and effective way. You can't show remorse, no compassion, no humanity towards them, because they'll never show any towards you. Killing them is ridding the galaxy of a plague. You did the hard stuff and I know you could do it again. Okay?"

"Yes, sir."

"No one else could have done it except you. You had the strength and the heart and the will to do that. Only you."

"...yes, sir."

"Men like you, Jack, are few and far between. The military needs men like you. Soldiers who are moral, and can use that morality to do the nightmarish things required to keep Earth and her colonies safe. You are no less moral, no less _good_ , for doing them in the service of your people. You understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Now, what did you wish to speak to me about?"

Frost explained the historical context briefly and then went on to say, "I suggest we have a unit of Marine Raiders; a small group in the 89th MEU that could deploy and move fast, cause widespread damage, snatch intel, and exfiltrate just as fast. I believe it would work well with Waters' new strategy of raiding."

Hayes scratched his chin.

"It's not a bad idaea. Of course, you know, it will only be an unofficial title. There won't be an official Marine Raider unit. To get that sanctioned you'd have to bring it to top brass and I'm sorry to say we simply don't have the time. Let alone, having a sergeant propose the idea to that vultures wouldn't get it approved. But if you want to create a small unit within the 89th to carry out raider activity, then you have my approval."

Standing up with a grunt, Hayes smiled. "And you'll be in charge of it, Gunnery Sergeant Frost."

Frost blinked.

"What?"

"Well I figured since it was your idea that you'd be in command. Am I wrong?"

"Why am I being promoted? Gunny's are platoon or company sergeants. What about my squad? I thought Lt. Conroy could be in charge of the new unit or something like that. It's not that I don't want to have a leadership role in the unit, I just don't want to be _the_ leader. Second in command would be fine, sir. It's not even about being in a leadership position, I just thought we could maximize of efficiency if-"

Hayes leaned down and put a heavy hand on his shoulder, grinning.

"That's too bad, Jack. I want you in charge and for that you're getting a promotion, because I know you won't take a battlefield commission to second lieutenant. I want you to lead it anyhow; don't you?"

"Well..." Frost realized that it was his idea. No wasn't an answer. "...yes, sir. I mean, I met the qualifications for staff sergeant, barely, but gunnery sergeants have different duties. Can't I just stay a staff sergeant?"

"Son, you already train personnel in weaponry and hand to hand combat. You have all the necessary leadership training, knowledge of weapons, the ability to train others. You're perfect gunnery sergeant material.

"It's just coming so quick, sir, this promotion. I'm afraid we may be breaking some kind of rule."

Hayes laughed.

"I've been doing this since before you were born, son! My word _means_ something in this industry; when I want something done, someone promoted, or someone booted out of my unit, it gets done, no questions, no waiting, no fuss! Besides, you've been long overdue for a high leadership role. Now, you select the men you want for the unit, bring them to me, and I'll give you my stamp of approval. Deal?"

"Sir, what about Captain Waters?" Frost asked. "Don't we need to ask for her input as well?"

"Let me deal with Waters, son. Don't worry. Now, go gather your squad and head to cryo."

"Thank you, sir."

Frost stood up and began heading to the barracks. "Jack!" He turned. Hayes was smiling at him.

"'No weapon fashioned against you shall succeed, and you shall refute every tongue that rises against you in judgement.' What's that from?"

"Isaiah, 54:17, sir."

"That's right, and don't you forget it."

* * *

Vivian headed to the offices overlooking the hangar on the opposite. With everyone heading to cryo, it was the perfect opportunity to sneak a look at the 89th's photo log.

Entering the room devoted to staff officers, she peered around. Most were gone. The office was immaculate though. Terminals were seated in the center of desks, surrounded by paper work and data pads. Paperwork sat in neat piles. The walls were adorned with memorabilia of the 89th; flags, unit citations, helmets and medals from fallen heroes. Walking through between the two rows of desks, she didn't find anyone until she reached the end. Hearing a rustling from under one of the desks, she peeked over and found an officer picking up paperwork he had dropped.

"Excuse me, lieutenant," Vivian said. The officer jumped, banging his head on the underside of his desk.

"Y-yes, ma'am!" he said. Vivian eyed him suspiciously.

"What's your name, lieutenant?"

"Lompar, Nikola. First Lieutenant, ma'am!" He said, saluting.

"Everything alright, Lieutenant Lompar?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am, of course. Just trying to get my files in order before I head over to cryo."

Lompar seemed to be about twenty-three. Despite the rugged physique and bearded faces of the majority of his fellow marines, even the officers, he seemed rather sheepish. He had thick sand-colored hair that threatened to cover his eyes and a baby face that he kept clean shaven. He had quick, darting brown eyes and seemed to be nervous.

"Do you need a hand?" Vivian asked.

"No, no ma'am, thank you."

He bent back down to pick up more papers and Vivian helped him. Once all of the files had been collected, she handed them over with a smile. Lompar grinned nervously back. "Thank you, Captain Waters. I'll take my leave now to the cryo bay."

"Actually I was hoping you could help me out. I'm curious, seeing as how the _I'm Alone_ is putting together a scrapbook, if the 89th has one."

"Oh, of course, ma'am! It's over here," Lompar waved her over to one of the filing cabinets bolted to the floor and wall.

 _Well, that was easy._

Lompar checked a drawer and then another, then pulled out a large, squarish leather book. Imprinted on the leather cover were the words, 'History of the 89th.' The staff officer set it down on his desk. "Hardly anyone looks at this besides Major Patel. He's been putting this together since the unit was first formed. He says he wants to make one of those photographic history books about the unit after the war."

"Not a bad idea. I'm sure the same will be done with the _I'm Alone_ and her exploits."

"Of course, ma'am."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. You can head to the cryo bay now."

Lombar hesitated.

"What about the scrapbook, ma'am...?"

"I just want to take a look at and then I'll put it right back. Is that alright with you, lieutenant?"

He blinked and then nodded.

"Yes, ma'am."

The staff officer departed then, leaving Vivian to freely flip through the pages.

The first photographs were of the personnel in training. Many of the faces she knew were present, albeit much younger. Seeing Frost as a thirteen year old kid was jarring. He was smaller then, much smaller. Short hair, bright blue eyes, and the same boyish smile he flashed everybody. Vivian rolled her eyes. Aspects of their training were shown in numerous photographs; there was even one of Colonel Hayes bestowing Frost with his trademark black-hilted blade. Some gift to a teenager...

As she turned the pages and looked at the photos, the faces aged. Young faces became hardened, bearded; the charisma and happiness of youth disappeared as muscles developed and scars were gained. Their campaign on Skopje began right after training, she remembered, so it had to be in the next section. Only, there was no following section. About a dozen blank pages greeted her eyes after finishing the training section. Then there were photos depicting events of the war with the Covenant. Funerals, attacks, the aftermath of battle. There was one of Frost standing in front of a burning Warthog, his sleeves tattered and partially burned, his eyes shocked.

Flipping the pages faster and faster, Vivian tried to discover _something._ But nothing of Skopje was there. Frustrated, she slammed the book closed and picked up, ready to toss it back into the cabinet. Then she heard a fluttering of paper. Looking at her feet, she saw a photograph had fallen from the very back of the book, where she hadn't looked. Vivian picked it up; the photo showed Frost and Steele, two sixteen years olds, standing in front of tree. They were holding rifles and looking off to the left. Behind them, the body of a rebel hung from the tree, the rope tied around his neck. Vivian put the back down and opened the back. There were only a few other photos. One of them was a group of marines, most likely them, standing on the tarmac of an airfield as the rain fell as they listened to Colonel Hayes speak. Another one showed Frost and a group of marines tying a rebel to a tree with rope; his hands were tied behind his back and Frost was holding his face against the trunk. The third saw Frost and his squad squatting over the a dozen rebel corpses.

This was what she needed. Making sure no one was there, she took the photos and carefully stuck them into her back pocket. Carefully, she slipped the book back into the filing cabinet, and left for the bridge.

* * *

 _Several days later..._

With his war paint on, Frost stood his position at the rear of the Pelican. He glanced at his pauldron, which now bore the gunnery sergeant insignia: three strips up, two chevrons down, and in between two crossed M1 Garands, the famous battle rifle used by American troops during the the Second World War and the Korean War. Something about the new rank bothered him. Perhaps it was the change in name; gunny sounded a bit silly to him. Quite honestly, he didn't know why he needed the promotion. Gunnery sergeants were essentially company men, not tied down to one specific squad, and often worked with the XO's to strategize the deployment of troops and weapons. Most of the gunnery sergeants he knew still got see plenty of action, which was a relief. Not that it wasn't hard to find any; many ranks and roles that found themselves not required for combat duty were being pushed to the frontlines. Humanity had never been, as a whole, subjected to conquest or to genocide. Plenty had occurred against one part of humanity or another, waged by their fellow man. The threat was against their entire species this time. Command posts were being placed closer to the frontlines, generals often led from the front, and even the fellows in the rear were subjected to assaults and skirmishes.

Leading the new unit had to wait until after the siege. Hayes had bestowed upon him a surprising amount of autonomy. Already, Frost was going to figure out how many people he needed, what kind of specialists, how to organize them, how to devise new hit-and-run tactics, how to tap into Covenant databases, and more. A series of tasks better suited to a commissioned rank, but Frost knew what Hayes was doing. Hayes was playing a long game. From the moment they had met, Hayes was doing everything he could to groom him. Since they had completing their three year long training period, Frost had been a corporal, until Teo met his end. During that time, Hayes had attempted multiple times to promote him to sergeant and give him his own squad. Every time, Frost had refused; he didn't want to separate himself from his companions. Now that he _was_ sergeant, Hayes was going to work him up the chain again until he forced him into a position where he couldn't refuse a battlefield commission. Already, he had received two battlefield promotions, first to sergeant, and then to staff sergeant. Now he had gotten his third. Hayes had to be bending some kind of rules! But he was right; a man of his stature and station got what he wanted. Either way, all of his promotions would have required that he attended a somewhat lengthy amount of leadership courses. This was nullified because every single man in the 89th had taken both basic and advanced leadership courses during training. To Hayes, it seemed a joke, but when he said that any man, even the private first classes, could do an officer's job, he was right.

Sooner or later, Hayes was going to hit him with a battlefield commission. Frost had been quite comfortable as sergeant, and had hardly gotten used to staff sergeant before this promotion. When he had come up with the idea of the Marine Raiders, he didn't want to lead the unit himself. Well, that was completely true. Being in a Radier's unit would have granted him more autonomy with his leadership and work closer with the officer in charge. Conroy was a good leader and would have been his pick, had he had any agency in the matter of selection. Acting as the unit's sergeant at the gunnery rank, rather than the leader, Frost wouldn't have minded so much. Command, however, was his.

More responsibility frightened him. Having six marines, one air force comms specialist, and a special forces operative-eight souls in total-under his command was already stressful. To have ten or twenty lives relying on him for leadership and guidance, that made him sick to his stomach. Losing friends was one thing. Losing troopers was another. Luck had to be the only reason why they had gotten this far unscathed. With a large number of troops in higher risk missions, that luck would run out. People were going to end up dead and there was no way to prepare for it. He almost regretted coming up with the idea now.

He looked over his shoulder. Steele was right behind him, holding his sniper rifle, a DMR slung across his back. Bishop had his shotgun, Knight, Langley, and Grant carried assault rifles, Moser and Maddox had battle rifles although the latter also had an SMG clipped to his backpack. Carris had decided not to bring her customized MA5B, instead choosing a battle rifle. Knight used carried the heavier munitions, like the rocket launcher, but Carris insisted on taking it to lighten his load. The added strength meant she could use her rifle and the launcher at the same time.

Everyone was geared up, armored up, and was ready. Frost flipped the small blue HUD screen attached to the front of his helmet down over his left eye. Information scrolled across the HUD piece, giving him real time data ranging from blue force tracking, inbound reinforcement fleets, and enemy troops concentrations. Giving NCOs and staff officers access to heads-up display equipment allowed for fast deployments, as troops no longer needed to congregate for prolonged briefing sessions prior to entering battle.

"We're looking at a triple-layered defensive position the shape of a reverse horseshoe, five miles long on each side with a width of three and a half, with the closed section facing the west, and the open section facing east. The main base of operations is located at the open section. The Covenant have to break through this sector; it's the only way in between the mountains to reach the capital city."

"I'm having trouble picturing this in my head," Steele joked.

"Imagine a horseshoe with the open part facing to the right and bottom part facing left," Frost grumbled. "The perimeter has been divided into three sections; Sector A to the north, manned by two Army Airborne Divisions, Sector B to the south, held by Army Rangers and the 55th Infantry Division, and Sec-C at the western front. The 145th Armored Division and the 78th Infantry Division are folding back to from the outermost layer of the defensive to the interior one. That's where we'll be landing. We need to land fast, support the armor, and push our way to the third layer of Sec-C, and take it back from the Covenant. If they breakthrough they'll be able to attack Sectors A and B from the rear and overtake our supply dumb, field hospital, and the main base."

He took a breath and looked over his shoulder. "Maintain your intervals and move fast. We need to retake positions as quickly as we can. We're going to be the shock troops for the 145th and the 78th."

The Pelican shuddered. They were approaching the drop zone, which was right where the 79th and the 145th had pulled back to. It was the last line of Sector C; it was going to be hot.

"Twenty seconds, Jack the Ripper," Isha said. He was standing to Frost's left at the rear of the Pelican, out of the way of the squad. The crew chief extended his fist and Frost met it with his own.

"Watch yourselves down there," Jasper said over the comms link, and remember to look both ways before crossing the street, be nice to your elders, and-"

"Shut up, Jasper!" Pajari shouted.

"Ten seconds!" Isha yelled.

"Opening rear door now, Frost" Jasper said, his joking tone replaced by a more focused one, "Go with God."

"See you back on the _I'm Alone,_ " Frost said. He pulled his black bandanna from around his neck and brought it up over his mouth and nose. He closed his eyes, listening to the mayhem outside. Explosions, artillery, gunfire, crackling plasma. Sounds that had become more familiar to him than his mother's voice. A certain relief washed over him. The waiting was over. Adrenaline, training, anger, all began to sink in. Whatever his worries had been, were gone now. All he could do was focus.

The Pelican shuddered and the hatch open. Frost bolted out with his team. Around him, Army fireteams were trying to move up. Entire platoons were pinned down in the charred soil and grass. Scorpions fired away, the shock of their cannons making Frost's teeth rattle. Impact craters disrupted to the ground as well as half-finished trenchworks filled with wounded men. Ahead of him was a large mound of earth. Soldiers at the top were grappling for the top with an onslaught of Skirmishers and Elites.

"There, that rise!" Frost shouted to his squad. "That's where we're heading!"

"Hunters!" someone cried. "Nine o'clock!"

Frost turned to see the two beasts breakthrough a concrete barricade and leap over a trench. Their cannons were already charging.

"Scatter!"

Before he moved, he heard the tell-tale sound of a Pelican. He looked up and saw Triple Seven-Jasper's dropship-turned. His aircraft was equipped with two pods of ANVIL-II air-to-surface missiles. A brief fiery cloud shot out from the pods and a barrage of missiles hit the two Hunters. Both large aliens were torn apart.

"You owe me one, Jack the Ripper," Jasper laughed over the comms as he turned his Pelican away, heading back to the _I'm Alone_ to refuel and load up with more men and supplies.

More Marines were landing. Frost led his team forward to the rise. The Covenant had pushed to the top and were starting to fire down into the retreating soldiers. Frost slid into a crater at the bottom and provided cover fire. The Covenant troops responded with withering fire; their armor was battered, they were covered with grime as well as blood. They were winning but their victorious advance had been difficult, Frost could tell. He dropped half a dozen Skirmishers, lobbed a frag, and began advancing. The grenade made the Covvies scatter. Marines thrust forward with their Army cousins.

Frost found himself at the top and began firing down into a mass of Covenant. There were still Army troopers fighting in the secondary line of Section C. Trenches were filled with seething masses of men and aliens, stabbing, kicking, punching, strangling. Energy swords cut down dozens of men, while Jackals were slaughtered with a variety of daggers, entrenching tools, and tomahawks. No enemy vehicles had managed to breakthrough, due to the many craters, trenchworks, blockhouses, pillboxes, and other bunkers that connected the trenches. Many Scorpions had been abandoned in special positions, dug to conceal the majority of their armor and expose only the turret. If their enemy had been human, they would have taken the tanks and cranked the turrets around for their own use. Frost was thankful for their xenophobia.

A Skirmisher rushed at him and he cracked it across the jaw with the butt of his rifle. Once it was on the ground he crushed its weak skull with a few more blows. Bishop was on his left, firing his shotgun into crowds of Grunts that were clawing their way up.

"Suppressive fire!" Frost yelled. Somebody had hauled an M247 machine gun to the crest of the rise and was now firing indiscriminately into the mass of Covenant that was trying to push through. They ahd the Covenant right where they wanted. A large trench to the right of the rise was being held firmly by Army troops and on the left was another trench leading into to a strong bunker which had multiple firing ports for MGs. The Covenant could only advance up the rise.

A surge of Covenant came at them. Frost fired but was forced to fall back down the hill. Marines and GIs scattered with him and took up position in the craters and foxholes at the bottom. Grunts poured down over the rise. Frost tossed another grenade which landed into center of the mass; over a dozen Grunts were caught in the blast. Bits of armor, bone, flesh, and limbs flew through the air. Bodies tumbled down. The concentrated fire forced the Covenant back up the rise and onto the other side.

"Advance!" someone cried. Frost got out of the hole and charged back up. Wounded Covvies attempted to crawl back to their comrades but no quarter was given to them. Piles of bodies, human and alien, littered the slope. Men lost their foot and landed in the mass of dead. Back at the top, Frost pitched another frag grenade down into the crowd of Covenant.

"Maintain a base of fire!" Frost shouted. "Grenades!"

"Some get a grenade launcher up here!" Knight shouted, crouching back down to reload. The word went back among the troops as they moved up the rise. Eventually, some ran up the rise with two of M319 grenade launchers. Frost took one and a belt of explosives. Knight too the other. "Fire them into middle, the grenades will scatter'em!"

Frost and Knight began firing. Grenades landed in the throngs of Covenant. Panic ensued as Grunts and Jackals tried to break away and run. Elites pushed back, urging them forward. The blasts killed dozens and wounded scores. Slowly but surely the barrage of grenades began thinning out the horde in front of them.

"Clear a path! Scorpion coming through!"

The rise was abandoned' Frost jumped to the right as a Scorpion tank rolled its way up. The benefit of having treaded vehicles meant that difficult terrain could be traversed. Most if not all of the Covenant vehicles relied on equipment that made it hover; while this made some nimble, it made climbing steep slopes extremely difficult.

The Scorpion's hull had a black paintjob instead of the usual olive drab. It was Emery's tank; the 89th MEU's primary tank ace. With over one hundred kills ranging from Wraiths to Ghosts and a even a couple Banshees, Emery was the best tanker they had. Like Frost, he too refused any promotion to a commission rank. Imagining the red haired, southern-accented, whiskey-guzzling, grease monkey as a CO was almost frightening.

As the tank rolled over the top, Frost jumped on board. Riding on one of the treads, he gunned down retreating Covenant troops. A wary cry rose from behind him; he looked back to see Marines and GIs come swarming out of the trenches and bunkers like thousands of ants. Nothing was more beautiful see a massed charge of heavily armed, pissed off soldiers. He looked forward again. The Covenant were in full retreat, heading back towards the second line. Tankers that had abandoned their vehicles got back in, turned them back on, and joined the counterattack. Cannons thundered, men cheered as they ran, and guns rattled. Hornets and Falcons joined the fray from above, raining machine gun fire and rockets onto the Covenant as they dug in at the second line.

"Jack the Ripper," Emery yelled over the comms, "we've got a blockhouse at our two o'clock. I just saw a squad of Grunts go in there. Some of them had fuel rod cannons. They could be arming up for a suicide attack. We can't risk the armor for a breakthrough if there are suicide Grunts around the corner. Get in there and clear'em out for me, will ya?"

"On it! Rally up on me!"

Frost led his team to the entrance to the blockhouse. Everyone was filthy and panting. "Ammo check?"

"Good."

"Good hear."

"Okay."

"Alright," Frost said, "we've Covvies with anti-tank equipment inside the blockhouse, possibly preparing for a suicide run. Let's clear it out. Bishop, Carris, you're on point with me. Grant, Langley, Knight, you're in second. Moser, Steele, Maddox, get up onto the roof and see if there's some kind of vent; drop a frag down into the blockhouse."

"On it."

"Carris, give them a boost to the roof."

Carris took her assault rifle and connected it to the back of her armor. Squatting down, she cupped her hands together. Moser went first, then Maddox. Steele put a boot in her hands and then placed two hands on either side of her helmet.

"Be careful in there, love," he said with a smile before she boosted him up.

Frost peered inside. It was dark.

"Flashlights," he ordered. "Steele, what do you see?"

"Found a small chimney like tube. Just knocked the top off. Dropping frag in one, two, three!"

A few moments later there was an explosion. Inside came an orchestra of shrieks.

"Bishop, frag."

Bishop pulled the pin on one of his grenades and chucked it inside. Another detonation resulted in more terrified, pain-filled screaming. "Go, go, go!"

Frost went in with Bishop on his left and Carris on his right. They entered the main area of the blockhouse and found it a scene of destruction. Bunks were thrown everywhere, bedsheets and spare clothes were in tatters, tables and crates were overturned. Cups, plates, utensils, and dozens of other small items littered the floor. Dead Grunts lay all about, lying in pools of their own blood. Flesh and limbs resided on a few spots. Blue blood coated the walls and floor. Some were still alive, moaning, clutching wounds. One was sitting down with its chubby hands on the side of its lumpy head, rocking back and forth. Bishop killed it with his shotgun, point blank; there was no more head afterwards. "Save ammo," Frost ordered. "Knives and rifle butts."

He finished several with his blade. Bishop beat a few to death. Carris crushed one's head underneath her boot. Frost put his finger to his earpiece, about to radio Emery and tell him he was clear. Then, a blue light lit up the inside of the bunker. A single Grunt walked out of a storage closet, holding a burning plasma grenade in each hand.

Carris killed it quick with her pistol but the two grenades fell onto the floor.

"Out!" Frost yelled, "Get out!"

He pushed Bishop forward; Carris was already sprinting through the doorway. The others cleared away as well. Front rounded the corner to the entrance, and was grabbed by Knight and Grant as he flew out the door. Inside, the grenades detonated. Dust flew out the doorway.

Coughing, Frost knelt down. "Emery...you're clear. Anti-tank threat is neutralized."

"Much obliged, moving up!"

"Maddox, Moser, regroup on me, we're moving up. Steele, stay on top of the blockhouse and provide covering fire."

"Solid copy!"

Frost charged at the second line with the others. Incoming plasma fire increased and soon plasma bursts were falling all around. When he took cover in a shell crater to squeeze off a few rounds, he found that the volume of enemy fire was increasing.

"They're dug in!" someone yelled.

Peeking up, he could see numerous turrets firing from the heavily fortified secondary line. When he looked to his right, he watched a platoon of Army troopers attempting to make a run for the trench. Plasma MGs targeted them; multiple lines of blue plasma raked the platoon; thirty soldiers fell to the ground, dead or wounded. Looking to his left, he saw one of the Scorpions get hit by a pair of fuel rod cannon blasts from the Covenant positions. Another tank was also destroyed. Troops that had been following behind the pair of Scorpions were blown apart by the explosions. A driver emerged from the first obliterated tank hulk on fire. His screaming pierced the air, until he was shot by a beam rifle.

The advanced faltered and the troops began retreating. Frost cursed under his breath, then stood up and waved his hand.

"Fall back!"

* * *

Jasmine walked into the field hospital which sat behind the third defensive line. A small garrison had been left behind, as the fighting had been taken back to the second. The attack had stalled from what she knew. But all that mattered right now was taking command of the situation.

The hospital itself was nothing more than a long canvas canopy held up by poles, about four hundred yards long. Wounded soldiers lay on cots side by side, with stands of IV fluids beside them. An operating room was nonexistent. Projectile extractions, amputations, burn treatments, and more. Mn with wounds to their throat gurgled and kicked as doctors attempted to stop the blood flow. Screaming filled the air. Soldiers gripped stumps where their arms and legs used to be. Blood spilled onto the floorboards. On the far side of the tent she could see three long rows of corpses covered with sheets. The smell was awful. A few of her staff members began to vomit.

If the name could be implied to something so ramshackle, the main hospital was situated in a tent city. Too familiar to Jasmine; her stomach became uneasy with the thought of Camp Havens. There were hardly any defensive perimeters, redoubts, or hardened positions nearby. If the Covenant broke through, the same threat would be passed here as it was at Havens. This time, they wouldn't be able to get the wounded out fast enough.

"Who's in charge?" Jasmine asked an orderly that was walking passed.

"I don't fucking know!" the man snapped as he passed. Jasmine turned to the staff that was with her.

"Alright, get to it. Make sure your tools are sterilized properly. Noncritical cases are to be treated here, critical cases are to be stabilized and taken to the Pelicans. I'm going to organize this area."

Jasmine searched around for another free orderly. When she grabbed her sleeve, the exhausted woman looked at her. "Who's in command of this hospital?"

"Lieutenant Commander Noto, ma'am. He's at that tent over there where the medical staff have been staying."

Whirling around, Jasmine hurried over. What was the chief medical officer doing in that tent instead of working out at the damned hospital? Staff members were wandering around like they were lost while wounded personnel kept pouring in. Soldiers that were missing eyes were lying there unattended. They needed more doctors, to reallocate the current staff to meet the amount of wounded. More medicine was needed and more clean tools. She could tell just by looking at the place.

She entered the long tent and found a host of doctors, nurses, other specialists, and orderlies sitting or lying down. Some were sitting there with blank looks on their faces. Many of their white coats were stained red with blood. Others were asleep on cots or even on their feet.

She found Noto sitting on on his cot. The man had black hair and tan skin, a terrible scar over his right eye.

Jasmine knelt in front of him.

"Lieutenant Commander Noto, I'm Doctor Jasmine Ebrahimi from the _I'm Alone._ I'm here to help but you need to get out there and start directing everyone."

Noto made no response. He only stared straight ahead at the side of the trent. Putting a hand on his shoulder, she shook him gently, then a little rough. "Talk to me Commander, I can help you. What do you need?"

"Don't even bother," said another doctor who was standing nearby holding a tin cup filled with coffee. "He's gone."

"Gone? You mean-"

"He's fucking lost it. He's no use to anybody."

Jasmine stood up, giving Noto one last glance before taking a breath and looked at the doctor.

"I'm taking over, then. All of you need to get back out there. The wounded are still coming in."

The doctor shook his head.

"We've been on our feet for nine hours already. The wounded are piling up. Nothing we can do."

"I'm ordering you to get back out there, Lieutenant," Jasmine ordered sternly. "I'm ordering all of you to get back out there. I know you're tired but there are soldier out there, wounded soldiers, who need you. They've been out there fighting to make sure we don't get overrun, now you have to be there for them. Now, let's go."

No one moved. Jasmine glared at them; the downturned glances, the teary eyes, the indignant expression. "One way or another, you will work alongside the rest of us."

With that, she rolled up her sleeves and stepped out of the tent. She did her best to keep her chin high as her heart sank; no one followed her out.

* * *

The vigor of the counterattack had petered out. Two Scorpion tanks had been knocked out by fuel rod cannon attacks from the second line. To Steele, the clearing of the blockhouse had been for naught. Emery and the other tanks were stuck behind the wrecks in the cramped field between the blockhouse and the second defensive line. Day had folded into night and they were still holding the third line and the battleground up to the second. The other parts of the Horseshoe had been reinforced and were holding. Yet, their section, Section C, or the Curve, as they had taken to calling it, was being hit the hardest. Covenant reinforcements kept flowing in. Attacks were checked by the UNSC, then followed with one of their own, which in turn was check and counterattacked. Initiatives were realized, seized, but amounted to nothing for both sides. Each side was too dug in in their defensive position and the killing ground in between the third and second line was too exposed for rapid fire. The Covenant's shade and other MG turrets had been wreaking havoc. Large scale assaults had shifted to small unit tactics. A few squads would advance, scampering from abandoned trenches and foxholes to craters. Each squad was armed with a satchel charge to blow a hole in the concrete defenses the Covenant were occupying. Of course, a squad would be spotted and annihilated by concentrated fire. While the unlucky squad was shot up, the other retreated. Moans from the wounded drifted through the air until some brave soldier crawled out there to drag him back, or until a Covenant sniper would finish them.

All the while, he had been picking off Jackal snipers since Frost had given him the order to remain on the blockhouse Their numbers had been thinned considerably. Ammo went quickly though; he had to enlist the help of a GI to go gather up ammo for his sniper rifle. His position was relatively fortified. In between counter-sniper assaults, Steele had made himself a makeshift bunker with sandbags, with a firing port in the center for his rifle. A bag of ammunition clips for his rifle was beside him. The second defensive line had become his shooting gallery. The line itself was more structured than the last one, which had relied on the rise in the land as a natural barrier. This was more prepared, with a series of concrete bunkers and pillboxes with connecting trenches, and a platform made of steel with firing ports and sandbag barriers for cover on top of them. Shades and other emplaced weapons had been installed at some points on the upper platforms or in holes of the concrete defenses.

Peering around with his scope, he searched for targets. It was only about two hundred yards away; easy shots for him. The Covenant weren't stupid, however. They had learned to keep their heads down. Only Grunts were being put on the turrets, so that more useful units, like Elites, wouldn't be put at risk. Every time he sniped a gunner and went onto the next, a moment later another had taken his place. Despite his kill count being through the roof, it had been mid afternoon when they had landed. Now, evening was falling and Steele was in no mood for playing cat and mouse. Rockets had been in short supply but now they had been resupplied.

The night vision his scope

"Steele, we're moving up on the trench to your two o'clock. We're going to put a rocket on that Shade turret that's been pinning us down all day."

"Solid copy. I have eyes on it."

Steele put the targeting reticle on the head of the Grunt inside the Shade turret. The main design flaw with the turret was that it provided no protection for the user. He put a round through the Grunt's head. Sure enough, another Grunt came, removed the body, and took its place. Steele shot that one, and another, and another, keeping the gunners busy while Frost moved up. Quickly, he checked their progress with the scope. Frost and the squad had moved up in the trench, stopping at the best vantage point from below to line up a shot with the rocket launcher. Knight loaded two rockets into the launcher, and Carris hefted it onto her shoulder. A moment later, she fired. Two rockets slammed into the turret; the explosion tore apart the armor and sent the top part of the turret breaking off. There was nothing left of the present gunner.

With a grin, he put a hand on his headset. "Nice shot, love."

"You're one to talk," she said back.

"We're going to double back Steele, keep us covered. Maddox is still working on that satchel charge that should-"

The rifle was ripped out of Steele's hand. Rolling onto his side, Steele looked up to see a white-armored Elite standing over him. Throwing away the sniper rifle, the Elite drew its energy sword and thrust downward.

Just before it hit him, Steele rolled to the side again. Scrambling to his feet, he ducked under another swing as he drew the blade. Dodging a thrust, he ran at the Elite and sliced it on its side with the knife. With a roar, the Elite made a wild swing that he dodged easily. Gripping the knife tightly, Steele made another rush, planning to swipe its side its other side. But the alien was prepared now. It sidestepped Steele and snatched his arm. Steele shouldered him and brought the knife down in its wrist. This was a severe enough blow to make the warrior drop its energy sword. But before Steele could get another strike in, the Elite pushed him off the top of the blockhouse.

Steele landed hard on his back. The air had been knocked out of him. As he tried to sit up, he felt around for the knife but could find it.

With a heavy impact that kicked up a small cloud of dust, the Elite landed in front of him, activated its energy dagger, mounted on the wrist and spring forward. Steele reached up and locked both hands on the Elite's wrist. The point of the dagger was about six inches away from his gut. Huffing and straining, Steele did his best to hold the dagger off, wracking his brain for another strategy. Using all his strength, he rolled back a little, just enough to raise his legs and put them against the Elite's chest.

It didn't help. Weighing at over three hundred pounds, it was a little less than double his own body weight. Steele couldn't hold him off. Slowly, the dagger began to descend. Sweat rolled down his face and his breathing became more frantic.

" _Fuck! Fuuuuuuck! Fuckfuckfuck!_ " Steele hollered through gritted teeth. Spittle began to fly from his mouth with each ragged breath. Letting go and reaching for his pistol would just let the Elite sink the blade into his belly. But just holding him was going to be enough. Once that blade was in him, it would not just cut him apart, but burn him as well. Surviving from such a weapon was slim.

The tip came closer. Steele watched as it finally reached his vest, pushed through it. He felt the heat of the tip on the skin of his stomach, then felt it puncture, and he began to scream. It was like being stabbed with a superheated needle.

Just before the blade sank further, it withdrew. Panting heavily, Steele's arms fell back to his sides and he looked up to see Carris holding the Elite by its mandibles. She wasn't just holding them; she was _pulling_ them. Wide-eyed, the Elite tried to reach back with its blade but Carris was out of reach. With a sickening _snap_ , she ripped off the left-side mandibles and a split-second later, the right-side ones. Blood gushed from its mouth area and the beast made a garbled howl as Carris tossed them away like food scraps.

She then threw the Elite onto the ground, got on top of it, and then started beating it with both of her fists. Metal gauntlets cracked against flesh and skull. Soon, purple blood began to coat her hands, then her wrists, her forearms. Some splashed onto her visor and chestplate.

When she finally stood up, Frost slid up to Steele.

"Lou!" he cried. "Lou, are you okay? Can you breathe?"

"I can fuckin' breathe, bruv," Steele muttered.

"Can you breath!?" Frost asked again, checking the small wounded at his gut.

"Yeah I can breathe!" Steele shouted. Langley also knelt beside him and began checking the wound.

"If he's breathing that mean his lungs are uninjured. It didn't go deep?"

"No."

"Alright, it's a noncritical wound, you're going to be okay," she said, reaching up and putting her hand on his cheek. "Alright, Lou? We'll get you back to the field hospital? Frost, let's apply some biofoam first."

Steele lurched onto his side and vomited. Frost put an arm around him.

"Just get it out brother, it's alright. I've got you. We've got you."

"Fuckin' hell, Nate, fuckin' hell, fuckin' hell..." Steele repeated, practically in tears. When he regained his composure, he shook his head. "No biofoam. That shit'll sting like hell; isn't the wound cauterized."

"Holy fuck!"

Everyone looked back at the corpse of the Elite. Grant and Bishop were standing over it. "Christ, look at that," Bishop said in awe.

"This fuckin' thing doesn't have a head anymore, just a pile of mush," Grant said and then gagged. "Shit, I can see its goddamned brain stem...that's all kind's of fucked up."

Carris suddenly came into view. She pushed Frost and Langley to the side and then picked up Steele.

"I'm taking you to the field hospital," she said and began jogging.

"Wait, the biofoam!" Langley yelled. Steele saw the others running after them but they couldn't keep pace. Carris was faster in her armor. Despite the bumpy terrain, she flowed over it like air. Steele's stomach hurt like hell but the smooth journey in her arms made it a lot less painful. He looked up at the purple-stained visor.

"I, I can walk you know," he said. "The wound isn't that bad. It was just the tip of the blade."

Carris didn't respond. She only ran faster.

When they got to the field hospital, an open tent, they were greeted by a bloody mess. Men and women cried out in agony. Doctors rushed back and forth. Orderlies were carrying bundles of tools to be sterilized. Medicine crates were being cracked open. All manner of operations were taking place. More dead bodies were piled up with the rest. Other, more severe cases, were wheeled away to waiting Pelicans.

Carris began moving through the mob of doctors, nurses, and orderlies.

"Dr. Ebrahimi!" she yelled over the cries of pain and the quick speaking medical staff. "Doctor Jasmine Ebrahimi!" she hollered again.

She turned around, looking around for her.

"C, just drop me on an empty cot, somebody'll get to me."

"Doctor Ebrahimi!"

"Carris, would you just listen?"

"Doctor Ebrahimi, I need help!"

"Over here!"

Carris turned and Steele looked ahead; Jasmine appeared, waving an arm. "Bring him here, hurry!"

Carris was over in a flash and gently placed Steele down on a cot. Jasmine was over him a moment later with a flashlight.

"Where were you wounded?"

"Upper stomach, Sangheili wrist blade," Steele groaned. "Just the point of it though, no puncture."

Jasmine displayed a pair of scissors and was about to cut his vest and jacket. Steele held up a hand. "No, no, no! I like this fuckin' vest. You docs, always so quick to cut shit. Here."

Steele sat up and began to remove his vest. Carris pushed his hands away and did it for him, carefully taking off his vest and then rolled up his jacket and shirt so Jasmine could see.

"It's cauterized," Jasmine said, "like you said, it was just the point of the blade. No internal organs were damaged. It's not even big enough to stitch."

"Bugger, but it hurts like hell! Stings!"

"I'm going to apply a bit of biofoam and then put a bandage on it. I wouldn't recommend laying on your stomach for a day or two."

"Fuckin' hell, doc, I'm a sniper! I do most of my work on my fuckin' belly!"

"Do as she says, Lou," Carris said in a low voice. Steele gave her an exasperated look but nodded anyways. When Jasmine applied the biofoam, he seethed, reached out and took Carris by the hand. Afterwards, she gently applied a bandage.

"You're fit for duty, Corporal. I don't even want to know what happened if you were close enough for an energy blade," Jasmine said.

"Trust me, you don't want to."

"Are you sure you can still fight?" Carris asked, putting her hands on his shoulders as he sat up. Steele chuckled and patted the side of her helmet.

"You bet your ass I can," he said, and stood up with a groan. "Just gonna have to crouch instead of going prone."

Before he uttered another word, Frost and the others ran up, out of breath.

"Geez, C, remind me to never do PT with you again," Grant said.

"You alright?" Frost said to Steele. Steele nodded as he took out a cigarette.

"Like nothing happened. C'mon, let's get back up there."

"Sergeant Frost."

Everyone turned. Jasmine was standing there, a serious look on her face. "I need your help."

* * *

Frost's squad dispersed, finding a water container nearby. Only he remained in front of her while the rest filled their canteens. Jasmine clasped her hands together nervously.

She stepped closer to him.

"Nate, I know you don't want to talk yet. We haven't had anytime because of the urgent distress call and, and being in cryo. You don't have to say a word I just need you help. I've managed to get things back in order for the most part but I need more people. Some of the personnel are just sitting in a tent over there on their beds not doing any work. Nothing I say will get them to move; they've been in there all day. With you here, I have an idea that may work. Will you help me?"

Frost was wearing the black bandanna up to his nose and had a blue HUD pieces of his left eye. On his right was exposed and the only part giving away the slightest hint of emotion. In the last few orange rays of sunlight in the encroaching darkness, she could see his steel gray eye shift to a lighter shade. He blinked a few times, lowered his head a bit. A moment later, he nodded. Jasmine reached out, putting her hand on his wrist. "Thank you, Nate, thank you. Follow me."

Jasmine led him to the tent and stood in the entrance with him. "Follow my lead," she whispered. "Listen up, all of you!"

A few of the personnel looked up at her, but most of the staff didn't give her any attention. To see them, now rested and fed, still not participating in the struggle to help the wounded was infuriating. In the scant amount of lulls they had been blessed with, she had taken time to learn their names from other personnel present at the field hospital. Already, she had written up the list to pass over to their senior officer who then could levy the proper punishment.

Waiting for a few moments for effect, Jasmine took off her glasses and gave them a hard look. "No matter what you do, your refusal has been logged and will be handed over to your to Lieutenant Commander Noto's CO. All of you will be court martialed, unless you get out there and get to work. If you get out there and _do your fucking jobs_ -" this earned her a surprised glance from Frost, "-then your refusal here will never leave this tent. Now, get out there."

No one moved. Jasmine sighed. "Alright. All of you will get out there and work, or this man will shoot you."

Frost was on point, as he flicked the safety off his assault rifle off and leveled it at the medical staff. Finally, all of them looked up. Ones who had been lying down or sitting were on their feet. Some began to step backwards, their hands raised.

The one that had given her lip before scoffed.

"Bullshit. No way you'd have some grunt shoot us. No way you could justify it."

Frost firing a burst into the air, earning a host of desperate cries and curses. All of them ducked down. Jasmine looked up at the tears in the canopy of the tent, then looked back down the cowering staffers.

"Try me," Jasmine said.

All of the immediately jumped to their feet and hurried out. Once they were gone, Jasmine let out a long breath. She smiled at Frost. "Thank you, Nate."

An immense weight lifted from her shoulders then. Having the added personnel would help stabilize the situation. She had done her best. Injured combat medics who had been brought back were now helping wounded personnel at the field hospital. Jasmine had been able to wrangle some engineers and they had fortified the position with HESCO bastions, sandbags, and had posted extra guards. Floorboards had been replaced and added, more tents around the field hospital were converted for sterile operating rooms. Some extra hands at the supply dump, had at her insistence, had begun helping with the steady stream of critical wounded her were being helped to Pelicans and taken to ships in orbit. All in all, the situation had become more manageable.

She stepped out but stopped when she realized he wasn't coming. Turning around, she saw that he had pulled his black bandanna down from his face and had taken off his helmet. He seemed so sad then. Jasmine wanted to hold him but remained cautious of their boundaries. "Nate?" she said in a quiet voice, stepping a bit closer.

"Jasmine," he said. Just hearing him say her name made her chest flutter a little. "I...can we talk?"

"Sure. This way."

Jasmine led him away from the hospital towards an observation post that had been constructed nearby. She had ordered it so that sentries could give her an update on the battle, as she was too focused to listen to the comms. Furthermore, they would serve to give her warnings on Covenant movement. If they threatened to break through, she could start evacuating the field hospital ahead of time.

Relieving the sentries, who were glad to have a break, she stood in the observation post with him. It was nothing fancy; the engineers had built on a rise near the field hospital, so they took some wood and planted in the dirt for the steps that led up to it. The actual post was nothing more than a semicircle of sandbags on a square-shaped wooden platform. Hardly a fortified position, but it was removed from the fighting that it would be at risk. Sentires complained at first that they were exposed to snipers, but not a single one had fired their way since they first manned the post.

Above them, stars began to twinkle as evening receded into night. The moon shone. Gunfire crackled further up the line and artillery continued to fall. Orange explosions glowed in the distance for a few moments before disappearing. Columns of smoke rose from the fields surrounding the Horseshoe. Jasmine sighed. "I'd say it a beautiful night but..."

"It's calm now, believe or not," Frost said quietly. "Sometimes, when it's like this, I find it almost pretty. From far away, war doesn't look so bad. Did you know civilians would have picnics and watch battles in the old days? It was sport to them, until cannonballs sent them running. War watchers think they know what it's like. They don't. They don't have to bring it back with them."

"Bring back what, with them?"

"War," Frost said, looking at her finally. "You can leave the battlefield, go on leave, get away. But it's _inside_ you. It doesn't go away, war." Frost adjusted the strap of his assault rifle, which was over his shoulder. It seemed to be a nervous action. He turned and faced her completely. "Jasmine, I wanted to say...wanted to tell you..."

Jasmine remained quiet, her heart pounding, waiting for him to say the words. Frost was obviously struggling. It was as if the search for the right words was painful to him. "I'm...I'm sorry, Jasmine. For blowing you off in the hangar, for making you wait, for screaming at you like I did. I should have explained, should have-"

She didn't let him finish. Jasmine closed the distance between them and embraced him as tightly as she could. For a moment, he seemed stunned. Then, his arms wrapped around her. Instinctively, she let out a long sigh. His arms felt comfortable around her, warm, strong, safe. He buried his face into the nape of her nape and didn't say another word. Jasmine could feel his shaky, warm breath on her skin and his beard. She ran one hand up his back and into his hair, which was thick and coarse from sweat.

"I'm sorry too," she said into his chest. "I should have been trying to understand you, trying to help you, not judge you."

Tears welled in the corners of her eyes. They parted a little so they could look at one another. "I understand why you did what you did. I understand that...that it was war. I can't agree with it, can't condone it, but I can't...despise you for it. You're a good man."

Frost gray eyes seemed to grow sadder.

"Jasmine, I'm not some paragon. I know what I did, and...you're right, it was wrong. It was evil. But I did it on my own accord, it was my choice. I did it so other people didn't have to. I did it for those soldiers who were tortured. All the guilt, remorse, horror, I felt when I held those women in my arms, carried them down the mountain, it turned into anger and hatred. I've had nothing but hate in my heart for the rebels. I can't feel anything but that. I know I shouldn't but I can't. I'm not a good man."

Jasmine rested her head on his chest again, pressing side of her cheek against his heart. She could feel it beating in his chest.

"What you did...you did it because you are a good man. Because you saw something that couldn't go unpunished. I respect you for that. I can't call you a murderer or a criminal for it. You are a good man. You will always be a good man to me. Things haven't changed. They won't change. I forgive you."

"And I you," Frost whispered.

Jasmine looked up at him and saw that he was smiling. He looked handsome, despite the dirt on his face and the fatigue under his eyes. Something glimmered in his eyes and he looked away into the distance. "Before our first deployment-Skopje-Hayes had as all assemble on the parade grounds of our camp and break into squads. He had each man in the squad ask the others a question to cement our dedication and brotherhood. He had ask one another, if we would fight for each other. Any man who said yes was somebody we could trust with our lives. And every man in the 89th said yes."

Frost looked back at her, reached down, and took one of her hands. "Jasmine, you know me. I'm a soldier, and I am a killer. I will not deny that. What you've said to me hasn't fallen on deaf ears. What I did, I know it was barbaric, but it was right. I carry that weight with me always and feelings that came with it. So I ask you, knowing what I am, would you fight for me?"

Jasmine stared into his hard gray eyes. She could see everything in him. Hatred, fury, remorse, guilt as well as humor, selflessness, goodness, gentleness. A man pained, a man righteous, a man who was willing to do evil on the behalf of others. A man who who put himself on the firing line so she didn't have to. A man who had saved her life. A man that made her laugh, smile, think.

She took his other hand as tears welled up in her eyes, as all of the emotions within him became hers.

"I would fight tooth and nail for you. Even if it cost me my own life, I would fight for you."

Frost smiled that little boyish grin of his, exposing his missing tooth.

"You ain't just saying that because you're a doctor, right?"

Jasmine smiled.

"I care about you, Nathan."

He stared at her for a moment, then gave her hands a gentle jerk towards him, and kiss her. Her initial surprise faded in a split second, and she closed her eyes. It was over all too quick; he withdrew first and Jasmine slowly opened her eyes.

"I...thought I ought to keep my promise," he said with a blush, letting go of her hands. Jasmine reached up and put one on his cheek, and the other on his chest. As they closed for another, their noses slid side by side like that night on the balcony. She closed her eyes.

"Frost, Langley here," came a voice over the comms, "where are you?"

Their eyes snapped open. An aggravated look crossed Frost's face.

"I'm talking with the Doc, what is it?"

"Um, we're back at our dugout. Conroy will be pissed he finds out our squad leader isn't here, so..."

"Alright, I'm oscar-mike."

Frost sighed and looked at Jasmine. "Sorry Jas, but I have to go"

"Be safe up there," Jasmine said. As Frost turned, she took him by the wrist and smiled. "Next time you come back from the line, I expect that kiss."

Frost only grinned.

* * *

More trenchworks had been dug near the blockhouse and the squad had made a sturdy dugout for themselves. Everyone was already back by the time Frost crawled in. Steele was watching the enemy line with Carris, while the others quickly ate MREs and drank water. Frost sat down in between Steele and Carris, his back against the woodwork that braced the wall of the trench. Steele got back down, lowering his sniper rifle.

"What took you?" he asked.

"I was talking to the doctor."

"And?"

Frost smiled at him, and Steele chuckled. He reached over and patted him on the shoulder. "See? I told ya, Nate-boy."

Frost loved him for that. The man had nearly died a slow, excruciatingly painful death, and he was more concerned with Frost's dilemma than his brush with mortality. What a man. He couldn't help but reciprocate Steele's cheeky grin.

"You alright, brother?"

"Oh just a terrible burning on the surface of my stomach, but other than that, all good. All thanks to Mrs. Roboto," Steele nodded at Carris, "and her sixth sense."

"You left your comms on, I could hear the scuffle," Carris said, her gaze forward. Her armor still had the stains of purple blood on it. Frost had taken a look at the corpse of the Elite on his way back. Grant had been right; there was no head left. Just a pile of blood, shattered skull, crushed brain, flesh, and other liquids that Frost couldn't put a name to. Rage and fear combined into something that didn't have a name either, an energy that drove a person to do things they couldn't control. Frost had more experience with that than he dared to admit. Carris and Steele were quite good friends; out of all the members of the squad, she had attached herself to him the most. Of course she would have gone to such lengths to make sure that Elite died in the most painful way possible. Almost losing a comrade like that was terrifying and infuriating.

Steele was looking at her too. He pulled out a rag and dumped a little water on it from his canteen. Going over to her, she tapped her shoulder. Carris looked his way.

"Hey love, turn and face me, eh?"

She did so, sitting down a little bit. With the rag he began to wipe away the blood. "Gotta get it off you. It'll stink soon."

Slowly his scrubbing began to reveal the green underneath. "Give us your hand, love." She gingerly put her hand in his and he began to rub and wipe away. The blood was caked on her hands and proved difficult to remove. She said nothing the entire time.

"We ought to call you Lucky Louie," Knight said.

"To say it was luck that only the tip went in is an understatement," Steele said gravely.

Grant tittered with laughter.

"Yeah, just the tip."

Frost would have clouted him for the crude joke but Steele chuckled as well, so he didn't see it as a problem. Bishop took a drag on a cigarette, and then laughed as he pointed at Steele.

"'Just the Tip,' should be your new war name. Louis-Henry "Just the Tip" Steele."

"Pfft, all he's got is the tip," Knight said, holding up his pinky finger and bending it a few times.

"Hey now," Steele said, grinning over his shoulder, "the tip is all the ladies need."

"Just the tip...I'd like to see that on a t-shirt," Grant joked.

"Maybe you ought to open up a nightclub after the war and call it that," Moser added, "Could you imagine that. 'Hey guys, want to head over to 'Just the Tip,' for a couple drinks later?' You'd make a killing."

"There's an idea," Steele said.

"I think I've come to conclusion that, collectively, you're a bunch of fourteen-year old's," Langley said, rolling her eyes as she checked on her radio.

"More like twelve-year old's," Carris said. Steele snorted.

Frost leaned back, thinking he could catch thirty minutes of sleep. Fatigue had finally caught up with him. Not being able to speak with Jasmine had also drained him. He could have stayed but frontlines weren't constant anymore. Stagnation came only in winter or in wars that occurred centuries earlier. His presence was needed there. Without the squad leader things would break down.

But his attention was drawn to Maddox. The combat engineer had his back turned the rest and was fiddling with something. Frost made his way over to him and peered over his shoulder.

"That looks like a bomb."

"No...really...?" Maddox said, stopping his work and glaring at him. Turning around, Maddox sat with his hands resting on his knees. "History lesson. First World War, you have deadlock in the trenches. Can't go over without wading through an ocean of mud, barbed wire, artillery, machine gun fire, and at the end, a line of steel bayonets. So what did they go and do? They went _under._ Like we did on Skopje; remember?"

Frost grimaced.

"All too well."

He could still hear shovels and pickaxes falling against soil, the suffocation of being in the earth with only a dim light, wearing nothing but boots and pants, armed with just his knife. Emerging from entrances half his size, gasping for air, into a thong

"Both sides of the war planted mines and bombs underneath each other, trying to blow one another up from below. Friggin' Italians blew up a goddamn mountain! So, we dig, we tunnel, we plant this big ol' charge underneath the wall, and blow a big fat hole in it. Disrupt their defense array, stun them, and give us the chance to storm through the breach."

Steele chuckled.

"Once more into the breach, dear friends, once more, or close the wall up with our English dead."

"Never realized you were so learned," Moser joked.

"Ol' Harry was a real conqueror," Steele retorted. "A real king."

"Oh yes, yes, a king who ordered the killing of French prisoners at Agincourt," Knight said. Steels snorted.

"Oh and we didn't?"

"That was different."

"Shut up," Frost ordered, too sharply. Knight and Steele gave him a semi-surprised look, then returned to their duties. Frost sighed and looked back at Maddox. "It's not the only option we have; concentrated air support or even tanks could get the job done."

"Hornets didn't do jack shit, and having Shortswords carpet bomb the area would end up getting some of us killed. Way too close. And the tanks could do it, but you saw what happened. Emery almost got blown up-again-and maneuvering tanks in between the wrecks and the holes would make them sitting ducks. Tunneling is the safest and most effective."

"Yeah, you're right. Langley, send word to Colonel Hayes that we need tunneling equipment. Shovels, pickaxes, and would for support."

Frost got up, shouldering his rifle, and headed for the entrance of the dugout.

"Where are you going?" Maddox asked.

"I'm off to get the Croat."

The 'Croat,' was the common nickname for the Borko Novac, a sergeant among the combat engineers of the 89th. Refusing to be called by his last name, he was a short man at five feet and three inches, with tanned skin, black hair, and amber eyes. His features were rugged and he never been seen clean shaven, even when he had first showed up at the age of twelve. While a good fighter, as was almost every man in the 89th, his true calling was engineering. When it came to building checkpoints, repairing vehicles or structures, setting up defenses, creating roadblocks, designing a base camp, he was an expert. Hayes had kept trying to promote him, but like Frost, he had refused the opportunity for a battlefield commission many times. Many NCOs in the 89th refused promotion; nobody wanted to split from their unit within the MEU, or end up riding desks like some of their more fortunate colleagues. Besides, many had held certain ranks for the better part of five years and had done nothing but fulfill their duties per their rank. Each man was a cog in a great machine, and they were comfortable in those capacities. Every man knew their place and _knew_ they had purpose. Whatever their actions were, they had an impact on the war effort and the well-being of the unit. Borko had always put the unit first. Instead of supervising construction or demolition, he did it himself. When the 89th had fought on Skopje, he had done a great deal of the tunneling himself. Several times he had to be dragged out because he was suffering from the shakes. His success in entering enemy tunnels, disabling them, and capturing and killing dozens upon dozens of enemy engineers had earned him the Medal of Honor. So, Frost wasn't going to start digging a tunnel with the little man beside him.

As he walked, Frost inhaled deeply. Fresh air was in short supply. The air reeked with the smell of burning fuel and flesh and decomposing bodies. One thing that Skopje had in plentiful supply was cool, clean air. Emerging from those blasted tunnels and taking that long gasp was enough to make him cry. Digging tunnels again wasn't something that he fancied. Listening to the the sounds of the other diggers, both friendly and enemy, had been enough to make him paranoid. Some men had suffered nervous breakdowns listening for shovels and picks. Collapses were infrequent and thankfully hadn't taken any lives.

That horrible groaning on the wooden supports, the stream of soil from the ceiling. Frost remembered looking up as the tunnel collapsed on top of him. Thankfully, it had been an isolated collapse. Although, he hadn't known that in the moment. He had thought the entire tunnel had filled with dirt. Instead, it had just been his section. Steele had been the one to dig him out, grab his ankles, and haul him out. After that, Frost had disdained going into the tunnels. Teo told him that he didn't have to, but Frost insisted on doing his duty; having the others go in without him was wrong. He'd do his part, just like the rest. As he would do tomorrow.

Borko was outfitting his men with tools and other items before they headed back to the frontline.

"Borko!" Frost called to him. The young Croatian turned around and grinned.

"Jacky Ripper," he said, his voice carrying an accent. "How goes the fight?"

"Stuck, as you're probably away. Maddox said-"

"Maddox! How is the miserable bastard?"

"...he's fine. Listen Borko, Maddox got the idea to do a little tunneling to get a charge under the enemy position. The Covenant are too dug into our own defensive line. He wants to blow a hole in it from below so we can rush through and-"

"Say no more!" Borko said, throwing down his current kit. "Tunneling, we haven't done that in five years! I'll get the gear and we can start."

"How long will it take?" Frost asked, following the springy engineer over to another large crate. Borko slid the cover off and began rummaging through it.

"Oh, maybe one day, maybe two. Depends on how you want the tunnel dug? You want it dug _fast_ , or you want it dug _safe_?"

"Both would be preferable."

"Can't have both; I'm an engineer, not a miracle worker."

"Engineers are miracle workers, I thought."

"If any of my engineers say that, I give them a good cuff. You can't have both. Fast or safe?"

"Safe."

"Ah, you're no fun."

"Digging tunnels ain't fun."

"To you, maybe. To me, it's a vacation. Two days, maybe three at the most, and we're gonna have ourselves a nice tunnel. Tall and wide enough for us to crouch in. You want lights?"

"We'll need a few lights."

"Then make yourself useful and grab that spool of electrical wiring. My hands will get the other materials. Ooh, this is gonna be a good tunnel."

"I find your enthusiasm quite disturbing, Borko."

"And I find your lack of it infuriating, Jacky Ripper."

Borko swung out a pickaxe out and onto his shoulder, then handed Frost a shovel before grabbed under from the crate. "Now, let's start digging."

* * *

The past two days. No clouds drifted lazily in the sky; only the sun sat in the clear blue blanket. Jasmine wiped her brow as she scrolled through the number of CASEVACs on her data pad. Pending airlifts patients, critical, noncritical, the lists went on.

She looked at the field hospital. While the stalemate on the Curve was infuriating soldiers and their commanders alike, Jasmine was glad for the respite. A decrease in casualties since last night had allowed her to take a more accurate stock of the situation. Medical supplies were plentiful thanks to a shipment that had arrived in the night. More tents had been erected and fresh doctors, surgeons, and specialists had arrived to the front with the reinforcing fleet. The Covenant had attempted to land more forces in the night; another fleet had arrived. Vivian had led the charge however. Thanks to her and the combined efforts of the reinforcing ships, the second enemy fleet was nothing but wreckage floating around the planet. Three battlecruisers, a destroyer, six light cruisers, and a pair of corvettes. Vivian's task force, now known as Vivian's Pirates-or Waters' Pirates to some others-had racked up an impressive kill count in their relatively short service. Due in no small part to Vivian's tactical acumen. But it was more than just skills and knowledge of strategy. When Jasmine led them into combat, victory was gained not just by her leadership, the actions of the crew, and the technology: it was control. Vivian was able to gain control of any combat situation she was in, whether or not she had started to fight. Battlefield control was something the UNSC Navy had been struggling for since the start of the war. UNSC ships didn't have shielding, guided plasma weapons, sophisticated slipspace drives, or advanced armor plating. Every engagement they had fought in so far, Vivian had fought it her way. The Covenant were forced to respond to _her_ actions, and they were not used to that. Invaders made conquest look easy, but when attacked, invaders made for poor defenders. Sometimes, Jasmine worried how Vivian would perform in a situation where she didn't have total dominance. Settling in a routine would be the death of their merry band of marauding pirates. But Jasmine was confident Vivian would get them out of any hairy situation.

Frost seemed more adaptable. In Vivian's defense, though, Frost didn't have to command a battle group when he fought. All he had was his squad and himself. A responsibility in itself, but far different from thousands of lives on five warships.

During the Battle of Camp Havens, she had seen him in action. Despite his rank, he commanded the defense like he was a general. NCOs above his station and even officers had heeded his orders during the engagement. When the Covenant infantry threatened to break through a spot on the line, Frost pulled men from another spot and had them shore up the weak point. If another point was threatened, he brought up more soldiers. He was a hands-on kind of leader, literally. He had pulled and tugged and pushed soldiers right where they needed to be. Some may have called that picky, but Frost was able to do it _while_ fighting, so she didn't see the harm in it. Ground warfare was not as predictable as orbital combat was. Granted, both had their fare share of surprises. Clever commanders could lay ambushes, deploy new weapons, or employ unconventional tactics to shock and confuse an enemy. On the ground, there was more movement, larger masses of bodies. To win the fight, one had to get up close and personal. Soldiers had to be willing to draw their blades and fight the Covenant face-to-face. Frost wasn't afraid to do that. He had taken on Elites, one-on-one, and emerged as the victor. He made it look so easy.

So did Vivian. To compare them was to compare two different styles of warfare, each with their own distinct traits and few similarities. Comparing was pointless, they were both capable war leaders with plenty of notches on their belts.

Her mind wandered back to a few nights ago, standing at the raised observation point. A huge relief had washed over her that night, All of the anxiety that came with their brief fracture was gone. Instead, a new exciting kind of anxiety had replaced it. Jasmine was a firm believer that there was such a thing as good anxiety. One could call it excitement, but excitement was not always accompanied by nervousness. Kicking herself for mulling over wordplay, Jasmine recalled their kiss. It had been so short but she could still feel it on her lips. In that brief moment, she had been entirely focused on hi despite the shock. The field hospital, her staff, her patients, the war, all of it disappeared for just a moment. Just one, absolutely blissful moment. If his squad hadn't called for him, it would have gone on a lot longer. There was no beating around the bush, she had been ready to snog his face. Jasmine couldn't keep denying it; he meant something to her, more than he realized perhaps.

She had never had a boyfriend before. No dates, not even pity ones. All her life she had been practically ignored by the opposite sex. Relationships hadn't been much of a priority, but she was human. Affection, emotional connection, all the gooey romantic qualities everyone wanted in their relationships-she had thought about it plenty of times. Frost-Nathan-if he felt the same way about her, maybe it was worth trying. If they did, then they really would be breaking frat regs. How would Vivian take it? How would his friends take it? Or his CO, Hayes? Would Frost want to? He had to feel the same way, he wouldn't have kissed her if he didn't. Jasmine lowered her data pad, propped her glasses on her forehead, and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She was tired, more so when a wave of guilt struck her. She was supposed to be caring for the wounded, not worrying about her potential love life. God, she was worried about him. Two days and not once had she seen or heard of him. He was down in that godforsaken tunnel the sappers were digging. Why he had to help, she had no idea. Frost was no engineer. Plenty of the diggers had come back due to hypoxia. Every time a man was brought up, her heart froze, thinking it might be him. So far, it hadn't been him, which was relief but did little to lift the dread from her shoulders. Imagining him in that tunnel filled her with fear.

All of a sudden, the ground shook. Jasmine looked around. Voices from the field hospital began buzzing. Was it an earthquake? When she looked towards the front, there was a thunderous explosion and a column of dirt and fire shot upwards.

 _I just had to jinx it._

* * *

 _Minutes earlier..._

"Oh, it's good tunnel, don't worry. I like tunnels, oh yes. I'm an engineer and I love digging. Fucking asshole," Frost muttered under his breath as he made his way down the tunnel. It had been completed an hour ago. Lights had been strung up on either side, and wooden braces held it up every few feet. It was dim inside the cramped, square-shaped tunnel. The air was stale. More than once they had to send a man back to the field hospital because of the shakes. The shakes was an unofficial name for hypoxia, when the body became deprived of oxygen. Men often began to shake, became disoriented, had terrible head pain, and worse. Getting them outside, breathing fresh air, was the quickest way to deal with it. More severe cases were carried to the field hospital and had to be treated with pure oxygen via a breathing mask. Sometimes it didn't have to come to that; oxygen cylinders of any size were dangerous to be around in a war zone.

"Ah, don't be so hard on the guy. Not a single cave-in in two and half days. Not bad, huh?" Steele said from in front of him. They were both moving in a crouch. Both men were covered with brown dirt; they were wearing olive drab t-shirts, which they wore under their combat shirt and jacket, and their normal BDU trousers. Sweating made the dirt cling even worse. Their hair was wet and filthy.

"Almost there," Maddox said from behind. He was carrying a bundle of C-12 explosives in a backpack, called a Blow or Damage Pack. During the Battle of the Somme, tens of thousands of explosives and explosive components were stuffed into a mine underneath enemy positions. The resulting detonation left a crater that was nearly a hundred feet deep and over three hundred feet wide. Considering that even the smallest C-12 shaped charge could level buildings upwards of five stories high, Maddox had decided that only one pack was needed.

When they finally reached the end, which was in the shape of a rectangle, they found all of the Damage Packs were set up neatly and pressed together for a concentrated detonation. Maddox set his down carefully on top. Delicately, he reached into his satchel and retrieved an M168, a powerful charge on its own. The M168 would be used to detonate all of the other charges around it; no device was better suited, as it had a keypad for a detonation code. Once armed, they could return to remove themselves to safer positions. Then, they would trigger the detonation, and would watch as the grand explosion, forty feet underground, erupted under the fortifications. A major offensive was planned at the Curve; once the detonation occurred, an attack would immediately follow.

Maddox was about to tap in the code but his finger hovered over the keypad. Frost watched curiously.

"What is it?"

"I forgot the damn code," Maddox said.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Steele hissed.

"Maddox, you're a goddamned professional, I would expect you to memorize it or at the very least write down a very simple number combination," Frost scolded.

"I did write it down, I forgot to bring it with me," Maddox said, trying not to sound meek. "I'll go get it."

Frost put a finger to his earpiece.

"Does anybody have the code to the M168 we brought down with us? Anybody?"

His question was met with dead silence. Frost threw his arms up in the air. "Seriously?! We're in a fucking war and our offensive is stalled because of a fucking number combination!? Jesus-fuckin'-Christ. We have goddamned _computers_ attached to our helmets that we can feed data into, and ships that can enter another dimension of space! Friggin' _space!_ But nope, we're relying on fucking pencil and paper here! Here I thought we were professional soldiers but I guess not, we're a bunch of rookies fresh out of basic who don't even know how to lop a grenade properly. Fuck me sideways, this is ridiculous."

"Uh, Frost, you're still on the comms," Langley said through his earpiece. Frost buried his face into his palm. "Maddox, just get back up there, find the code, and relay it over the comms, I'll put it in."

"Right."

Maddox disappeared up the tunnel. Frost exhaled sharply and leaned back against the side of the tunnel. Steele was fiddling with his satchel but he didn't pay him any mind. Frost just hoped he could get out of the tunnel soon.

"Say bruv, how long did it take us to come down the tunnel?"

"Well, it's a couple of hundred yards and we were moving at a crouch. I'd say ten, fifteen minutes."

"And if we were scrambling on our hands and knees?"

"Well, you and I are pretty fast, we'd be out in less than a minute I would think."

"Mhm. About a minute...and uh, intense heat can set off explosives, right?"

"Of course..." Frost quirked an eyebrow. "Why...?"

Steele didn't answer; he had lit a cigarette and was no puffing away. Frost coughed; it was hard enough to breathe in the tunnel anyways. "You know how stupid it is to smoke around high explosives?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Steele unraveled something and then coiled it around the M168. Frost's eyes widened.

"Steele, is that a thermite carbon cord?"

"Yep. Come on follow me."

Steele worked his way back up the tunnel, and Frost followed. Steele was still unraveling the cord, laying it out straight along the tunnel. "So here's my plan. We ignite this bitch and let the cord burn all the way up to the charge, let it detonate, and _boom_ , we get our explosion."

"To say that's a stupid idea is-"

"Got any smart ones?"

"Yeah! Not do this!"

"Mate, I'm tired of sitting in this tunnel. This'll be more fun, eh?"

"Running for my life? No, not fun."

"You were laughing your brains out while we ran from a nuke, bruv."

"That's different."

"No, it ain't. Say, think I can light this thing with my cigarette?"

"What? It's made of thermite-carbon alloy, I don't think a cigarette is enough to set it off."

"Probably right." Steele retrieved the charge for the cord and placed it at the very end. "We should have enough time-"

"These things burn fast, Steele!" Frost shouted. "We'll be in pieces before we get even close to the tunnel exit."

"Bruv, relax. We're halfway up the tunnel already, and I laid out plenty of cord."

"Hey mates, I found the code," Maddox said over the comms suddenly. Frost breathed a sigh of relief.

"Hold on Maddox, stay where you are." Steele said. "By the way, what's that thing you say before you detonate a charge?"

"Huh?"

"You know. Your little motto."

"Oh. Better cover your ears lads."

"Exactly. Also, everybody up there should start running."

Steele activated the charge.

"Oh you fucking-"

"Run bruv!"

The tunnel became a brown blur as Frost scrambled after Steele. His heart pounded in his chest as he scratched, scraped, and clawed his way back up to the surface. In his head he pictured the burning cord, the whole thing lighting up like a burning trail of gunpowder like in the old cowboy flicks. He kept going. Steele was ahead of him. Then, he saw the light of day. And then felt the ground heave beyond him and everything became black.

There was a terrible weight on him. He tried to move and it felt like he was swimming through cement. Something-lots of something's-were moving around and on top of him. Frost couldn't breath. He tried to open his mouth but dirt slid in. He hacked and coughed; he had no idea which way was up or down. He could tell if he was on his side or his back or his belly. Air was impossible to find. HIs lungs were burning.

All of a sudden he felt something on his back, then felt a multiple hands puncture the soil around him and yank him up. Frost gasped for air, dirt and saliva flying from his mouth. His head was ringing and everything seemed to be moving slow. The dugout was gone; the sandbags had been blown back against one of the nearby blockhouses. All was left was a hole. Plasma artillery was falling all around him. Marines and Army troopers were rushing by, firing their weapons and yelling. He couldn't hear them; their voices seemed distant, like in a cave.

Frost closed his eyes. It was hard to see. His eyelids felt heavy. When he opened them again, he found himself back in a Skopje tunnel. Rebels were running at him from passageways lining the tunnel, screaming animals. They looked more like monsters, their faces concealed, their improvised uniforms baggy and strangely shaped. He wheeled around, dodging knife thrusts and tomahawk swings, stabbing, slicing, dicing, slitting as he did. Bodies fell at his feet, lined the tunnel. Frost roared as a knife punctured his back. He turned around and stabbed the assailant. Another knife entered his back. A third sank into his shoulder. He shook off his attackers and began pounding and ripping and tearing with his fists. Screams of pain mingled with his own bloodthirsty howling.

"Nate, Nate!"

Frost opened his eyes as water was splashed onto his face. Jasmine was in front of him, shaking him. "Say something!"

"Steele?" he coughed.

"He's alright. Everyone's okay. The shellshock of the blast knocked nearby fortifications down and sent people hurling to the ground. Look!"

Frost turned, still panting. The concrete defensive wall had a massive hole in its center, and what remained was sliding into a large crater the marines and GIs were now pushing towards. Men climbed into the fortifications, rolling over the stunned Covenant defenders like a horde of ants over an enemy anthill.

"I need to take my squad in for the attack," Frost said, rising to his feet. Jasmine held him down by his arm.

"No! You need to stay here with me, I need to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine," Frost said, freeing his arm. His hearing and recovered completely and time had caught up. Frost stood up in the soil as Knight tossed him an assault rifle. The squad assembled around him. "Steele," he said, pointing at his filthy compatriot. "I should fucking demote you!"

"Tell me it wasn't fun, eh?" Steele said, loading a DMR.

"Move out!" Frost yelled. He turned to face Jasmine. "Get away from here, Jas, it's about to get really hairy."

"You're not even wearing your armor!"

Frost led his team through the breach, striding over the blasted soil, scrambling up the slope of the crater. Everything was a blur. His training and experience took over. He began directing troops to different positions. The Covenant were in full retreat and GIs were now turning captured plasma turrets on the fleeing aliens. The human wave hurtled forward, covering lots of ground between the ruins of the second line and the first. Trenches, bunkers, blockhouses, foxholes, and pillboxes were reclaimed. Until Frost and his squad found themselves in the middle of the ground between the two defensive lines, on top of a blockhouse, loading a machine gun. Rising out of the main trenches ahead of them came a counterattack. A mass of Covenant stormed forward; Elites with their energy swords, Jackals with their shields, Grunts waving plasma grenades.

"Holy shit our left flank is going!" Steele yelled. Frost looked to his left and saw their charge deflate, and the olive drab horde retreat.

"Right flank's going!" shouted Knight.

Frost then looked in the opposite direction. Their attack petered out and turned into a retreat back to the second line.

"Get down!" Frost shouted as he took hold of the machine gun on its tripod. "Everybody get going, I'll cover you! Move!"

Frost began firing as the Covenant mass drew closer and grew even larger. Even with prolonged squeezes on the trigger, the enemy would not stop. He was so focused that he didn't know if his squad had bothered to retreat.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed him by his shirt. Bishop turned him around.

"Get out of here, Nate! I'll cover you!"

"No, Frank, no-"

Bishop threw him from the top of the blockhouse just as a group of Skirmishers leaped up onto the roof. Frost got back to his feet and was about to climb back up the ladder when he felt Carris' iron grip latch onto his wrist and lead him back to the safety of the second line. Frost felt tears burn down his cheeks.

* * *

" _Putting myself at risk? No problem. No questions asked. Put myself into a position where I could die? Fine. One of my squad members and_ friends _do that? No. If there had been time, I would have made Bishop get off of that blockhouse. Watching him face down that horde by himself, in that brief instant, was...was..."_

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Hey everyone, sorry for a belated chapter. This was a difficult one to write and it went through a lot of revisions. It's all over the place just like me so it checks the fuck out! I also had a pleasant visit from my fiancee which was sorely needed, so I'm re-focused on the story now. Hope you enjoyed it. Now, that said, let's get onto comment responses. As a note to newcomers, if you leave a review, I will always respond no matter in the author's note section of each chapter.**

 **Commissar Critical: Hey, thanks for leaving a bunch of reviews! To touch on what you've said so far, at least on the subject of starships, in my opinion Halo has a very loose science to it. Consider this: The Spirit of Fire, a ship larger than a Valiant, was once** _ **inside**_ **a planet, going under all manner of gravitational stresses and anomalies. Ignoring how being inside a planet makes no sense, the SoF was able to operate entirely normally. Also look at the amount of graphic art depicting the UNSC** _ **Infinity**_ **in atmosphere, or multiple times we saw cruiser-class vessels landing and taking off from surface-based drydocks, as the** _ **Pillar of Autumn**_ **in the end of Halo: Reach. If frigates are hard to handle in atmosphere then it didn't seem like it when one swooped down on a Halo ring in Halo 3 with pinpoint accuracy and was able to hover over a selected piece of ground, deploying tanks and Warthogs. Also of note that a lot of the science and technology that is stated in the books do not translate well into the games themselves, and going into this story I had to consider which lore to follow, game lore, or book lore. I decided against either one and tried to find a middle ground, trying to compare as much lore and science and world-building as I could. As you can see, it doesn't always work, but seeing as that Halo has broken its own rules multiple times, then I think a Valiant briefly entering atmosphere is acceptable. You wouldn't believe how many blanks I have to fill in on my own with a story like this, in which I try my best to stay true to the Halo universe. Halo isn't a lore-bound game, nor does it have hard and fast rules as say the Mass Effect series. Of course, ME benefits from being an RPG, not a FPS. Halo has thin rules, and considering how it screws up its own lore on multiple occasions (basically Halo: Reach and all of the books), I have to take a few liberties as the author to make certain scenes work. I have to apply both logic and the need to entertain when I write certain scenes. Trust me, I don't like doing it, but at some points, I gotta, otherwise the story will derail a bit.**

 **On the subject of Vivian, your disdain for her is completely justified. Vivian is living in a dream world at this point; rather than seeing the perspective of others, she operates on blind emotion. It is obvious to us what happened to her friends was an act of war, completely justified-what soldier wouldn't shoot armed, potential hostiles? There's no basis for a court-martial. But Vivian doesn't see that just as a war crime-she sees it as an abuse of power on the part of the UNSC, ruthlessly cracking down on a rebels with varied goals-she also sees it as a** _ **moral**_ **crime. Those were her friends, who were young, devoted, intelligent, and good, and they were killed. As their friend, she can't NOT feel that it was a crime that they were killed in such a way. Will she change in the future? Maybe, maybe not. That is for me to write and for you to find out. But also, thank you so, so much for the constructive comments and the introspection on my work, I really appreciate Commissar, it means a lot.**

 **Alpha HighBreed: I have a lukewarm attitude towards prolonged italic use. So far, I've used it to signify when people think, sing, or are writing/reading something. All of those have been pretty short or at a couple paragraphs at most, if I recall. The flashback sequences-it makes sense to use them-but writing several pages worth of content in italics is jarring to the eye, at least for me. I ought to have signified that it was an event in the past by a brief word or two at the top-I ought to go back and do that. But I want to keep it in normal prose because I thought it wouldn't be pleasant to the eye. I have other reasons too but I think you get my point.**

 **Full Brit? ...you mean the porn thing? Or did I use too many phrases; I've always been wary of that, because I don't want to offend or mis-portray a nationality/race/ethnicity/culture/ by what a character says or does. I do my best, but I also hope that if I overstep you and the other readers will let me know. And yep, it's a little more introspective now that things have gotten a little more complicated. This chapter may provide some hope but I'll warn you, we're not out of the woods yet.**

 ***sigh* I feel like I just set of a string of jokes now by the whole Carris tossed Langley thing. The day somebody makes a meme of it...and yeah, sorry about the rant. I think we've mentioned it before but I've got some strong opinions about education here in the States. And on the SIII's, I mean on the Spartan legacy as a whole, not specifically the SIII's. Although the II's, the III's, and the IV's are all separate units, they all bear the name Spartan, and as such are linked by dark beginnings and heroic deeds. So it's the legacy of the Spartan programs and their history as a whole, not individually. Sorry about that. And take your time with your story, you've shown me a world of patience and I can do the same for you, brother. Thanks for swinging by my friend.**

 **UNSC-Helljumper: First of all, thank you very much for the kind words, brother. I appreciate that you're liking the store more and more, and I hope that I can continue to provide that entertainment for you. I'm glad you picked up on the complication of the relationships that are growing from this, but as I said to Alpha, things aren't completely clear yet. On your suggestions, rest assured, Frost and Vivian are going to keep bumping into each other.** _ **I'm Alone**_ **is a big ship, but it's a lot smaller on the inside, if you catch my drift. On the second idea, it's a good idea but I can't comment further without spoiling future parts of the story. Hopefully that's not too much of a spoiler...**

 **Redder117: Thank you my friend, I'm really glad that you're enjoying the story so far. This story's isn't for everybody and I understand why, so the fact that you like it so much means a lot of me. More chapters coming soon so stay tuned!**

 **MightBeGone: SNAP! Excellent pun! You shall be getting no copyright strike from me! *turns around, whispering into phone* Uh, yeah...get my lawyer please. *cough* Anyways! Yeah sticking to the lore can be really difficult. Having an original story, non-fanfic related, and building and referencing the world and lore for that is fun. With fanfics such as ours, it can become tedious, you're right; flow is interrupted by multiple journey's to the wiki or to YouTube to look up clips from the games. It's a right pain in the ass. My strategy is to try to squeeze lore out in like a sentence or two because...sometimes that's all the friggin' wiki gives us. Keep it short and sweet, and craft as many scenes as you can to not rely on the lore and the science and the tech and all the rest. And every writer as their own style; I have mine, you have yours, we all do. Trust me, I've an eye for these sort of things.**

 **Oh...sorry about the not killing anybody thing. Guess I just got carried away, huh? The rush of the ending? OR DID I? DID I PLAN THIS ALL ALONG? FROM THE VERY BEGINNING? IS THAT A CRUEL THOUGHT, THAT I'VE MADE YOU ENJOY A CHARACTER AND NOW I'VE TAKEN HIM AWAY? MWHAHAHAHAHAHA!**

 ***cough* Uh, yeah, it's sad. Sorry bro.**

 **TheShadeOps: I'm glad you took a shining to the idea. I'm surprised a lot of the regular commenters did. I thought it was kind of a lame idea at first and I wasn't even planning on including it, it was a new idea I got while writing the chapter. Not only will it serve to spice up ground action scenes in the future, but it'll also provide some good instance of character growth and interaction, which is why I went ahead with the idea. I was worried people would roll their eyes and be like, "Ugh," so it's relieving that you and others are keen on it. And yes, isn't that the question? Everyone can have their ideas, but Vivian is the master and commander. All must pass through her eyes and approval. Will it? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Perhaps not in the way we imagine...hm?**


	33. Chapter 33: Angels

**With the holidays, I present to you, the revival of** _ **I'm Alone!**_ **What do I have for you: six chapters, this one included, for your reading pleasure! Something that I'd appreciate is if you could hold your comments until you've read all six chapters, because these are all fairly connected and I want to present them to you in one big episodic way.**

 **I also would like to offer my sincerest apologies for being away so long. My senior year of college has been hellish and I've had a lot of work, including a time-destroying internship. And I assure you, even if I'm not posting, I'm still writing. But you have to understand that in my free time I like to do other things; I love to read and play video games, I love spending time with my sweetheart. It's a high stress time for me and writing isn't always a de-stresser, especially a story I care about this much. Not to mention I have other stories that I'd like to start working on, and one original story that's in the design stages right now that I'd hopefully get turned into a webcomic or a novel.**

 **I also want to be transparent with** _ **how**_ **I write. I'm the kind of writer that needs to spend a lot of time thinking about what I'm going to write, before I actually write. Often I'll open up a document, think for a while, type a little, think some more, type a little, think, d then got on a typing spree. It's a slow process. Not to mention I have difficulty writing because there is so much stuff that I want to put into this story, but I'm afraid certain language or actions will alienate readers. It's not that I think that you're all hypersensitive and it's not like this story has a profanity filter, but I have always had a crippling anxiety that readers will not be able to separate an action from the story and myself, the author. I'll go into that another day.**

 **For now, thank you for being so patient and diligent. Writing this is one of my greatest pleasures, and I hope to crank out a couple more chapters in the coming weeks and months.**

* * *

Chapter 33: Angel

* * *

When Frost found himself back into the crater, he was immediately greeted by a frenzied Maddox who clapped both hands on his filthy shirt.

"Nate, we gotta go back out and get him! We gotta do something!" he cried. "Bishop's going to die!"

"I know, I know," Frost said, trying to wrestle him off. "Calm down, alright, just calm down."

"He's gonna die! You gotta do something, you gotta do something!"

"Here they come!" someone yelled. Marines and GI's surged forward, up out of the crater, taking positions on the remnants of the wall. The Covenant advance slowed as machine guns and grenades tore their front ranks apart. Then, it stopped altogether; the UNSC was holding the line. Frost and his squad were in the bottom of the crater and could play no part in the action.

"Langley, can you raise him?" Frost asked quickly, still trying to get Maddox off of him.

"Nothing, just dead air," she said, her eyes wide.

"You gotta do something!" Maddox pleaded, his eyes wide, his composure gone, his face filled with terror. Frost stared into his eyes for a moment, as if all sound disappeared, and saw true desperation. Instead of seeing the cursing, yelling, cantankerous man he had known for eight years, all he saw was a the face of a kid, looking for his lost brother.

Steele marched over and tore Maddox off of Frost. Flinging him to the dirt, he stood above Maddox.

"Kyle, you need to calm down and _shut the fuck up!_ " he yelled, pointing at him. "No one's going out there until we clear the Covenant, or we'll all die!"

He whirled around, pointing at Frost. "We need to get up on that wall and start thinning their ranks. It's all we can do to help him. Hold tight, keep firing, and then wait for an opportunity to get to him."

"He'll be dead by that point!" Maddox hollered at him. "You're just going to leave him out there, to die alone!?"

"What's more important, Kyle!?" Steele shouted, "One life or all of ours!?"

"You son of a bitch!" Maddox roared, jumping to his feet and swinging at Steele. The sniper ducked back and raised his fists. Once again, the combat engineer made a move, throwing a wild punch. But before anyone else could intervene, Carris darted in between them and Maddox's fist landed on her chestplate. A look of shock crossed his face and he clutched his hand. After a brief cry of pain, he staggered a few steps away from them. "My hand's broken!," he said with more surprise than pain.

Whatever Carris was feeling under her helmet, it was unknown to Frost and the rest. She stood as solid as a statue, towering over Maddox who was half-keeled over clutching his hand. Everyone was standing there, stunned. Even Steele, who was still behind Carris, looked absolutely aghast.

A minute passed, with machine guns clattering, artillery booming, shells exploding, men screaming, wounded soldiers trickling back from the line, fresh ones moving up, the occasional corpse of a Covenant trooper falling from the wall or sliding down the slope of the crater. The entire squad stood absolutely still, unsure what to do.

Finally, it was Carris who made the first move. Her posture seemed to relax and she reached forward slowly. Maddox took a large step back. As he did, Carris's hands froze for a moment, then she retracted it. Steele stepped around her.

"Kyle, I want to get him too, but we can't risk-"

"Fuck you," Maddox snarled. Frost came over.

"Head back to the field hospital and see to that hand."

"You have to get him back, Nate. You're squad leader. Get him back," he ended firmly, but his voice cracked at the end. When he turned, Frost knew tears were threatening to roll down his friend's cheeks. His gaze turned to Carris and Steele. Already, he knew that there was going to be trouble in their barracks after the battle was over. That was a problem that would have to wait. First, they had to get through this fight.

"I didn't mean to hurt him. I was just trying to stop him from hitting you," Carris said to Steele. "I forget that this armor is so..."

"Hitting one thousand pounds at full force is bound to put some cracks in anybody's hand. Hell, even punching a solid wooden beam hard enough would bust your hand up," Steele said, reaching up and patting her on the shoulder.

Frost walked over to them. Carris turned and lowered her head a little.

"I'm sorry, Frost, I didn't-"

"Don't worry, Carris," he said. "But right now, we need to get up on that wall and we need to start fighting."

Frost led them to an undamaged section of the concrete defensive wall. All of the Covenant weapons had been turned around. Marines were inside unscathed Shade turrets or using the Type-42's, raking the Covenant with plasma fire. M247's had been carried up but a group of GI's had tossed a rope over the wall and were now pulling up AIE-486H machine guns and their tripods. Others were roping rocket launchers, sandbags, and other heavy equipment up to the wall as well. They found a ladder and ascended to the very top.

Borko the Croat had said engineers weren't miracle workers, but in the short span of time from the beginning of the assault, they had already begun re-fortifying the wall. Sandbag walls facing the Covenant positions were already lined up on the top, ammunition crates were already cracked open. They were damned fast. Frost know Borko was the one behind it; maybe not by his own hands but by his order. Despite his rank, he commanded a great presence. For a while, he had been wracking his brain to figure what kind of people he could use in the Marine Raiders unit. They'd need a couple of combat engineers; there was Maddox, but just one wasn't going to be enough. They'd need a demolition expert as well and another engineer. Borko was a full-bred engineer, Maddox the perfect hybrid of demo and typical engineer duties, and then there would be the explosives expert. Maddox, being the jack of all trades, could guide them both. Who would be the demolition man he did not know, but Borko would be his other engineer. He shook the thoughts from his head. He had to focus; Bishop was out there. They had to at least get eyes on him before they could do something.

Frost put them into position along the sandbag wall. The Covenant advance had been halted and their horde had been thinned. But they were holding fast in the open ground, impacting themselves in trenches and craters. Reinforcements were coming up as well, augmenting their current strength. Many were still stuck on open ground but these were crack troops; Elite Majors and Ultras, firing up with plasma rifles and Type-50 DER/H's, or concussion rifles. Those weapons were powerful and could rip a man off his feet-quite literally in fact. Soldiers could be sent flying just from a blast landing near them. Such devastating power in a three and a half foot long weapon was terrifying.

But he wasn't concerned about them. Instead, he was looking at the blockhouse where they had been. Frost took out his binoculars and peered at it. The squat structure sat almost in the center of the field between their position and the Covenant controlled outer line. To its left and right were other typical defensive structures, with lacing of trenches and foxholes connecting them all. The blockhouse however sat in the open, solitary and proud in a certain way. It wasn't too far away, he just needed to inspect it closely. Covenant were swarming on top and around it. There was no sign of his pointman. Bodies littered the roof and the ground around it.

"Fuck, I can't see him," Frost said to Langley, who was kneeling beside him.

"Let me see those."

He handed them to her and she peered through the scope. After a moment, she pointed. "Look. Covenant keep going into the blockhouse, but none of them are coming out. Why would they be going in if there's no one there? And why wouldn't they be coming out if the fight is over here."

Frost took the binoculars and looked at the blockhouse again. She was right. A squad of Skirmishers flooded in and none would reappear. Some minutes later, a small group of Grunts rushed in, and did not come out again. Even an Elite or two eventually headed inside, never to be seen again.

"He's gotta be in there."

"Should I try to raise him? again"

"No. Even if he can hear us, he's fighting. He has to focus. I want you to get a hold of some Hornets, and have them target the area around the blockhouse. The less that get in the better. Keep the gun runs going from east to west, have them use the autocannons on the roof and the missiles around it."

"You've got it."

Frost got up. "Where are you going?" asked the radio operator.

Wiping black soil off of his forehead, Frost slung his rifle over his shoulder.

"I'm getting my armor. I'm going out there. And I'm getting my friend out of there."

Frost found his armor back with the rest of their gear in another dugout that had been prepared thirty or so yards behind theirs. First, he threw on his combat jacket, then the ballistic layer, and finally the armor pieces. Taking his canteen, he dumped half of it on the top of his head and his face, washing away most of the black grime clinging to his skin. Then took a quick swig and coughed; he hadn't realized how dry his throat was. He wanted to throw up. Thinking of Bishop trapped in that blockhouse was filling him with an indescribable dread. Bad memories returned, of a darkness filled with so many angry voices and maddened eyes. Frost ran a hand over his face, breathing for a moment, pushing back against such horrors.

The field ahead of the wall was still rife with Covenant. Yes, they had been stalled and were dug in. A full counterattack right at that moment was still a bad idea; they were still aggressive enough to hold their positions and inflict plenty of damage. Furthermore, there was no armor support for the Marines. Tanks were nearby; he could hear them approaching and a few were already at the crater. Yet they weren't rolling through. Why the hell weren't they moving forward towards the breach? An infantry-based counterattack would be successful but with high, unnecessary casualties. Armored support would limit their losses. Such was the nature of the great game of attrition, though. How many were left standing at the end, how many deaths could be avoided, how much territory could be regained with minimal bloodshed, how much material and personnel would the enemy lose in the process? Resources, information, cyberwarfare, even weapons of mass destruction alone couldn't win this war. The Covenant couldn't be out-produced through industry. Cyberwarfare couldn't achieve any long-term victories. Nuclear means couldn't even break through Covenant shields on their own. And information didn't matter for the long-term, no matter what the pencil-pushers in intelligence said. Frost knew the different species, a little of their hierarchy, and the best ways to kill them. He was positive that the Covenant knew just about the same is them, at least as far as he was aware. Yet that was all he needed to know in order to fight them, and vice versa. This was the way it was; waves of men against waves of aliens, a boxing match between two brawler-boxers going at one another until one fell down, bloodied, bruised, unconscious.

Attrition warfare was an ancient concept to many, with no place in an age when starships blazed through space. And yet, here was their war-his war-where everything and everyone was pitted against the enemy, and when the dust settled, the winner with the most bodies left standing would be the winner. Not just attrition warfare: total war. In those wars, there was always a final decisive battle, a battle that broke the enemy army and scattered them to the wind, bringing their leaders to the negotiation table. Such a battle hadn't been fought yet, and Frost had his doubts that one would ever arise. If it did, it would be a stand-up fight, with no room for clever tactics.

 _Clear your head, damn it. Focus._

If he were to make it to that damnable blockhouse, he'd have to slog through the enemy ranks. No room for graceful tricks. He'd have to push through and kill everything in his path. Speed and aggression were his best chances. Frost knew there was also a chance he wouldn't make it, and he was fine with that. It was his decision: Bishop's life meant more to him than his own. It was going to be one hell of a fight and that pleased him.

He slammed a fresh clip into his assault rifle and turned around. Jasmine was standing there.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

Frost couldn't lie.

"One of my men is still out there. I'm going to get him out."

"There's too many out there, even for you."

"Shouldn't you be back at the hospital. I got a hurt man there."

"He's in good hands, Nathan-"

"If I send a wounded man to you, I expect _you_ to treat him."

"You don't get to tell me how I do my job," Jasmine said with a frown. "Nate, I just took a look at the line. There's still hundreds of them out there and more are coming."

Frost had walked past her and she was trying to keep up over the uneven terrain.

"I don't try to tell you how to run your hospital, do I?"

"What do you just say to me like, five seconds ago!?" she asked, "If you send someone to me, you expect me to treat them? I also recall someone imploring me to keep my hospitals away from the frontline," Jasmine said.

"Yeah, well that's different-Borko!"

Borko, having come down from the wall, was standing at the edge of the crater beside the stubby column of Scorpions, arguing with Emery. "Why the hell aren't those tanks moving!?"

"Crater's too deep, might get stuck at the bottom. They need ramps!"

"Nate-"

"They're fucking Scorpion tanks-they have four separate tracks-they can traverse almost any terrain!" Frost shouted at him. "What makes you think this crater will stop them!? It's not even that steep."

"Well I'm an engineer and I say it is too steep and it's too risky! The dirt's too soft, crater is too deep and too wide! Soft soil means poor traction, they could get stuck! And look, look, it's not steep going down but with the soft soil they may not be able to get back up the slope. They'll just slide down, even with the treads, man! I's rather be cautious then see our one advantage get stuck in one fucking hole!"

"Then get some ramps!"

"I's don't _have_ no ramps!"

"You just said we needed them!"

"That's right, we do they need them; I wouldn't be a-saying so if I _had_ any! It's not like I can fit one in my rucksack!" "If I had one of those AVLB's in the rear then I-" Borko's eyes lit up. "AVLB's! Yes, yes! I's put a bridge across it! Yes! The ground around the crater is hard enough, it'll hold! I need to find some AVLB's!"

"How long will that?"

"Nate, listen to-"

"I's tell you once I fuckin' get those bridge layers up here! Hell I don't know, it may not be until tonight. Army logistics are hell right now!"

"Fuck!" Frost swore and stormed down into the crater. "Fuck! Is it too much to ask for some armored support?"

"It'll take a miracle!" Borko yelled in a mocking fashion.

"Make it snappy you scrawny Croat or you'll be sucking goulash through a straw when I'm through with you!" Frost barked over his shoulder.

"But I don't like the goulash!" Borko yelled over his.

Jasmine slid down and put herself in front of him.

"Nate, stop! Listen to me. If you go out there you're going to die! There's just too many."

"I've been outnumbered plenty of times armed with only my knife. I think can handle it."

"You'll die!"

"One of my men will die if _I_ don't do something," Frost said, pointing over her shoulder before walking around her, down into the crater.

"I _forbid_ you to go out there," she said then. Frost stopped and turned around.

"What?" he asked, bemused. Rage began to take hold hold. "What did you just say to me?" Jasmine looked hurt and angry at the same time. He was about to start screaming when he noticed her trembling a little. Instantly, regret replaced his fury. He didn't want Jasmine to be afraid of him.

"Why did you you tell me to keep my hospital away from the frontline?" she asked him.

"Because...I...care about you," Frost said after a moment, his tone settling, "I want to keep you safe."

"Well that's what I'm trying to do now. I care, and I want to keep you safe. So please, don't go out there until the tanks are ready at the very least."

"Jasmine, one of my men..." Frost took a step back up the slope and took her hand. "...he could die if I don't go out there."

With that, he turned and readied his rifle. He quickened his pace, wanting to get away from her. He couldn't bear to look at her. Just as he was about to charge up the slope, he felt her weight on his back and her arms wrap around him. Frost stopped in his tracks and closed his eyes. They stayed like that for a time, Frost frozen with Jasmine embracing him from behind.

"What good will you do him, or your squad, or _me,_ if you die?"

Frost turned around. Jasmine's hands rested on his shoulders, and she stared up at him.

"I have to get him," he said to her, his voice fractured.

"For a few minutes today, just a few, I was terrified. Because after that explosion, I just knew, _I knew_ , you were in trouble. I knew you were buried. I thought I was going to dig up a corpse but you were still alive. Please, I don't want to go out there when the battle is over to find you." She embraced him again. Frost closed his eyes and held her back.

* * *

"What do you mean...no?" Vivian asked slowly.

She was standing in her office. No Covenant ships had entered the system for well over a few hours. Some had tried and failed, and their huks were now floating around the planet. As such, she had decided not to wait and take her findings right to the top. Ensuring that she would be left in solitude, she sent a video transmission to Rear Admiral Travers. The senior officer was now on her screen, sitting behind his desk with an unamused expression on his rough face. He had not changed much; his hair was still wild and his beard was as thick as ever. Like the first time she saw him, there was an alcohol stain or two on the sleeves of his tunic. About a dozen stubbed out cigarillos sat in the ashtray, and a fresh one was clasped tightly between the index and middle fingers of his remaining hand.

"I'll repeat myself," Travers said, "your request for an investigation is denied."

"Why? I have evidence that Gunnery Sergeant Frost and the 89th have committed war crimes."

"You want me to list the reasons why? Alright then."

Travers took to his feet and walked to the front of his desk. "First and foremost-hell, this is the most important one, the others don't matter-it'll make you look like an Insurrectionist sympathizer."

Vivian blinked. She hadn't considered that. Travers nodded. "Did you really think I'd let you start a stink over one man and his unit? You think you have that ability right now? You think this is some kind of crime drama on TV where you can find the magic piece of evidence and finally bring the culprit to court? We're at war!" He took a breath. "Let me break this down for you. You start trying to open up old wounds involving Innies and your position is going to be reviewed. Clandestinely, of course, most likely by those fuckin' ONI spooks. If there's one thing ONI _and_ the brass don't like one bit, it's officers who feel oh-so-sorry for the poor rebels. They get the idea in their heads that you'd rather be a reb than a Navy officer, some nice men wearing suits and holding guns are going to come for you. Need I remind you how many times the Insurrectionists assassinated politicians and high-ranking military officials? What about all the bombings of embassies, colonial administrations, military checkpoints, hospitals, plaza, markets, and universities? Or how many billions of dollars, material, and manpower that the Insurrectionist effort has cost the UNSC, both in theft and in battle? How many officers and ships do we lose to desertion, joining the rebel cause? The military administration and the general population don't like Innies, and they don't like folks who feel bad for them either."

"How many times has the UNSC used violence on protesters?" Vivian countered. "How many Outer Colonies have suffered from military crackdowns? How many independent villages and towns have been razed to the ground by the UNSC Marine Corps? How many men, women, and children, have been detained, interrogated, and tortured for information? How many-"

Travers slammed his hand down on the desk.

"Don't turn this around, Waters! Look, I know you're not a heel-clicking, saluting, chest-thumping patriot. You've voiced reservations about the UNSC's practices, you made that clear upon your entry into OCS. Many of your instructors noted it. But I know you're not a rebel sympathizer, not in the traditional sense."

"I will never condone terrorism, sir. But I can understand why many would rather fly a different flag than ours. Freedom is not an unjust cause."

Travers snorted.

"How very...uh... _understanding_ of you." Vivian glared at the screen. "Look, Waters, I don't want to sit here and debate the issue of rebellion. Rather, I want to know why you're soft on the rebs. Because, well, I'm spitballing, it has something to do with Frost."

"Gunnery Sergeant Frost was part of an operation to root out rebels on my home planet, Skopje, five years ago, almost six. Five of my friends were planning to defect and they wanted me to join."

Travers' seemed to become more alert then. Vivian held up her hand. "I refused to join. You're right sir, I may be-" she almost said sympathetic, "understanding, but my loyalty is to the UNSC. They're the ones fighting the Covenant-for humanity-and that's the side I want to be on. But that night, Frost and the rest of the 89th raided the area and he killed my friends. I don't know the specifics of the operation, all I know was that it was him. He admitted to it. And evidence I've put together shows that he and the rest of the 89th have committed criminal acts on Skopje."

"You can stop with the 89th business," Travers said then. "You don't want them to be investigated. You want Frost behind bars. You'd sacrifice a few thousand veteran troops for him?"

"He murdered my friends."

"Were they armed?"

"Yes."

"Then no, he didn't." He said this sternly but he then spoke carefully and slowly. "I'm not immune to your loss. All of my friends are dead. I know what that's like. To you, it's murder. In the eyes of the law, it's war. You think a marine isn't going to pull the trigger when confronted with five armed potential threats? You can't expect him to hold his fire."

"Sir, I can't sit idly by while a man who committed other criminal acts on my home planet walks freely on my ship."

"Captain Waters, I'm not letting you pull an entire Marine Expeditionary Unit off of the frontline, derailing your mission in the process, for a lengthy investigation and trial. You're not taking an entire unit down just to exact your revenge on one man."

She folded her hands behind her back. They were trembling; she was doing her best to fight the anger rising in her chest. "Even if he did kill them in cold blood, I wouldn't open an investigation."

That made Vivian snap her attention back to him.

"What? Sir, that would be willful ignorance of a criminal act."

"Frost and the rest of the 89th are too valuable for the war effort. You've hit the ground running and you've pulled off several successful missions. I won't deny you that; that's a major step in the right direction. But have you been paying attention to the rest of the Colonies? I've got falling lines across the board-slow but steady-every day, getting just a little bit closer to the Inner Colonies. The UNSC needs every single able-bodied, experienced soldier it can get. Frost is one of them, and the 89th make over three thousand more."

"I have _pictorial_ evidence that Frost committed war crimes-hanging rebels from trees. What else do you think he's done? What about the 89th? You would call war criminals valuable assets?"

"Yes, I would. Skopje was a bloodbath and both sides did things their betters wouldn't want the general populace to find out about. So it's been buried. Frost is a force multiplier; numerous medals for heroism and valor, dozens upon dozens of commendations, his recent rise in the ranks. Not to mention he's a relatively well-known war hero. Big televised ceremony, a last stand tacked onto to his name, his face appearing alongside pimpled-faced sixteen year olds on social media; what kind of damage to civilian and military morale will take place, you think? If a highly publicized trial of a recent war hero occurs, there'd be outrage and indignation, especially on Earth. First, people would lose it that a war hero would be brought up on charges. Secondly, if he walked free, his name wouldn't carry the same weight as before. And if by some _friggin'_ miracle they decided to sentence him to a lifetime of peeling potatoes, then you'd see civilians feeling bitter and resentful of him and their trust in us would suffer. Besides, it wouldn't matter. Higher-ups would just pull strings to make sure the trial never happened."

"Are you saying that officials in the justice system would just have the case thrown out?"

"Is there an echo in here? Yes, goddammit! You're damned right they would. What do you expect? We're in a war. We don't have time for lengthy trials. Oswald the Cowardly's trial was speedy because it was clean cut; he lost it on the bridge and attempted to break the Cole Protocol. He's lucky they didn't kill him! But try to bring a messy case in? You bet they're just going to shove it back in your face."

"Is this because we're at war, or because the justice system of the UNSC is a sham now?" Vivian asked bitterly. "Are trials just a formality? Are sentences passed before the guilty party even enters the courtroom? Do guilty men walk free on a regular basis?"

"I won't even entertain those questions with answers. No trial, no investigation, no nothing, period."

"But I have multiple photographs!"

"And I don't care."

"I have an eyewitness who saw Frost kill unarmed prisoners of war. And I have a source that has confirmed that Frost admitted to the crime, as well as crimes on Skopje." That was only half-true. More or less, it was an assumption. Whatever Frost had told Jasmine had to provide some insight on what happened on her home planet. Even so, Vivian wanted to keep Jasmine out of this. There was no way in hell she was dragging her best friend into this.

"Who's the eyewitness?"

"Major Holst, sir."

"Holst!" Travers shouted, then laughed. "That has-been? If Frost hadn't admitted to it, I would have assumed that Holst made it up. All that chump cares about is getting his name in the news. Justice could mean less to him. Everyone knows he's a washed up war hero who's done everything he can to snatch some glory again. Nobody would think him a credible witness."

"But Frost admitted to my source-"

"Who's the source?"

"I refuse to give up the name."

"Oh goody, then we can drop this matter altogether."

"Sir, this is clear cut. If you won't investigate him because of Skopje, at least we can bring him up charges for this. It's a solid case."

"Do I have to repeat myself? Nobody, gives, a _fuck_ , about some scrabbly-ass rebels who got killed by marines, whether or not they were prisoners of war. You know what the brass wants? Bodies. The more bodies, the better. As far as they're concerned, Frost was doing his job."

"Murder is part of a soldier's job?"

"Have you forgotten that soldiers kill people?" Travers said, holding up his hand, his tone high and agitated.

"Murder and killing are two different things! There are _rules!_ "

"You don't give a damn about the rules, Captain Waters! You want him in prison for personal reasons, not because it's right. Stop trying to fool yourself that it's justice you're trying to carry out. Look at the bigger picture here, Captain. What's more important for humanity? Imprisoning one man? Or making sure we have less enemies at the end of the day, that we will survive as a species? That we have good soldiers on the front? What you want is irrelevant. All that matters is the war effort."

Vivian clenched her fists tightly.

"I'm sorry that what I'm trying to do seems so petty and detrimental, Rear Admiral Travers," Vivian said, "but even if I will let this matter lie, do you really expect me to make nice with that man who shot my friends?"

"No, you don't have to make nice. No one's telling you to hold hands and skip through the mess hall singing 'Do Wah Diddy Diddy!' You're the task force commander, he's a sergeant in the Marine complement. Stay clear of one another and ensure that the chain of command is respected. You'll have a much happier ship."

"Asking me to work with a man who's killed other people in so brutal a fashion-"

"Have you had to kill another person before?" Travers asked.

"No, of course not. I would never."

"Never say never, Captain Waters. Taking life might seem appalling to you, but I would ask those men you despise for it first before you render judgement. Ever consider what it's been like for them?"

"No, sir. And it doesn't matter to me. In a war in which we are fighting to preserve our people, killing one another is immoral and unjustified."

"Immoral and unjustified?" Travers echoed with a bitter laugh. "Waters, you're a damned good officer despite your age and your lack of experience. But you're smarter than that. You know if it wasn't the Covenant, we'd be fighting some rogue colony or some other faction or anti-UNSC element. That's the way it's always been. Before the Insurrection, we had wars in the Inner Colonies. Before that, we had Communist Koslovics and Fascist Friedens running amuck. After this war, it'll be somebody else. And if you stick with the UNSC after, you'll find yourself fighting humans. When that time comes, you can resign your post and request for a discharge if you so choose. Hell, I'll even make sure it's honorable. But for now, you work with the marines you have and you fight the _real_ enemy. Whatever happened in the past, bury it. I do not have the time, resources, or inclination to condone and carry out a full investigation because you're confusing your own damned agenda with morality and war crimes. Understand?"

"Yes...sir..."

"Oh, and one more thing. I understand there's a correspondent from _Time_ magazine on your ship. It's good press; your exploits as well as Frost's are making headlines. Katz is proving himself rather useful."

"I suppose so, yes, sir."

"Mm. Then don't get any fancy ideas of leaking a story to him. Because ONI will be on top of you before you know it. And I dare not imagine what they'd do to poor, itsy-bitsy Katz."

"Yes, sir," she said coldly.

Travers inhaled long and slow.

"Look, kid. I've lost friends to Covvies and Innies. I've killed both sorts, and I'll tell you for me, it was never more difficult killing one or the other. Know why? Because I watched a group of rebels _cut_ my best friend's head off in the middle of a battlefield. They took one of their bush machetes and beheaded him in the clearing of the mosquito-riddled jungle we were in. That's the kind of people you sympathize with. They're monsters, just like the Covenant. Once you get to my age and you've done as much fighting as me, you'll figure out that it doesn't matter if they're human. Anyone who isn't with us, is an enemy to be destroyed." Vivian didn't say anything in response. Travers leaned back against his desk. He took a puff on his cigarillo and stubbed it out in the ashtray before stuffing his hand into his pocket. "I'm sorry about your friends, kid. I am. I know you want to do right by them, get your payback. It's not petty. But...hell, Waters, I'm sorry. You think what happened was a crime. The rest of us...don't. That's the way it is."

Vivian nodded slowly. The message had been received. "Anything else?"

"Actually, Dr. Ebrahimi was planning on speaking to you. She has some misgivings about our operative, Carris, on the account of her unique physicality, and she was hoping to-"

"No," came the answer, dry and flat. "That's a whole other can of worms that neither of you should be getting into. It's far bigger than the likes of you. Understood?"

"Yes, sir. That is all. Waters out."

"Keep up the fight. Travers out."

She ended the transmission and sat down at her desk. Defeat and fatigue sank their claws into her. Travers had failed her. Justice had failed her. All her attempts to do this the right way had failed. Any other options would risk her position and people she didn't want to put in harm's way. It was then that the decision to enlist felt incredibly wrong. Had she made the choice to join a military organization that fought for the greater good, or one that allowed their officers to do whatever they pleased, with cracks in the justice system, and condoned unneeded acts of horror? When she had enlisted, it had been to prove a point on top of finding him. To who? Her friends, she supposed. Just before they had died, she had argued in defense of the establishment she was now a part of. After seeing them die at that very establishment's hands, enlisting should have been the farthest goal from her mind. Yet it was a matter of principle to her. In fact, there had been very little choice in the matter. Enlistment felt like something that she _had_ to do. Was she a sympathizer? Somewhat, she supposed. Acts of terrorism defeated the causes she thought were just: freedom, independence, equality. Now those were words she could get behind. The UNSC claimed to fight for the same but their plight was against the Covenant, not an oppressive political-military entity. But she had stuck to her guns that night, and when it came time to make that step-enlist or not-she wasn't about to turn on her ideals. The UNSC had flaws, even Travers admitted that, but there were plenty of worthwhile people in it? Right? She had defended them, convinced herself, see that there were good people, good institutions, within the ranks of the UNSC.

Now, she wasn't so sure. The UNSC was fighting the good fight against the Covenant; the Insurrectionists were sitting the war out. Hoping to get by unscathed seemed cowardly to her, while others fought, suffered, and died in protection of their species. If that was the side who was going to do anything about the imminent threat to their civilization, then she would fight in its ranks. Yet there had always been a doubt in her if it was the right choice. Preservation of the human race had to take place over civil liberties. Right? It didn't seem right to support such an idea. An equivalent phrase, one that she had heard many times before, was that the ends justified the means. Sometimes she believed in it. Sometimes, she didn't. What kind of civilization would be formed in the post-war world? Was it one she could agree with? The UNSC wasn't, never was, and never would be flawless. No doubt, the product of their defense wouldn't be either. Still, the current state of humanity was far from perfect; even before the Covenant came rapping on their door nothing that belonged to humanity could be considered perfect. Vivian leaned back in her chair and felt exhausted. The UNSC, humanity; all of it was still a work in progress. She wrinkled her nose at her own thought; it was too kind of a way to put it.

She felt all alone. Perhaps, she was wrong. Even she had to admit she didn't have much ground for a case. Several photos in a time of great war didn't mean squat to the brass. If one of those square-headed, crew-cut, fossils looked at the photos with their beady little eyes, they'd probably just see evidence of a job well done. Rebels were the enemy too, even if they didn't pose much of a threat anymore. Travers was right; if she stayed on, she'd have to fight people. Would she have the stomach to do it? She couldn't say. Did she want to be a part of the post-war civilization, whatever it turned out be?

Pressing her face into her hands, tears silently escaping from her emerald eyes, Vivian wondered if she had been in the wrong the entire time. Nobody else agreed with her. Not one soul had her back. Not even her closest friend was on her side. Was it time to wake up from some fanciful dream? Frost had won. Not just him; the _establishment_ had one. If they were all willing to turn a blind eye to a crime, even one she hardly knew about herself, what was the use of trying? Joining up had been about upholding the principles she clung onto. Proving that point to her friends. But it was also about finding him. Finding him, and making sure he paid for what he had done. Never had that goal seemed farther away. Maybe it was time to just let it go.

The room darkened around her. Vivian looked up and saw five ghosts-ominous black shadows shaped vaguely like people-staring at her. Silent, eyeless, yet they stared at her and spoke, no, screamed at her. Blood for blood, an eye for an eye, one life for five. Vivian glanced at her holster, laying on her desk. She had made promises. She had tried to do it right and it hadn't worked. Who cared if she ended up behind bars herself? He'd be dead. That's what really mattered.

A message pinged her data pad. Vivian blinked and then rubbed her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she cleared her head. She wouldn't do such a thing; she would not become a hypocrite. There had to be another way. With a relieved exhale, she picked it up. It was from Decatur, requesting to enter the room. Vivian smirked. He was a funny little AI; sometimes it seemed he didn't consider himself a little blue hologram, but rather as an actual man. She sent a message back affirming his request. Not a moment later, the blue hologram appeared on the AI pedestal beside her desk.

"Madam!" he said, saluting.

"Hello, Stephen."

The AI seemed happier to hear the use of his first name. "Have anything for me?"

"I wish to report on the situation below."

"Go ahead."

"Another enemy counterattack has been held off; the combined Army-Marine garrison at the defensive section, callsign Curve, have occupied the second line and are digging in. Multiple Covenant attacks have stalled their advance all day. As well, Scorpion tanks were unable to traverse the crater from the explosion this afternoon but engineers have placed a bridge across the crater. Took some time to secure it; the firmness of the ground was brought into question. But the lead tank has crossed and is sitting in the gap made in the wall. Hayes is preparing a joint armor-infantry assault on the last defensive line to fully retake the Curve."

"Good. Send word to Ngouabi to send out another flight of Shortswords in case they need close air support. Redirect a few Pelicans as well to CASEVAC any casualties. Also make sure we have quartermasters moving important supplies up with the advancing troops; they need to have access to ammunition, clean water, and rations, otherwise they'll burn out. Have you any word from Dr. Ebrahimi from the field hospital?"

"Conditions at the field hospital continue to improve in every one of her reports. The flow of casualties from the battlefield to the aid stations, to the hospital, and to the ships is moving quite smoothly. She is receiving plenty of supplies, and is finally in a position to rotate her staff properly."

"She's far enough back from the action, right?"

"Indeed. Covenant artillery fire is picking up in frequency and magnitude, but their bombardments are focused on our fortifications rather than the Horseshoe's internal facilities."

"Alright. Anything else?"

"Um, let me see...ah, yes. Colonel Hayes has put forth a recommendation to create a special unit. He's dubbing them the Marine Raiders, a small group of light infantrymen to hit the enemy hard on the ground in tandem with our raids of Covenant orbital and planetside assets."

"Those would be some risky operations..."

"Well, considering that Gunnery Sergeant Frost would be in command, I think they could handle it."

"Frost will be in command? No commissioned officer?"

"Hayes indicated that it was Frost's idea and that he should lead them. Given his combat experience and his prowess in a leadership role, I'd say he'd fit the role splendidly."

That's all Vivian needed to here. Never mind the opportunities of a fast attack force could offer her. She was ready to approve it just on the basis that Frost would be putting himself in harm's way.

"It's a sound idea but I want a little bit more time to think about it. Don't notify Hayes though; if they're about to head back into the fray I want the comms free of chatter like this. No sense in clogging them up."

"Of course, madam. That is everything thus far. May I recommend that you drink some cold, clean water and get some rest."

"Thanks."

She drummed her fingers on the desk for a moment. "Stephen?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think it's right to...be apart of something that is both good and bad? What I mean, is it wrong to be part of something that isn't flawless? That all of their doings may not be moral, noble, or right, but they do it for the greater good? Is the greater good worth fighting for, if those during the fighting may not always be good themselves?"

The AI hologram seemed to think for a moment. Decatur shifted his sword a bit and sat down, one leg drawn up, the other laying flat.

"I'm but a humble Navy man, ma'am, I'm not sure my words may be as sound or thoughtful as the great philosophers of my time and after."

"Please, I'd appreciate whatever you'd have to say on the matter."

"Then, perhaps, may I put a name to this...something, you speak of?" he asked. Vivian nodded. "Are you speaking of the UNSC?" Once more, Vivian nodded. Decatur scratched the side of his head. "To say that the UNSC is engaged in a titanic struggle would be stating the obvious. She is all that stands in the way of the Covenant. The CMA is nothing more than a sham. We've no other organization beside us to aid in this fight. I won't pretend to believe that everything the UNSC does is good. I may just be an AI, but I can discern right and wrong. Strings are pulled, hands are tied, rules are broken, exceptions are made. Corruption breeds within any organization that grows large enough, wouldn't you agree? It's foundation sets high ideals for it, but once the structure built upon that foundation is built taller and bigger, its weight causes cracks in the foundation. And without maintenance, the structure corrodes and falls apart. The UNSC is almost three-hundred and seventy-nine years old. It's grown, and it's not just some organization anymore. We are, for lack of a better term, running the show. The UNSC is a military government. Entire worlds have been burned away. Billions are dead. No progress is being made."

"Except us."

"Except us," Decatur smiled. "Even so, the UNSC has this monumental task. To many, survival is all that matters. Breaking ideals, morals, promises, regulations, what have you, are thus justified. Others see that compromising such entities in the name of survival means we are dead already. I see both sides of it; this argument has been made a thousand different times in a thousand different ways throughout our history-"

"Do the ends justify the means, or do the means justify the end?" Vivian said.

"Exactly. It is difficult to say and I myself can't pick one side. I can admit that the UNSC does have its corrosion. But I can assure you that corrosion can be corrected, madam." He smiled. "Once this all over, when we achieve victory, there will be individuals within and outside the UNSC who will do away with the decay and get it back to a more starker image of what it used to be, when it was first formed to explore the stars and protect the colonies. People like you, Captain Waters."

Vivian smiled a little. She knew she wouldn't make any friends in the post-war world. Reform was as distasteful to the hierarchy above her as defeat. She didn't trust them to do it. But Decatur was right; new people would flood in after this damned war and the UNSC would be forced to shape up. After all, the savior of humanity had to look and act the part even after the fact. Now all they had to do was save it.

With a sharp inhale, she sat up.

"Thank you, Stephen, that'll do."

"Of course, madam."

A feeling of energy swept in her. Vivian stood up.

"Tell Solak he has the bridge. Get a Pelican ready. I'm going planetside."

Night had fallen on the planet. Vivian stood at the observation post near the field hospital and raised her binoculars. From there, she could see the defensive wall and the crater. Beyond was an orange glow. Many of the structures between the second and first lines had been destroyed or set afire by artillery and airstrikes. She could see soldiers manning the wall and moving around on the ground. When it was calm, they were mere shadows moving around. Their movements were quick and fluid, like ghosts. Vivian found them unsettling. It was when a shell fell and lit up the night that she could see them more clearly. Olive drab armor, rifles in hand, dirt on their faces.

The bridge that had been laid was holding fast in the soil. Like Decatur had said, the first Scorpion, manned by some marine grease monkey by the name of Emery, was the first at the gap. It was halfway through it, ready to clear the breach. A column of tanks sat on the opposite of the crater, ready to trundle across the bridge and push through after it. Their engines were rumbling. Soldiers were massing around them.

A figure jumped on the lead tank as Shortswords shot by overhead, dropping firebombs. Flames lit up the night.

"Look at Henry the Fifth on the first tank," Vivian said to Jasmine. Frost was holding his rifle in his right hand and waving his helmet in his left. He was shouting something to the troops around him. Jasmine sighed from behind her. Vivian looked at her. Her friend lowered the binoculars; she looked tired and nervous. Swallowing her pride, she reached over and gave her a pat on the back, "He'll make it through."

"When the Covenant attacked earlier today, one of his men was left behind. He was going out there to get him, but he would have died. I stopped him from going. I didn't think he'd listen, but he did."

A deep breath escaped her lips. "I kept him alive but now one of his men has paid the consequences. I don't think he'll ever forgive me."

"He will if he has a brain," Vivian said, "you probably saved his life."

Nothing passed between them for a few moments.

"He kissed me last night. Right here," Jasmine said then, quietly. Vivian blinked and looked at her.

"He did?"

Jasmine nodded.

"Oh."

"Oh?" Jasmine asked, bewildered. "That's really all of you have to say?"

"Well...I thought you guys may have been far more past that point," Vivian joked with a grin. Jasmine feigned an insulted gasp and gave her a light smack on the shoulder. The two laughed a little. For a moment, Vivian forgot who they were talking about. "I know, I know, you've got more class than that. And so does he, I'm sure."

She didn't say anything. Vivian looked at her closely. Jasmine suddenly looked up, her eyes wide, worried and glimmering.

"Please tell me that doesn't change things between us. I know how you feel about him, I know what you plan to do. But you're my friend and he means-"

Vivian cut her off.

"It doesn't."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Even though he..."

"Yes, Jasmine."

Jasmine looked at her feet.

"Sometimes, I think we're crazy. We talk about killing like it's an inconvenience. The gravity that comes with it...just...gone."

"We're soldiers," Vivian said, "killing is something we all have to do." She stated it coldly, as someone would state an obvious fact or statistic, as Travers had done to her earlier.

Another silence fell between them. Vivian raised her binoculars. "Travers shut my request down for an investigation into Frost's criminal actions. Says it'll be counterproductive to the war effort and the case probably wouldn't even reach the courts."

"I'm not surprised," Jasmine sighed. Vivian could detect relief in her voice, although she didn't hold it against her friend.

"The UNSC judiciary wing would make sure it never happened, he said."

"That's the nature of wartime policy," Jasmine sighed.

"He also shot down your request to make inquiries about Carris, the special operative, and her physical characteristics. Said we have no business and that it was bigger than us. Whatever that means."

Jasmine seemed to contemplate that, a mixture of indignation and curiosity washing over her tired face.

"I suppose he has a point," she finally said. "We're just small cogs in the machine, Viv. The machine has parts that work well and run smoothly, and other parts that don't. I think instead of worrying about those parts, or the machine itself, we ought to just focus on our specific tasks for now. Don't you think so?"

"Yeah Jas, I do. It's all we can do for now," she said. Decatur had given her hope but she tried to be realistic. There was no changing them now; she had to focus on keeping her people alive and killing the enemy. And what of Jack the Ripper? Defeatism had slithered from her mind. She knew there had to be another way. Her third strategy: provoke him. It was going to be a matter of when, and how. Already though, doubt gripped her. Would that even work? If the higher ups wouldn't throw him in prison for murder, then he could get away with almost anything. Attacking an officer meant she could throw him in the brig. She could already do that; he had already put his hands on her once, after the mission to rescue Carris. The second time, she had thrown the first punch-her haymaker that he made light of. Hell, the whole thing could backfire and _she_ could get herself thrown in the brig.

Provoking him would require greater care. Discretion was key. She'd have to make it look like she played no part in the act, that it was solely him. It needed to look like an aggressive act conceived entirely by him, not a reaction to her. If there were witnesses, it'd be enough to exile him to the brig. _I'm Alone_ was a large ship with multiple branches present; somebody was bound to see. She could exercise her authority; no one would dispute the captain of the ship. Except for the Marines; they would definitely be on his side. Navy service men and women would take her side without question. Yes, there'd be that rift, that division between the branches. But if that's what it took, then fine.

Vivian closed her eyes for a moment. The whole plan suddenly felt stupid. No, not stupid; pointless. The authorities would have to respond to the assault of a captain, but Travers had already laid down the law. War heroes were exempt from it. Who would take the side of a rookie starship captain? And what kind of scheme could she develop that would make him falter? He was too smart for that, too experienced, and as far as she could tell, unwilling to put up with anything she had to say. There was no clever trap she could conceive that he couldn't find his way out of.

She still had the photographs in her pocket. Travers wasn't interested. But what about the common soldiers and seamen? The law had to interest them more than the higher ups. If they became riled enough, a majority of the _I'm Alone's_ crew would want to lynch someone who killed prisoners of war. Maybe; she knew there was a general disdain for Insurrectionists on board her ship among all the present service branches. Many had fought against the rebels, many more had not, but the hatred existed all the same. Though their adherence to military law had to outweigh that disdain. The marines would protect him, but there were more sailors on board than Marines. Of course, that meant exposing the 89th, or at the very least exposing the small slice of knowledge she had about their past operations on Skopje. Their indignation and disgust would have to be recognized and Frost's removal would be the only solution. Not the punishment she was looking for, but separating him from his friends would be enough until a better occasion arose. Travers would have her head-he was no fool and perceptive as a wolf. He'd most likely see through any ruse she played to cover her role in the reveal to the crew. But her crew was loyal to her, and if Travers wanted them operating at peak capacity, he'd leave her in command. Or at least she hoped. Travers was still a bag of unknowns to her at times.

Slowly, she looked over at Jasmine. Guilt swept over her. The good doctor had feelings for him. That had been apparent for some time now. What kind of friend would she be if she tossed the man her closest companion cared for in the brig? Trying to convince herself that she was protecting Jasmine from a murderer hiding behind a smile and his charisma failed. Jasmine would never forgive her, but of course she knew that already. If Travers had agreed and it went to the military courts, she knew Jasmine would have despised her anyways. Anything she did would be met with her indignation; her last's friends contempt.

"You think it's selfish that you stopped him from going out there and getting his friend? Because you care for him?"

Jasmine nodded. "Well, it's not. He means something to you. You want to protect him, what's selfish about that?"

"I..."

"What's the point of _this_ , all of this-" Vivian motioned with her hand to the battlefield ahead, to the stars above where their ships resided, "-if we can't protect the people we love?"

Even in the dark, she could see Jasmine's face freeze for a moment as if someone had splashed her with cold water. Distant explosions cast lights on her face, and Vivian could see the blush.

"Well, I mean, we aren't...technically, I don't know, it's-"

"You don't have to use that _big_ word yet, or you can, doesn't matter to me. Either way, that's what it feels like, right?" Vivian didn't wait for an answer. "I'm trying to say is that there's nothing selfish about wanting things like that, Jas. Especially when it comes to the people we care about."

"No, I suppose not. You'd know that better than I would."

Vivian nodded.

"I guess so."

"You've never been afraid to strike and do what you want. I've always envied that, even if I didn't think what you were doing was right. What mattered to you was that _you_ thought it was right, and that was all you needed."

And here Vivian found herself envious of Jasmine. Her level-headedness, her ability to step outside the situation and see it from a different perspective, even her gooey kindness were all entities to be jealous of.

"It hurts me in a lot of ways sometimes," Vivian said. "I'm not blind to that, but it's better than sitting back and doing nothing. I'd rather take a side even if I'm the only one on it, then not pick any side at all."

Yes, she was the only one on her side. Hopefully, not for long.

* * *

Langley watched Frost jump onto the tank. He took off his helmet and held his rifle in one hand. Everyone looked up to him

"Hey, brothers," he said, his voice loud, firm, and profound. "I know we're all tired, I know we've been going back and forth, advancing only to be beaten back, dozens of times these past couple of days. But I ask you to attack once more. I know the Covenant seem like they won't be moved, but friends, I promise you, one more push and we'll reclaim our lines."

Frost pointed dramatically to the land beyond the gap. "Out there, that's no man's land to them. But that isn't no man's land. That's _our_ land!" Soldiers raised their fists, weapons, and helmets. War cries were bellowed. "We're going to take it back! I need you to use everything you've got left. Can you do that!?"

Cheering and shouting continued. Langley couldn't help but feel pride in her chest. A feeling of invincibility washed over her. "One more time! No fear!"

Emery's tank rolled through the gap and the mass of soldiers charged through. Langley joined Frost on top of the Scorpion with the rest of the squad, save Maddox and Bishop. Her eyes were fixated on only one thing: the shadow of the blockhouse, still standing solemnly amidst the battle. Blue, green, red, and pink lights flashed, plasma tore through the night, muzzles flashes dazzled the eyes, cannons thundered away, Hornets and Falcons rushed by overhead, firing away with autocannons. Men leaped into trenches, heaping themselves on top of the Covenant. Grunts retreated in droves, Jackals were shot to pieces, and Elites swung their blades until their last breath. As the advance pushed ever onward, the war cries of the troops only grew louder. Langley kept firing at retreating Skirmishers, firing in short bursts. Frost shouted encouragement to passing troops as he fired, standing on the front right tread of Emery's tank, unafraid and with a smile on his face.

When the tank rolled up to the blockhouse, Langley disembarked with the rest. Pockets of Covenant resistance remained around. As much as they wanted to find Bishop, she knew not all of them could partake in the search.

Frost came over to her. "Langley, we're going to clear the area around the blockhouse. You head in and see what you can find. Take it slow."

"You've got it."

Taking one last look at the night sky, the stars obscured by clouds and columns of smoke, she headed in. Immediately, the stench of death filled her nose. Flicking the flashlight underbarrel of her assault rifle on, she found the tight confines of the blockhouse filled with dead Covenant. Grunts were torn to pieces by what looked like shotgun blasts. Others had deep stab wounds or pistol wounds. Some even looked liked they had been killed with plasma weapons. Skirmishers and Jackals littered the floor too, their throats cut or their eyes gouged out. Elites were among the dead too. Some has lost their heads or parts of their faces. Others had their entrails hanging out, their centers' ripped open by multiple shotgun shells. Some bodies were blasted apart; the tell tale signs of grenade detonations were evident throughout the blockhouse.

The floor was made of concrete but she could not feel it on her boots. Every step she took, her booted feet landed in something wet or squishy. Guts and blood coat the floor, and the walls; some had even gotten onto the ceiling. It was deadly quiet on the inside, and the sounds of battle outside were muffled.

"Bishop?" she whispered, moving her assault rifle in a short semicircle ahead of her, scanning the dead for any signs of him. Empty pistol clips and dozens of spent shotgun shells were the only marks of human life.

Swallowing hard, Langley kept moving. "Bishop," she said louder, pressing deeper into the blockhouse.

She rounded a corner. More bodies, but none his. Moving through the short hall, she stopped at what seemed like a larger area. It was probably a bunkroom. Too dark for the flashlight, she reached into her belt and took out a flare. Lighting it and tossing it to the center, the red light filled the room. Letting her eyes adjust for a moment, she looked around the room. Piles of bodies sat in the room, strewn over knocked down bunks, on tables and benches. Guts, blood, gunpowder; the smells swirled together into something ungodly rank. An inhuman moan caught her off guard and she looked at her feet. A Jackal lay there, holding its side. Despite its gross features, she could tell it was on its last legs. The purple-eyed creature looked at her and hissed, slowly reaching for a plasma pistol nearby. Langley kicked it away. Without a weapon, it posed no threat; it would be a waste of a bullet to finish him.

"Bishop?" Langley turned left. Something moved. A heap of bodies seemed to be moving. Langley approached slowly. "Bishop, is that you? Are you trapped?"

Just as she was about to throw down her rifle and fall to her knees to dig him out, a Skirmisher burst out for the group of corpses. Stepping back, Langley brought the stock of her rifle around. She bashed him across the head but the alien was not deterred. Recovering from the blow quickly, it came at her again. Its feathery head and arms were slick and matted with wet blood, no doubt belonging to the pile of aliens it had been hiding in, but all was red in the light cast by the flare. Dodging punches, she tried to bear her sights on him. The Skirmisher was just too fast, dancing from left to right, trying to snatch or smack the rifle from her hands. Langley was so focused she didn't realize she backed into wall. With nowhere left to go, the Skirmisher reached out and grabbed her rifle. They struggled over it for a moment, the scrawny beast pulling his way and she pulling the other. Putting all of her strength into it wasn't helping. Then, an idea came to her. Langley let go and the alien stumbled. The Skirmisher dropped the rifle as if it had been on fire. Going for her knife, she removed herself from the wall and went back into the short hall. Before she had it out of the sheath, the Skirmisher came at her and tackled her to the ground. Falling onto the bloody floor, Langley lost her knife.

Feeling the Skirmisher wrap its clawed hands around her throat, she reached up and tried to hit its weak spots. Its eyes were the most vulnerable, but it was using its long arms to its advantage. She could feel her lungs begin to hurt and the sounds coming from her mouth were frightening. Her rifle was gone and so was her knife. All she had was her pistol. Her pistol!

She reached down, ripped the M6D from its holster, and pressed the barrel against its stomach. The Skirmisher's eyes popped. She emptied the entire clip-twelve rounds in total-in its gut. Sputtering, its grip loosen and it fell to the side. Langley gasped for air. Breathing moderately, she hauled herself to her feet after a moment. As she caught her breath, she realized the little monster was still alive. It was trying to crawl back down the hall.

Putting her pistol back inside the holster, she kicked the Skirmisher onto its side. It had been reaching for a needler that was sitting on the floor. Langley took off her helmet, and holding it with both hands, brought it down on the Skirmisher's face over a dozen times. When she was finished, her hair falling around her face and she was panting. Her assailant's beak-like maw had been pulverized.

Langley clipped her helmet to the side, not wishing to get any more blood on her. She stood up completely and turned around. Standing in the doorway to the bunk room was the injured Jackal, holding a plasma pistol. The weapon was fully charged and it shook violently in the hand of the Jackal, who stood with one hand over its gut, blood leaking from between its fingers. One last killed before it went to the grave. Langley got ready to sprint.

A shotgun went off behind it, and the plasma pistol fell from its hand, the light disappearing. It clattered on the floor. The beast was flung forward onto its front. A few twitches later and it was dead.

Langley took a few steps forward, back into the bunkroom. A shadow in the shape of a man stood in front of the flare. He cocked his shotgun and pointed it at her.

"Frank?" she asked slowly, holding up a hand. The shotgun was trembling in his hands.

"Nora?" came the reply, in a shuddering Scottish accent.

"Yeah-"

"Is that you?"

"It's me, Frank."

The shotgun lowered.

"Hey Frank," she said, stepping closer. Bishop was coated in blood, most of which was not his own. He had multiple plasma marks over his armor and there was a deep diagonal cut on the left side of his forehead. His face was swollen and bruised, as if he had been pummeled in a boxing match. Dried red blood coated his beard around his mouth. "Come here Frank," she said soothingly. Bishop limped forward into her open arms, and immediately began to cry. She ran a hand up and down his back. "I've got you Frank, I've got you."

* * *

Frost finished off a wound Grunt and reloaded his rifle.

"Regroup," he said, twirling his hand around. Everyone gathered around him. The advance was pushing forward. The tanks had spread out and were leading the troops towards the first line. The land in between the two lines was in UNSC control once more.

Victory was bittersweet however. There had been no word from Langley yet. He could see the fatigue on everyone's faces in the orange glow of multiple fires lighting up the night. What to say to them, he did not know.

Suddenly, a voice filled their earpieces.

"I've, I've got him," said Langley, sounding somewhat exasperated. "We're coming out of the blockhouse."

"He's alive?"

Nobody waited for an answer. Everyone rushed back a short distance to the blockhouse, assembling around the entrance. Langley emerged, her rifle and a familiar shotgun slung over her shoulder. Bishop was beside her, coated in blood of varying shades. He had an arm around her, and was putting weight on her. He was limping badly. Frost and Knight took him and threw his arms over their own shoulders and began heading back to the field hospital.

Langley walked beside him.

"I found him in the bunk room. There were at least fifty bodies in there. I had to fight off a Skirmisher hand to hand. Bishop got a Jackal that was ready to fire on me."

"I can't believe he made it," Frost said, "I can't believe it."

Bishop mumbled something but no one could understand him. "Don't worry brother, we're getting you back to the hospital. Jasmine's gonna patch you up, okay?"

They carried him all the way through the second and third line, back to the field hospital. When they got there, medics rushed forward but Frost demanded that Jasmine see to Bishop's wounds. He didn't trust anybody else to look after one of his men, not while he was in this state. She tended to the deep cut and stitched it well. Carefully, they removed his armor and what remained of his combat jacket and undershirt. His armor was charred black and his fatigues were in tatters. Mild plasma burns marked his muscular body and he groaned with pain as burn cream was applied. His heavily bruised face was iced and the other cuts mended. When Jasmine was finished, he was bandaged up and given a few pieces of bread, crackers, and a canteen with fresh water.

Steele handed the canteen to him.

"I wish it were whiskey," he said to Bishop. A ghost of a smile pulled at Bishop's lips, but he scarfed down the bread and saltines and chugged the water, even though it was evident the movements caused him pain. He was sitting at the end of one of the cots in the openfield hospital, somewhat isolated from the others. The squad was around him, concern and relief mixing together in their tired faces.

Frost was standing a couple feet away, watching with his arms crossed, out from under the roof of the hospital. Jasmine walked over to him.

"He's extremely lucky," she said, "no major wounds. The plasma burns are light, most of the cuts aren't too bad. The one on his forehead will leave a nasty scar but hopefully it should fade over time."

"One more scar won't hurt him."

"I'm sure you all have your fair share of them. I've seen all of yours," Jasmine said, standing beside him. Frost shifted uncomfortably where he stood.

"How's Maddox? Where is he?"

"He has a radiating fracture from the metatarsals to his wrist."

"Meta-what-now?"

"He has multiple fractures to his hand, and stress fractures in his forearm. Nothing that won't heal over time but he should keep it in a sling in the meantime to be safe. Just needs to take it easy. Bishop too, he needs time to recover. He's exhausted and beat up pretty bad. But I sent an orderly to fetch your engineer and bring him here."

"Thank you, Jas," he said. "And thanks for earlier. I've fought lots of enemies before but going out there without any support would have been stupid. I was emotional and-"

"I just wanted to make sure you didn't get hurt."

"Yeah, I know."

Frost reached down, slipped his hand in hers, and squeezed gently for a moment before withdrawing. Glancing at her, he saw her eyes fall a little and a hint of pink dust her cheeks.

Maddox arrived, but instead of coming with an orderly, it was Colonel Hayes. Maddox ran over and threw his good arm around Bishop.

"Frankie, mate, you're alright!"

"Go easy on him, he's aching bad," Langley said.

"It was Nora, mate, kept me alive," he said.

"All I did was find you in there," she said. Frost and Jasmine approached just then.

"And you called in those gun runs too; all day she was on the radio," Frost said, smiling warmly.

Bishop shook his head vigorously.

"No, _no._ She was on the radio talking to me. I was in there in the dark, shooting, stabbing, grappling for my life. And then I'd hear her voice, like it was guiding me. I would have gone insane in there. Just hearing her voice..."

"Easy Frank, easy," Maddox said. "Give him some space."

Langley stood up and took a step back. Frost reached out and took her by the forearm.

"That true?"

She looked down for a second, as if she were embarrassed.

"Yeah. After a gun run the Covenant would disperse for a few moments before heading back towards the blockhouse. I would try to raise him and encourage him, give him some...hope. I, I know you said you wanted me to leave him be but I couldn't. Just imagining him in there, alone..."

Frost smiled tenderly.

"You were right to. Bishop's here because of you Nora, and that's no small feat. I'm glad you're with us."

Langley gave a small nod and held her head up high. Knight came over and put a hand on her other shoulder.

"Ah, what we do without our baby sister?" he said. Grant came up from behind and rattled her with both hands.

"We'd be savages again!"

He and the rest of the squad, except Maddox and Bishop, embraced her and knocked her on her helmet and lavished her with praise. Langley just smiled and nodded humbly, not saying a word. Frost was proud of her. If there had been any doubt left in him that she didn't belong with the marines, and there had been little to begin with, it was all gone now. Anyone who could take on a Skirmisher hand to hand and beat the living tar out of it was enough for him. After what she had done, she had cemented her place in the 89th.

"She's done well," Hayes said, walking up beside him. "Our forces have retaken the first line. The entire Horseshoe is back in our hands. You've done good work. I'm pulling your unit from the line for a while. You can rest here in the meantime."

"Thank you, sir."

"Langley will receive a commendation for her actions today, too."

"Yes, sir. She deserves it."

Hayes departed. Frost watched him go. Sometimes, his commanding officer seemed mysterious. His Russo-American accent gave him a certain charm, and despite his height and stature, he moved quietly. He had been the one to teach Frost how move silently despite wearing full kit. Always smiling, laughing, chatting with the men; anger did not come to him quickly. When it did, Frost did not like to be present. Holst was perhaps his biggest aggravator. Seeing the two argue on several occasions made him uneasy, like a child watching their parents bicker. Something about him tonight irked him terribly. Perhaps it was that he had arrived only to pass out awards rather than check on one of his men. Frost wasn't asking for special treatment for himself or his squad. But Hayes knew Bishop-he knew _everybody_ under his command. That poor pointman deserved something too. Undoubtedly, Hayes would give him a medal later on. Maybe it would just been nice to hear him say it to Bishop. Knowing him, however, he probably would have just spat in his face. Medals meant squat to Frost; they were practically an insult to the bulky Scotsman.

Such thinking made him feel more fatigued. Shoulders sagging, he let out a sigh as the others closed in around Bishop again. As much as he wanted everyone to quell their concern, he knew his recovery needed their absence.

"Alright guys, give Maddox and Bishop some space. Let them recover."

Everyone began to drift away but Bishop reached out and took Langley's hand.

"Don't leave," he said, "stay, please, a bit longer."

Langley turned to Frost, who nodded. She sat down beside him and Maddox; the trio began a hushed conversation. Jasmine directed the rest of the squad to a tent. Frost went to follow them but she came over to him.

"You look tired."

"Long day," Frost mumbled, "long couple of days, really. Fighting and digging. And I got blown up and buried today. _That_ was fun."

If he was the type to laugh at puns, he would have said it had been a blast from the past instead. Though he usually let Steele take those breadcrumbs. But it would have been truth. It wasn't the first time he had been cut off from the light of day. Thankfully, this had been for mere moment. He shifted uncomfortably, thoughts and memories and feelings long past swept through him. Terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

Frost had noticed, but Jasmine had her hand on the back of his arm and was guiding him to another of the large tents. Even when he felt himself being steered, Frost didn't care, his legs carried him on their own. She could have led him to a firing squad; all he wanted was a nice long rest. "And I almost lost a man today. A friend. I left him out there."

"No, you didn't. Maddox told me he saw Bishop push you from the roof. He stayed behind to give you a chance to run."

"It was wrong."

"Nathan, you already thanked me for stopping you," she said soothingly, "don't spend time over-thinking this and beating yourself up. He's alive, you've all made it."

"Jasmine, you don't understand. Standing by like I did, letting him push me away, it feels...like I did something immoral. Something terribly wrong. I failed him, as a soldier and as a friend."

"Stop Nathan," she soothed, "you need to turn off for a while. You need to sleep."

"As tired as I am, I don't think I'll be able to."

Jasmine led him into an empty tent with a few beds in it.

"I've been sleeping here," she said, "you can have my bed."

"Don't you need some rest?" he asked, setting his rifle down.

"My shift's over but I think I'll stay on a bit longer. We're not overburdened but I want to make sure everything's running smoothly."

Frost wanted her to stay. Badly. He wasn't sure how to ask or how to say it. Until he said it on his own.

"Can't you stay?"

"Huh?"

"Just..." Frost cleared his throat, suddenly feeling more awake and nervous. "Let's just say...how about you just...sit here with me for a few minutes, and I try to get some shut eye."

Jasmine smiled sweetly, her glasses glinting and her eyes glimmering in the moonlight.

"Okay," she said, her voice sounding lighter.

Frost began to take off his armor but he found himself stiff. Jasmine began to help him, removing his pauldrons, the bandoliers and belts, and then the body armor itself. When Frost was down to his fatigues, he took a long breath. It was like removing a hundred pounds from his body. He sat down on the edge of the cot and ran a hand over his head. Jasmine sat beside him. "Here," she took him by the shoulders and laid him down so that his head was on her thigh. Lying on his back, he looked up at her smiling face.

"This is nice," he whispered with a small smile on his face

"Yes, it is," she whispered back.

"Better than a feather pillow."

Jasmine giggled. Frost stared up at her for a long time. Part of him didn't want to go to sleep.

"Why'd you cut your hair?"

"Hm?"

"Your hair-it was so long and wavy, and it had that bit of blonde mixed in it. It was very pretty. Why'd you cut it?"

"Oh. After Havens I just felt...different. Just this renewed sense of purpose, I guess. This determination. I hadn't cut my hair in years. It felt like it was a part of me that was still a kid. I had fought in a battle and survived, I had done my bit. What I'm doing here, on the _I'm Alone_ , for the war effort, it all kinda just hit home after what happened down there. So I wanted to finally grow up. So, I cut my hair short."

"Battle tends to do that," he said, distantly. Not wanting to become melancholy, he reached up and brushed her hair a little. It was black, thick, and messy, and came about halfway over her ears. Jasmine blushed; he liked it when he made her red like that.

"And I was a little inspired to say the least. You rescued me, bandaged me, and told me I didn't have to fight. You gave me a choice. I don't think a lot of people are going to have that choice in the next few years. I watched you on that firing line, putting yourself in harm's way, fighting so that I didn't have to. I've always admired you but after that night..." she broke his gaze then. "Do you still think it looks nice? My hair?" she asked shyly.

"Of course I do."

"I'll grow it out again."

"Next time you want a haircut, try Steele, he's a good barber. Better than who we have on the ship I dare say."

Jasmine giggled.

"Maybe I'll have to try him out."

"Jasmine?"

"Mm?"

"Can you run your hand through my hair like you did that one night?" Frost asked, as he rolled onto his left side.

"You were awake when I was doing that?" Her face turned very red then. She lowered her head a little and looked away even more. "I'm sorry. That didn't seem creepy, did it? It was creepy, wasn't it?"

"Would I be asking you again if I thought it was creepy?" Frost asked, chuckling. "But...why were you doing it that night?"

"You look very peaceful when you sleep. We...see each other a lot. Even when you seem relaxed, there's an intensity in your eyes and your posture and...I dunno, I just see a lot of intensity. When you were asleep that night, all of that was gone. And you looked...I'm not sure. I just kind of came over and began doing it."

"Do I seem intense?"

"You're hard on yourself, Nathan." Jasmine didn't say anything for a few moments. Her hand drifted to his hair and she began running her fingers through it, slowly and gently. Frost felt at ease suddenly, like his body deflated a little but in a good way.

She smiled a little. "I've never seen someone so down on themselves.

Frost laughed a little and found himself smiling when he finally drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Vivian looked around the corner of the tent. Jasmine was sitting on the edge of a bed with Frost's head on her leg. She was stroking his hair. Her friend was too focused on the man in her lap to notice.

After watching for a few moments, she began walking away. Guilt struck her like a bullet.

 _What kind of friend, what kind of person, am I, if I take him away from her?_

Finding herself back on the observation post, she gazed through the binoculars and the mass of cheering soldiers at the first line, holding their rifles and helmets in the air. The Covenant had been driven back to their base camp. Both sides would lick their wounds, but the UNSC would be mounting the next offensive. Once they were ready, the Covenant would be wiped off the face of the colony.

That brought her little solace. What plagued her more was the man inside that tent, sleeping with the help of her friend. Would it be worth it? Dividing everyone, trying to get one man to make one slip-up to meet his end? Did the dead really need her to act on their behalf? What was more important; the dead or the living?

Vivian inhaled sharply and held her breath. A headache gripped her mind.

 _No. No ghosts right now. Please._

"Captain Waters!"

"What is it?" she turned around, relieved for the interruption. One of Hayes' staff officers was standing at the bottom of the post.

"We've caught a thief. We were about to haul him off to the MPs, but he says he has information crucial to our plans here."

"Let me see him."

* * *

" _I wouldn't have survived if it weren't for her. Wasn't God that kept me alive, it was her. The life I've lived since the day...I owe it all to her."_

 _-_ Karl Franklin Bishop

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **I said what I had to say up there, so no beating around the bush! Comment responses!**

 **Commissar Critical: I wouldn't call what you do bitching, Commissar. It's feedback and I value it; by leaving it here for me you help me out. And like I said, if you leave a review or comment, I'll always respond to it. So to hit all your comments on a broad point, I'll say this.**

 **That author probably knows more about the science or is better-researched than I am. As we already talked about, Halo's lore and science doesn't always work and often violates itself. Continuity is not a strength in the series. While I want to remain as true as I can to the lore, I also want to provide an entertaining reading experience. If I have to bend a couple of rules, I think it's alright. There are lines I won't cross though; I'm doing my best to remain as respectful to the games as possible. And yes, my writing on the military aspects are going to lack experience and authenticity. Though I educated myself on jargon, military tactics, etc., I decided to forgo it for multiple reasons; some of my characters' dialog came off very stiff and flat, and furthermore it didn't feel Halo-y. Military protocols of today don't really show in the games or extended universe. Also I believed I didn't really need to; I wouldn't classify myself as a macro or micro writer, but proper military procedure isn't really my intentions with this story. This is a story of people, many of whom are soldiers, or counter-identify against being a soldier. The concept of 'soldier,' isn't merely a profession in this story, it's bigger than that, just as it is in real life. The importance lies with character interaction, growth, development, regression, complicated dilemmas. People who are hoping to get a hardcore military story out of this may be disappointed. Yes there's action, some of it tactical, but despite this story being rather devoid of typical Halo-entities, this is a fanfic and I'm trying to represent the military presented in the games, not modern, real-life military's. I have had to fill in some gaps with what I know of today's military's, but that's been pretty light stuff so far.**

 **On the subject of Vivian, one of our principal protagonists, I think saying that Vivian is acting like a civilian is very fitting. When we examine her, we see that she is often trying to apply non-military logic to military situations, and that ultimately doesn't work, it defeats her argument before she can even say anything. She's a good officer for the most part; we see that when she's commanding the fleet in battle, but all of that is absolutely shredded when it comes to Frost and the UNSC's policies towards the Insurrectionists. She doesn't want to kill humans, but she wants Frost dead-bit of a quandary. She's a walking conundrum, and that's sort of the point. Will she change? We'll see.**

 **The Rookie Author: Rook! Firstly, thank you for commenting. Secondly, the point you made is actually one that I considered myself. To avoid being long-winded, I took a class on piracy some time ago and we all debated pretty hard on the difference between pirates and privateers. And at the end of it, there's only the letter of marque that divides the two; other than that, they pretty much do the same exact things. Piracy and privateering, like all maritime occupations, were hazardous but had better living conditions and better rewards than say whaling or commerce shipping. Both preyed on military and commercial vessels. The only difference was the fancy piece of paper that governments gave privateers to hunt ships belonging to their enemies. Pirates didn't have the piece of paper, and because of that, they were criminals. Seeing as how the Covenant would see them as not fighting with "honor," or conventional tactics, and committing raids instead of stand-up fights they'd most likely view them as pirates or pirate-like, or compare them to pirates at the least. And then there's the fact that the name sounds a tad bit snazzier, so I went with pirates. I think the characters would appreciate that title more than privateers, know what I mean? Who wouldn't want to be called a pirate?**

 **MightBeGone: Uh, can I get you a tissue or something? Hot chocolate maybe? I dunno. *cough* Turning Steele and Carris into a ghost ship? Now why on Earth would I go and do that...? And do I spoil you guys a little? Maybe, I suppose. But despite my all powerfulness, I do believe it is important as the author to be benevolent sometimes. So here, I grant you, Bishop's life. He shall remain with us for now. In return...YOUR SOOOOUUUUUULLLL. Or, you know, just your considered viewership. Means a lot to me! Thank you my friend!**

 **Alpha HighBreed: Those artillery batteries look mighty...intimidating. Well, he's alright now, see? He's doing fine! No need to worry! Ha ha...ha...yeah I'll shut up now.**

 **Whoa, whoa, whoa. One little kiss doesn't confirm a ship is setting sail, brother. A kiss is a kiss; to get a ship going we need to fill up the coal bunkers (if we're talking about steamships here) and stoke up the engines, make sure there's enough life preservers and lifeboats, sell all the tickets, comission a crew, etc. etc...okay maybe a kiss does...**

 **What MBG and I mean when we say it's a hassle to go to the wiki to fact-check, we mean it on a mechanical level. Of course we want to be accurate and lore friendly. But when you're writing and you hit your stride, you're typing along, ideas are flowing, and then you're halted because you need to fact-check, it just kills the enjoyment you know? Sure it sometimes takes a few seconds but other times you really need to dig deep to make sure you're lore-friendly. Breaks your stride.**

 **And oh my goodness, this is a tough question answer. If I had to choose which game made me a fan of the series, it'd have to be Halo 3. I played that with my older friends (and cousin and brother too, now that I think about it) religiously, at a time when I didn't have many friends my age and was struggling socially. It was just endless fun; squadding up and dominating in multiplayer, or messing around in Forge, playing custom games, or playing co-op. It was some of the most fun I've had playing video games ever, and I've been playing for a loooong time. Halo 3 will always stand as the second Halo game I played (CE was first) and my favorite of the series. The two titles that got me interested into writing fanfiction and getting into the lore was Reach and, surprisingly, ODST. Reach followed an aspect of the lore that occurred prior to the original trilogy-as such, it was a bit of history, and boy do I love me some history. And it was simple; you were a S-III fighting to save a planet, fighting for your life, fighting on the behalf of people who didn't really know you or care about you. You were expendable. And there was a lot of lore aspects they showed in the game. ODST, however, got me sucked in a bit more, as there was something about the mystery and loneliness of exploring New Mombassa at night, looking at the civilization you were trying to preserve, how much of it was left, the aura of innate mystery that Halo games instill, the lights, the shadows, the billboards, the gates, gardens, shops, tunnels, etc., that just really got me loving the Halo atmosphere. So...this response is all over the place, so Halo 3 made me a fan in terms of the actual gameplay, but becoming a fan of the lore was due to Reach and ODST. Yeah. As always, thank you for commenting my good friend.**

 **UNSC-Helljumper: Ah, well, thank you kindly my friend, your words are appreciated. You hit the nail on the head, that's how I wanted to portray Jasmine and Frost. What I've been trying to do and what I've explained to others is that, yes, these are people in the military, but they're not just uniforms, they're people, and their pre-military lives still have an affect on who they are and how they think and act. Jasmine and Frost never had the benefit of experiencing a relationship in their youth. Love is new, exciting, and sometimes scary (trust me, I've been there). I'd say more on the subject but I don't want to spoil too much of the future for ya. Thanks for stopping in!**


	34. Chapter 34: Armistice

Chapter 34: Armistice

* * *

Led by the staff officer, Vivian passed through the hospital area, the accompanying makeshift airstrip, and through several supply dumps. Going through a tent city where the Army garrison had been staying, they came to a command post. It was a three story concrete structure augmented with titanium plating. Attached canopies stretched out from the walls and sandbag bunkers surrounded it. Automated turrets, seated on the rooftop, swiveled slowly back and forth. Marines, Army troopers, ODSTs, mechanized troops milled around, heading to one destination or another. Pelicans and Falcons landed on an airstrip nearby, offloading more troops. With the entire Horseshoe secured, they were trying to funnel as much reinforcements into the base and to the frontlines as fast as they could. Consolidation had to occur before a major offensive against the Covenant could be started.

She entered the CP and was greeted by a room lined with terminals and screens mounted on the walls. Officers, intelligence operatives, staffers, field commanders, and more bustled about, delivering reports, radioing forward units, organizing, planning. A large table in the center offered a three-dimensional holographic map of the entire region. Friendly units and their information was highlighted, and reconnaissance drones showed the red dots of Covenant stragglers heading back to their deployment area. Not even the drones could get close to enemy base without getting shot at. Several times since the siege had begun, Vivian had offered the use of her frigates to bombard the Covenant base. Standing orders, however, prevented her. Using MAC cannons on the fertile countryside was considered unnecessary damage. The brass only wanted MACs used on the surface unless there was a guaranteed chance of eliminat large quantities of Covenant troops or assets. Still, it didn't matter. Keeping them on the defensive was crucial; one less ship meant a higher chance of a Covenant counterattack breaking the blockade. Ascending to the second floor, she was brought to what seemed like a small detention area. Instead was one man wearing civilian clothes; a brown jacket and jeans. He had blonde hair like hers and scruff on his chin. He appeared to be about thirty or so.

Two GIs stood at the door, as did Colonel Hayes and Major Holst. Hayes' staff officer saluted and departed. Vivian stared through the bars at the culprit for a moment.

"He was caught looting?" she asked.

"Stealing. Dirtbag was trying to pilfer food and medicine," Hayes growled. He pounded his fist on the bars. "Weren't you? Huh? Thieving from the men and women trying to defend your fucking planet? Some man you turned out to be."

The man lowered his head a bit more and clasped his hands together.

"Your man said he has pertinent information to our mission here," Vivian said.

"He does. I interrogated him briefly and he told me the Covenant area gearing up for a renewed assault."

"Open it up."

Holst unlocked the door and pushed it open. Vivian walked in and pulled up a nearby chair. Sitting in front of him, she didn't speak. When he finally looked up, she saw that he had a dark bruise on his left eye and his lip was cut. No doubt those who had caught him had roughed him up. Although, if had been the Marines, they probably would have shot him. "What's your name?"

"Marc Adley," he said quietly. He was an Englishman.

"You should consider yourself lucky that you're still alive. There are men here who would consider you an Insurrectionist for what you did."

Adley blinked and chuckled.

"They'd be half-right. I used to be a rebel."

"A fucking rebel!?" Hayes exclaimed and attempted to storm up. Holst grabbed him by the arm.

"Hayes, don't!" he said, "Let the Captain talk to him."

"He's just trying to save his own ass!" Hayes argued. "We shouldn't even be talking to him, Captain Waters. He needs to be put down!"

"Colonel, control yourself!" Waters yelled over her shoulder. After swearing and speaking menacingly in Russian, Hayes held up a hand and Holst let him go. The major let out a burdened breath; restraining Colonel Hayes had been like trying to stop a landslide. Vivian turned her attention back to Adley. "You were a rebel?"

"Yes, I was. There was a cell here, but I left about five years ago. The cell disbanded after that."

Vivian quirked an eyebrow.

"Why's that?"

Adley shifted uncomfortably and looked away.

"Am I going to be brought up on charges for thievery or treason? Or both?"

"We'll see after you tell me about this crucial information."

Adley leaned forward.

"I don't live in the city. There are lots of farms on this planet and I own one on the other side of the ridge to the north of his base. Cities get the protection during sieges. Farmers and homesteaders are usually left to fend for their own. It's up to them to get to the cities for evacuation and protection. But I've been through this plenty of times; cities can be deathtraps. I'd rather die on my own farm. The Covenant sometimes miss them because they're not strategic targets. Problem is, whatever supplies you've got there dwindle fast. Especially when you have a family. I've got a wife and three kids; two boys and an infant girl. One of my boys got hurt and has a bad infection, he needs antibiotics but our first aid kit doesn't have any. Our foot stores are alright for now but we need more than just some staple crops from the harvest."

"Why didn't you go to the city? They hand out free supplies there."

"I don't have the time to stand in line for hours for a few MREs and a couple bottles of water. I need military grade supplies. And you lot don't hand that material out for free. Hospitals start overflowing, priorities are given to soldiers. I've seen people die waiting for a doctor to come and see them. Besides, those clinics the UNSC sets up the street are poorly staffed, poorly run, and never have enough supplies. All the good stuff goes to the troops."

"Yeah, because _we_ need it, scumbag," Hayes muttered. "We're out there dying for you so you don't have to pick up a rifle. What good are the troops if they don't have the best supplies reserved for them? You ought to be a bit more thankful that the Marines are here."

"My son means more to me than your jarheads."

Hayes' balled his hands into fists and made another move. Holst threw out his arm in front of him and kept him place. A few quiet urgings later and Hayes was calmer. Adley continued. "The city's farther than the base anyways, so I crossed the ridge just to the north of here. I've never done it before, but I figured the ridge was safer. The western half is very tall and forested, and the eastern half has a great deal of underbrush but it lacks for trees. Right in the middle is good terrain and lots of hiding places. But when I was crossing I saw some of their scouts. They're watching you from the ridge. Against my better judgement, I staked them out and followed them west along the ridge. They have some kind of base there; I have no idea how they did it, but they have a lot of infantry and some heavy duty stuff."

"What kind of firepower are we talking here?"

"AA Wraiths. I'm not a military strategist, but anyone can see they're planning something."

"Those AA Wraiths will be able to hit our aircraft from that ridge if we launch our counterattack," Hayes said. "And if they launch another attack against the northern perimeter, their AA will limit our air cover."

"They've attacked along the northern center and northwestern portion of the perimeter before," Holst said, stepping forward, "Nothing the troops already here couldn't handle."

"True, but they could be trying to loop even farther around and hit the anchor of the Horseshoe: the actual base camp. It's lightly defended and and the majority of the troops are forming up at the west. Without air cover we'd couldn't move them back quickly enough. They could even be smartening up and trying to bypass the Horseshoe entirely. If they strike out to attack the city, we'll be forced to move troops there. That'll leave the Horseshoe vulnerable. We lose the Horseshoe and we lose our buffer zone between the Covenant and the city," Vivian said gravely. "I thought that ridge was too steep for their heavier vehicles to negotiate."

"They may have blasted a path and cut down some trees, enough to allow them to move but not so much that they'd be noticeable," Adley said. "They can be pretty sneaky when they want to be, despite all the purple and blue armor."

"What kind of numbers we looking at? Armaments?"

"Not sure on the numbers. Hundreds. Lots of Skirmishers; they were doing a great deal of patrolling. A good amount of Elites seem to be there as well. They're carrying the standard stuff. They have a lot of emplacements set up already; Shades and those tripod mounted turrets too. Besides the Wraiths, I think I saw some small vehicles; maybe a couple Ghosts or a Revenant. I'm not sure. Who knows how many are up there now?"

Vivian gazed at the man for a few moments, gauging him.

"Why are you sharing this with us?"

"You asked me."

"Don't be smart," Vivian ordered, "you said you had something to share with us. Why?"

"I won't lie. I'm hoping this'll get me cleared and you'll let me go. Your two hounds over there probably don't think highly of me for that, like they did in the first place. I'm not a man of honor, and I don't care. Surviving, keeping my family safe, that means more to me than anything else. So I'll do anything I have to. Surely, you can respect that?"

She smiled a little and nodded.

"I can," she answered.

"Can I ask a question?" Hayes growled. Not waiting for an answer, he said, "Were you going to tell us of the attack whether or not we caught you?"

Adley looked away.

"I uh...was planning on it, after I got the supplies to my family."

"Sack of shit's lying," Hayes muttered to Holst, who rolled his eyes and shrugged.

"You could have asked for some food nicely," the ODST said to Adley, "I'm sure someone would have given you a couple MRE's."

"I need food _and_ medicine. And the last planet I lived on was besieged too; when I asked for food they nearly shot me. UNSC hospitality for you."

Hayes and Holst were clearly riled by the comment. Not wishing for tempers to rise again, Vivian turned around in her chair.

"What do you make of these developments?" she asked them.

"If they're planning some kind of attack from the ridge, that means they may have left their deployment area under strength. We should attack now and cut off their supply line. Isolate them on the ridge," Holst stated.

"No, that'll leave us undermanned here. The only units here at full strength are the ODSTs and the Marines. The other units have been depleted and I doubt they could hold the Horseshoe on their own. If we make any attack, we must have the advantage and ensure they can't counterattack. If the Marines go now, all they'd have to do is wait until we're outside the perimeter to ambush the attackers or storm the Horseshoe. Or both. Furthermore, with AA units so close to us, they could have a severe impact on our air support." Hayes told him.

"What about attacking the ridge directly?" Waters asked. Both Hayes and Holst shook their heads.

"An infantry assault on a prepared position like that, where they have the advantage of high ground? It'd be a massacre."

"Dropping Helljumpers would be a bad idea as well; with all the tree cover we can't get a decent perception of the target area. Dropping into heavily forested areas is never recommended unless the op demands for it, but a lot could go wrong. A HEV could hit a tree or uneven terrain; a pod could go rolling down the ridge. I've even heard of pods landing in lakes and men drowning inside. What we need right now are bodies and to drop onto the ridge would risk too many.

"And here I thought you were a risk taker," Hayes muttered under his breath. Holst glared at the big man.

"I _am_ a risk taker, but only when I can see the potential payoff prior to taking the actual risk. Can't have a payoff if there's no one alive to make it happen."

"Not much of a risk, then," Hayes muttered.

"Ma'am, I'm telling you, we can't make that jump without unacceptable casualties."

"A MAC round would do the job. Or artillery across the ridge line. Airstrikes are out of the question though, they'd be hit by the AA Wraiths," Hayes offered.

"I doubt we'd see them through the forest canopy, either by ship scanners or drones, and I don't want to risk any drones. We've already lost a few to Covenant fliers; they still have some Banshees out there," Vivian said. "If we fire blindly at the ridge, we could miss and the rest could relocate. We'd miss our chance to wipe out the enemy force entirely. More importantly, we need our ships on standby in case Covenant reinforcements arrived. They already tried that once and they nearly caught us with our pants down. Besides, you know the brass doesn't want us causing widespread damage to the countryside. Analysts are saying with the destruction of so many Outer Colonies there's a high potential for a food shortage in the next couple of decades."

"But it's a wooded ridge. Who cares?" Holst grumbled. "Not like you can grow corn up there."

"The western woods help catch rainwater," Adley explained, "the rainwater gets absorbed, and runs down the channels into the farmlands north and south of the ridge. This helps recharge groundwater. Too much devastation means less rainwaters caught, which means less groundwater going to the farmlands, which means the crops may not grow as well. And-"

"Shut up," Holst ordered. "I don't want to hear whatever half-baked science babble you've got to spew at us. Whether or not there's trees on the ridge, I'm sure these croplands would get enough rainwater."

"Captain Waters is right, though. All units have standing orders to avoid destroying anyt land associated with farming. This isn't a battle-scarred ruin like Harvest where you can just fire a MAC whenever you want. If we violate standing orders we could get into some hot water. Considering our...less than rocky start," Hayes said uncomfortably, "we should avoid pissing of the brass as much as possible."

"Yes Colonel, but the order states MACs can be used in extreme cases. Considering our aircraft could be pinned and our position could be attacked in force, this might be an extreme case."

"If there is a more conventional way to take our the target, which I'm sure there is, the brass would want us to use those options first," Hayes said, settling the matter. "I don't want to have us dragged back to Reach _again_ for a minor trial on the land preservation clause." He turned his attention to Adley. "Could you point out where they are on the map?"

"I don't think so. I wouldn't know the exact spot on the map; I could only give you a vague location."

"Bullshit, you can read a map. Didn't the rebs teach you anything?"

"No! I was a low-level guy. They just had me scribe things during meetings, that's all. I could give you a vague spot..."

"Ah for the love of God, you're not even good at lying!"

"No. We need this to be pinpoint accurate," Vivian said.

"We could send a team to search for the target, mark it, and then we could level the area with a concentrated fire mission. An accurate barrage could limit damage to the area. We've got plenty of heavy artillery in this base," Holst suggested.

"An entire team?" Hayes scoffed. "That's one hell of a high risk operation. One team in the woods, alone, without support-"

"Like you haven't ordered squads on suicide missions, Colonel," Holst remarked. That earned a scornful glare from the marine. "Surely you're familiar with S&D ops from your day in the Innie bush, sir?"

"I do and I consider it an outdated practice. When we set out to eliminate a target, either by clandestine means or by a full assault, we do it with as much intel as possible. Abundant and accurate intelligence, that we do not have. We have sketchy Covvie numbers and materials at best and a vague reckoning of where they are; forming a search and destroy detail and telling them to head west is too risky for my liking."

"Begging your pardon Colonel," Holst said, "but isn't that the 'search,' aspect of search and destroy?"

"Yes, but the Colonel is right," Vivian said, "We need to avoid the fog of war to avoid unnecessary casualties and jeopardizing our capabilities here. Not to mention that we need bodies here and even a single squad can make all the different on the line," Vivian added.

Holst shrugged and nodded towards Adley.

"Here's an idea. Why don't we have Johnny Reb do it?

Adley blinked and grew a little nervous.

"Well, I don't know the ridge that well, but I'm pretty sure I could retrace my steps, there's a few landmarks I remember. But-"

"Perfect. So let's give him a beacon and have him do it," Holst said.

"Oh, that's brilliant Major!" Hayes said, pretending to be excited, "Why don't we just give him a gift basket and an airlift home too? You know as soon as he's out of sight he's just going to leg it back to his crummy little farm."

An idea came to Vivian just then.

"We send one man with him. Someone who can move quickly and quietly. Have Adley here lead him there and destroy the target with a focused, non-HEI barrage."

"One man?" Holst echoed. He thought for a moment and shrugged. "Fine with me. Least exposure to our troops and two men have a better chance of sneaking through the ridge than an entire team. The fleet can remain on the defensive, we don't have to use the birds, and the artillery barrage will knock out their heavy equipment. If use standard rounds we have a higher chance of preventing a forest fire from breaking out, and it will limit destruction to a relatively small cordon of the ridge area."

Hayes scratched his jaw uncomfortably. He sighed heavily.

"That's asking a lot of one man," he said quietly. Holst gave him a curious look. The colonel met his gaze. "You believe in karma?"

"Hell no."

"Well I do. And I don't fancy picking one of my men for a two-man op this close to Christmas Eve; it's tomorrow."

The ODST laughed loudly.

"No disrespect Colonel, but who cares? You and I have fought on plenty of holidays before. What's the big deal? Who was paying attention their calendar anyways? I didn't even know it was the twenty-third today."

"We'll ask for volunteers, first among the Vanguard marines, and then the ODSTs," Vivian stated, ignoring the colonel's and the major's ridiculous debate. She stood up. "And I will do it."

Hayes nodded gratefully but still appeared apprehensive.

"One man op is breaking every rule in the book, Captain Waters. Sending a team may decrease stealth but there's a higher chance the objective will be completed. A civilian, a criminal at that, can't be relied upon in combat."

Holst rolled his eyes as if he were a teenager who had grown bored of his mother's wisdom.

"Colonel, you know as well as I do, the UNSC sends personnel on one-man and two-man ops all the time. ONI agents, ODSTs, special forces, the Pathfinders, even your raggedy-ass Marines. And from what I've gathered, your jarheads do just fine on their own."

Hayes grumbled something under his breath but sighed in resignation. With a nod, Vivian got up to leave the room. However, Adley raised his head.

"Hey," he started, "what makes you think I'm going along with this? You people rough me up and then expect me to help you?"

"Yep," Holst said said, not skipping a beat.

"What the hell do I get in return then? You think I'm going to take UNSC brutality sitting down? If I'm to help, I expect some kind of compensation."

"I wouldn't be so bold, thief," Hayes said, pointing at him, "you're in no position to bargain, request, or demand. So shut your mouth before you lose some teeth."

Vivian raised her hand.

"You're going to help us. Know why?" She smiled, although it was not a particularly friendly one. "Because I'll drop the charges of thievery and treason, and I'll make sure your family gets food and medicine. The alternative is we shackle you to the man going on this op and turn you in to the proper authorities afterwards. I doubt you'd even make it to court alive. Even if you did, they'd just shoot you in the end. I don't even think you'd end up in cuffs; these men would kill you right on the spot. Wouldn't even waste a bullet on you." Hayes exchanged an impressed glance with Holst, who nodded approvingly. Vivian finished, "So, which will it be?"

Adley blinked and then looked at the floor. She could see a thousand emotions run across his face. Anger, anguish, regret, fear, desperation, determination. Finally, he looked up and nodded.

"Alright. Will I get a weapon? I'm familiar with pistols but-"

"No," Vivian answered bluntly.

Adley sighed.

"Fine. The difficult part won't be getting there-it'll be getting back after we plant the beacon or whatever you plan on using."

"Then you better be fast on your feet, Marc Adley," Vivian said.

"Ma'am, do we really need him? Isn't it as simple as getting up on the ridge and heading west? We'd simply run into it eventually," Holst suggested in a hushed tone, stepping closer to her as they began to leave.

"We're dealing with the fog of war, here. I don't want us going into this blind," Vivian said. "I'd rather have someone who has a slight knowledge of the terrain.

"And there's a good hiding spot I found," Adley said, "big enough for one or two men. It's the perfect spot for getting close to their camp."

"I'm sure there is," Vivian said over her shoulder as she left with Hayes.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Hayes asked Vivian then. "One soldier and one thief..."

"We went through all the options we had, Colonel. Two men will be more clandestine rather than a squad. Having the element of stealth is the most important factor on this operation, to plant the beacon and then getting out of there. Enemy scouts are bound to spot a larger force, even squad-sized. And because upper-management is choking us again, we can't just burn the ridge out."

"Captain, I just want to make sure you believe this is the best option. I understand that to suit the battle space, this may be the best option we have, but do we really want to take this risk. The UNSC may condone two man ops, but it's not encouraged. We're breaking a lot of rules of ground warfare here. Are you sure whoever we pick can get it done?"

"We're picking from the elite troops. Vanguard and ODSTs; they'll get it done."

"But keeping it from the man who volunteers? I've always been straight with my men."

"That's why I'm doing it, Colonel. In the meantime, move the more depleted Army units back towards the rear to beef up security here and have the Marines shore up defenses at the Curve. They'll be the ones leading the counterattack once the mission succeeds."

"If it succeeds."

"It will. I'm going with my gut, and my gut says this is the best chance we have at preventing a disaster."

Part of her felt ashamed. The soldier in her told her not to be. He was trying to steal from the troops who had been fighting for several days. Thieves were thieves, nothing more. Criminals deserved to be punished. But she felt for him; he was trying to help his family, his children. How could she condemn him for that? When it came to allegiances, what individual would put anything before their family? Blood meant more to _anyone_ than patriotism or flags or oaths. Anyone who would pass their family in the name of something else didn't deserve to have that family. She knew the marines wouldn't be happy with this. Lynching him would be preferable to the 89th MEU rather than using him as a guide. None of them would volunteer for it with the way they despised rebels. Adley would be nothing more to them that, despite have turned in his Insurrectionist banner. She'd have to word the request just right if she wanted any marines-or perhaps just one particular marine-to commit to the operation.

Even solo, it was a high risk operation. One mistake and the operative as well as Adley would die. Frost had come back from plenty of missions; Steele's tale of their second mission on Skopje proved that. But maybe this would be the one he didn't come back from. She'd take that chance, even if it resulted in Adley's death. Vivian then realized, that with Jack the Ripper as his captor, Adley was practically a dead man. Once he had fulfilled his purpose, Frost could just force him onto his knees and execute him in the woods. If Frost came waltzing back to camp, unharmed, mission successful, with Adley at his side, all he had to claim was that the thief had been killed by the Covenant. Nobody would shed a tear over a thief and a traitor. Not one soul would be willing to head up to that ridge and look for the body to ascertain if the death had been due to a bullet or a plasma bolt. Most likely, it'd be torn apart by the artillery barrage anyways. Everyone knew Frost as an honorable, honest man as well, so they'd trust him at his word.

Shame turned into disgust; using a man and dangling his family's well-being over his head like a carrot. It was despicable, whether or not he was a criminal. But he was the only way to find this task force. If they didn't destroy it, then their position on the planet was at risk. The planners should have realized this and had the ridge deforested long ago. Luck was the only reason the Covenant hadn't bypassed the damned Horseshoe. What choice did she have other than to use him? They had exhausted all the other options; each one _could_ work, but they were soldiers. Shoulds, coulds, and woulds were not a part of their vocabulary. Striking out blindly didn't guarantee success, and they needed total success in this operation if they were to attack their heavily defended deployment area. Wiping out the ridge line troops diminished their numbers significantly, leaving them vulnerable to a counterattack. Until then, the offensive would have to be postponed and all of the troops had to be put back on the defensive. They had to move more back _now_ if they were to avoid whatever onslaught the Covenant had planned for them. That meant giving the Covenant time to prepare for their counterattack, or even compose another counterattack, one that could hit them directly. If the Curve fell again, she wasn't sure they'd be able to hold. The troops were tired. Having all the ammunition, food, and water they needed amounted to nothing if the troops were exhausted.

Hope resided on Adley and whoever volunteered. Yes, he was a thief but she didn't care. Sending a noncombatant into the fire like that just didn't sit right in her gut. She was supposed to be protecting civilians, not using them for special ops. Maybe he had forfeited that protection when he decided to steal from them, but she was human, she sympathized with the man. Whoever took the job, she would make it paramount that Adley was to be brought back alive. She hoped it would be Frost. Being in a position, under orders _not_ to kill a rebel, that would make him squirm. The thought delighted her. And if he somehow died on the way back, she wouldn't care one bit. She'd shed more tears for Adley. But no one in their right mind would volunteer. Only a maniac like him would, except if there was a rebel involved. She'd have to hide that from them all. Reveal it when he accepted.

###

The next day, a little before mid-afternoon, she went back up the line to where many of the Marines were resting. She had expected to see men stringing up holiday decorations, singing songs, and passing out treats like the men from the old wars. Nothing like that was to be found. All of the men were sleeping, having a quick meal, or preparing equipment. Others were still on watch, vigilantly scanning the horizon for any signs of the enemy. The Marines of the 89th did not sleep, it seemed. Perhaps the celebrating would come when the battle was over.

When she arrived at the main rest area, it was obvious Jasmine had already gotten back to work. The field hospital had been expanded further, more personnel were working, more equipment had been set up. The tent city around it had been pushed further back to make more room and more hesco bastions had been established as well. An open area had been created between the nearest tents and the hospital itself, giving a flat piece of ground for soldiers to sit in the sun while they waited to be ordered back up to the frontline. Many were still inside the tents, but many took the opportunity to warm themselves in the sunlight. They leaned back against their backpacks and large pieces of kit, smoking, eating, drinking from their canteens. Some read magazines or books, others composed letters. The battle that had raged last night could have never happened, looking at the relaxing troops. Quite a few were still dirty and some had minors wounds, but they didn't seem to mind. Gunfire had practically ceased across the line, except for the occasional report of a sniper rifle or the chatter of a machine gun. Fire missions from the artillery batteries were ongoing, striking forward Covenant positions ahead of their deployment zone to the west. No one seemed to mind the heavy guns. One of the marines was even playing an old acoustic guitar, playing a slow, almost sad tune.

She couldn't spot Frost among them at first. His squad was present, save for the two wounded men. They were sitting side by side on one of the beds, smoking silently. The others were nearby, sitting in the sun. Gazing around, she finally saw Frost with Jasmine, standing under the open field hospital's roof. He was looking around while she tapped away on the datapad.

"Jasmine," Vivian said as she walked up, "can I borrow him?"

Jasmine glanced at Frost, who glared at Vivian. She sighed and nodded.

"Sure."

Frost stepped forward and saluted. Vivian hesitantly returned it.

"Are all of the members of the Vanguard present?"

"Not all of them, but most," he answered plainly.

"Gather them up, if you will, Jack the Ripper."

"You know I have a name. You ought to use it from time to time."

"Double-time," she responded. Frost shook his head and stepped closer to the ground.

"Alright, Vanguard, gather up! Captain Waters has a word for us! Come on, hustle up!"

Marines stepped out from the tents. The one playing the guitar said something to Frost, speaking in Russian. Frost responded with a few words and the guitarist laughed. Vivian couldn't help but glare. Most likely they had made an insult or joke about her disrupting their rest. Naval captains were a rare sight planetside. Ground pounders tended to consider them poor luck or interfering with their business. While she was the task force commander, she had promised herself she wouldn't step on the toes of the ground commanders. So far, she thought she had done a passable job. Hayes and Holst didn't appear to be indignant towards the plan, the former's karma-residing reservations aside. Like Holst, she didn't believe in karma either. Just doing good acts didn't guarantee that good would come by her. Life had too many practical jokes and hardships to place upon her and the rest of humanity for karma to exist.

When the Marines were assembled, some on the ground, some forming small school circles, others standing, she cleared her throat.

"A new development in the mission has occurred. I require one volunteer, and one volunteer only, for a two-man operation."

"Hey, don't you need two men for a two-man operation, ma'am?" Corporal Steele said from Frost's side. The latter elbowed his compatriot while the rest snickered.

"The other individual has already been selected."

"Captain, what's the op?" Frost asked.

"Until there is a volunteer, I can't divulge any details. Just know that it will most likely be a one to two day op and will be extremely dangerous."

 _There's a chance you'll get pinned down out there. Lost too. Surrounded, cut off, killed far away from your friends. Probably a one way trip for you, and for Adley. I wish it were only you._

Apprehension gripped the Marines' faces. Before she enlisted, UNSC ships use to dock at Skopje for provisioning or finishing touches before setting out. Often, the personnel would disembark to enjoy a few more nights of shore leave. Drinking, partying, one-night stands, fistfights in the streets, military police cracking down-it had all been very frequent and normal. Most of the grunts she had seen were fresh out of training; they were excited, loud, boisterous, and raring to kill. Youth combined with naivete about the war made them bold and confident. Those that survived their first engagement would have had a rude awakening to what the war was really like. Earth and the Inner Colonies were going through an intensive propaganda and censorship campaign. Only those in the service or refugees knew what the war was really like and how dire the UNSC's position was. Of course the raw troops thought it'd be a cakewalk. But the men of the 89th had been at war for five years, getting close to six. Their confidence on the field had been earned with their experience. Surviving so many battles made them wary and cautious, despite their aggressive qualities. Only fool signed up for an operation he knew nothing about. Vivian realized she was asking a great deal from them. What if the plan backfired and someone other than Frost volunteered? He was one of their best, that was well-known; if someone with less prowess put his services forth, the mission would most likely fail.

How she grappled with herself. What was more important? Preventing the Covenant from wiping out their air support and launching a counterattack or her personal vendetta? Save thousands of lives, or get one killed? Getting the mission accomplished, or finally putting the past to rest by making sure that bastard died? Letting go was something she could not do. She had tried! At least, she believed she had tried. Tried and failed, perhaps. For years after, for the rest of her youth, she had tried to bury it. Get rid of the rage, the guilt, the sadness. Nothing worked; the years passed and all she did was grow angrier. Here was her chance and yet it was laced with complications. Was there still a chance to back out before some poor bastard volunteered for a death run that wasn't even meant for him? No, she couldn't, she had laid it out for them. If she divulged the details now none of the Marines would volunteer at all. Marines shouldn't have even been her first choice-special operations weren't meant for them. ODSTs were the obvious pick but even they weren't foolish enough to stick their necks out for a duo operation. Someone like De Vos or Holst would volunteer, but she needed Holst down here on the ground and De Vos organizing ODST drops from the _I'm Alone_. It had to be him. If he went, and if the worst happened, she could avoid dividing the crew and the Marines. The camaraderie could remain, cohesion would be maintained. None of it would have to happen. She wouldn't have to put herself at risk, she wouldn't have to put others in the crosshairs, there didn't have to be a division. This was for the greater good, just as long as it was _him._

The Marines looked at one another, shuffling in place, avoiding her gaze. Vivian was going to give them a few more seconds before she pulled the request and head over to wear the ODSTs were based. Just a few more seconds and she could spare their lives, everyone's lives, even his, and she would be perfectly alright with that. Making sure this offensive succeeded and preventing the enemy counterattack was more important. She had to rise above herself. This was bigger than her. As much as it hurt, she had to let go. For now.

"I'll do it."

Vivian looked up.

"What?"

"I said I'll do it."

Frost took a step forward and shrugged. "Whatever it is, I've probably been through worse. I volunteer."

Feeling utterly relieved and terribly excited, Vivian nodded after exhaling shakily.

"Alright, follow me to the CP. The rest of you are dismissed."

Her gamble had paid off. Frost was now right behind her, his assault rifle slung over his shoulder, his helmet in his hand. Yes, he would get the job done. But the return trip would be perilous, as Adley said. Hopefully, only he would return. What if he decided not to go after she briefed him? She could make it an order, tackle him with military honor, but Hayes would most likely defend his star pupil. Maybe she could dangle the Raiders unit he was planning over his head, consent to its formation only if he'd go on the mission...

"Nathaniel..."

Vivian turned. Frost had stopped at Jasmine's request. She whispered something into his ear and he smiled at her.

"Don't worry about me. Whatever it is, it can't be that bad."

She smiled faintly and watched Frost catch up to Vivian. Vivian gave her friend a nod but Jasmine just glared at her.

Nothing was said between the two as they made the march through the Horseshoe back to the command post. She stole a sideways glance at him. Traces of dirt still clung to his skin-his neck and behind his ears mostly. Despite fighting for several days he seemed in good shape. Maybe last night's rest in Jasmine's lap had cured him of his ailments. Lucky, that's what he was. Only a woman like Jasmine would accept a man like him for all his faults. She knew him better than Vivian did anyhow. In a way, though, Vivian was happy for Jasmine. She knew her younger years had been plagued by loneliness. Moving around, few friends, no chances for young romance. Vivian had been lucky enough too, she supposed. After what happened and she detached from the immature, pointless, insecurities of high school social life, no one wanted to even talk to her. Her first boyfriend-and only boyfriend-had hardly anything to do with her unless it was sex or talking her ear off about his aimless aspirations of improving life on Skopje. He hadn't been a terrible boy to date; when they _were_ together, doing normal things couples did other than sex, she didn't feel so torn up. Everything had to be about him, but she had been happy just to have companionship again. Until her great-grandfather straightened her out and made her realize he had been a wimp. Brice Howard hadn't been cruel or manipulative, just self-centered. She didn't hold it against him. That's just not what she wanted.

At that moment she felt somewhat lonely. Maybe even jealous. She was happy for Jasmine, happy that she had someone to go to when times got rough. What did Vivian have? Apparently she had an artificial intelligence she could have meaningful conversations with. Yes, an AI that had based itself on a 19th Century United States Navy officers who helped form their navy and fought in numerous wars against foes ranging from the British to the Barbary pirates. Vivian sighed audibly. She would have joked to herself that she needed to get out more but she wasn't here to get hitched. She was here to fight a war.

Considering Frost, however, she supposed Jasmine could do worse. Braver than most, though she considered his version of it to be mere insanity. What kind of sane man charged across an open field at a few thousand Covenant soldiers? Honorable-using that word to describe him wanted to make her vomit. But he wouldn't have the reputation he did if there wasn't some truth to it. Strong? As much as she hated to admit it, he was indeed strong. Physically and in character. Men of conviction were hard to come by in a time rife with desertion. Sure he was a killer, but he was a soldier. Jasmine obviously knew what she was getting into. If whatever they had formed into something more concrete, it wouldn't be the typical military relationship. They were both in the great game of war; he wasn't going to be leaving her crying on the train station or in the spaceport. No, she would be on the same ship, patching him up when he came back from a firefight. God, she couldn't imagine how hard that would be. Seeing friends torn up was one thing, but seeing the person you loved? How would that impact her performance, her emotional and mental stability? Seeing that pain, day after day, could hurt the person who cared for them even more. What would happen if he died? Would she crumble? No, she was strong enough. She'd have to be. All of the people on the _I'm Alone_ depended on her for their well-being. Without her, the medical bay wouldn't be as orderly or efficient. Not one individual came to mind who could replace her.

What the hell was she doing sacrificing the man her friend was in love with?

"There's a good chance you won't come back from this."

"I've been on two man ops before, remember?" Frost said. "I jumped from a cliff and I still got back on my feet. Whatever you have ain't shit to that op."

"I'm telling you, this might be really bad."

"Well you must be happy about that."

"Just _stop_ for a second."

Vivian had planted her feet in the ground and Frost had continued. He stopped and his head dropped back as if he were aggravated. His hands squeezed into fists for a moment before he turned around.

"What do you have to say, Ahab?"

Taking a deep breath, Vivian stepped a bit closer.

"For Jasmine's sake, I'm giving you one chance to step out of this."

Frost stared at her for a moment. Then he laughed bitterly. He stepped closer to her.

"Let's face it, it's not because of Jasmine you're giving me this out. No, it's not that at all, is it? You just want to clear your conscious. You want to send me on whatever death run you've got planned, feeling like you're morally clean, that the risks I'll be facing will be on my own volition, not part of some scheme you've concocted."

"It's not like that. Jasmine is my best friend and I want the best for her. And if the best for her is you...well...fine! So this is your one chance to back out and I go find somebody else. If you want to stay, fine, but that's _your_ choice. Whatever happens, it's on you. Not me."

Frost grinned. It was a wolfish smile, exposing his missing premolar, right behind the upper canine.

"How bad do you want me dead?"

"I've never wanted anything more," Vivian seethed. "To be honest, I had hoped it would be you that volunteers. I was sure you would. I was counting on it."

Frost chuckled.

"But now you're in a bit of a quandary, eh?" Vivian nodded. Frost scratched his bearded chin and thought for a moment. "You know, I appreciate your honesty with me." After a few more seconds, he said, "And you know something else? I feel really sorry for you."

"Why's that?"

"You've got two sets of friend. First set, there's five, all dead." Vivian felt her hands curl into fists. "The other is alive. Can't imagine what kind of conundrum you're in. What's more important, the living or the dead?"

"I've asked myself that before."

"You ought to figure it out then," Frost said coldly. "I'll be taking the mission. Of my own volition. Because I'll take any opportunity you give me to prove you wrong. And I won't let some other poor bastard take my place. So, let's go."

He began walking.

"Your Marine Raiders unit," Vivian said. Frost stopped and turned around, looking at her curiously. "You have my approval for it."

Frost seemed surprised.

"You're a strange woman," he said. "You want me dead one moment. And the next you're rewarding me for something I haven't even done yet. You're quite stuck, aren't you? In there." He pointed at her head. "How in the world do you sleep at night?"

"I barely sleep."

Vivian looked away for a moment. "Last night, I told Jasmine that it's not selfish to want things. She felt guilty for keeping you from going out to save your friend...Bishop, is it? She didn't want you to get hurt or worse." She paused and looked up at the sky, which was clearing into a lovely blue. "I want you dead. I want you to pay."

Words escaped her for a moment. Frost spoke up then.

"But you want Jasmine to be happy too."

Vivian nodded.

"That means keeping you alive."

Frost grimaced then, not in an aggressive way, but in an offended sort of manner.

"You think you have control over this?" he asked. "You think that because this mission is high risk my death is guaranteed? No, Captain Waters, no. This is war. Nothing is certain, nothing is planned, nothing makes any _sense_. I could die on this mission, I could die tomorrow. I could have died yesterday. I could have died a thousand times. And if I survive today, tomorrow will have a thousand other ways to try and kill me. All of us. Until the war is over, and I actually walk away from it, I'm a dead man. That goes for everybody in uniform. You, me, Jasmine, my friends, everybody." He shrugged. "You don't have any control over my life, whether or not you send me into battle. The only way you can is if you take out your service weapon, point it at me, and pull the trigger."

His gray eyes locked with hers. They were deep, melancholy, and old, then. "Will you?"

Vivian looked down at her holster, her hand hovering beside it. Then her eyes flitted back at him. She could see his breathing had picked up slightly. Only slightly. His hand had gone to the hilt of his knife, the scabbard clipped to his best. He held it like a knight would hold the hilt of his sword, ready to draw at any moment. Was he fast enough to dart over here and use that blade? Could she draw her sidearm fast enough to get at least one shot off? Just a couple feet or so separated them. Slowly, she shook her head and her hand went limp. Frost nodded, releasing the hilt of his combat knife. "Then I wouldn't worry about selfishness anymore."

Frost turned to walk forward again.

"Don't you hate me?"

"What?"

"Don't you hate me, like I hate you?" She said, standing straight and still. "I...can't find the words to describe how much I absolutely despise you. I can hardly stand to hear your voice, see your face, because all I see is living reminder of how my friends died. I almost shot you, I've tried to get you thrown in prison. Don't you hate me?"

Frost inhaled sharply. Then he laughed.

"You tried to get me behind bars?"

"I went to Rear Admiral Travers and he rebuked me. Just answer the damned question."

"No." he shook his head, smiling. "I really don't. Because I've seen far worse than you, Ahab. I reserve my hatred for the Covenant and for Insurrectionist scum. You...no disrespect, but you're not really worth my time." He waited a few moments. "Does that mean...it's over?"

"No. Not entirely. It's not over. But I've made my decision; for now, I'll let you be. Call it an indefinite truce. Because of Jasmine." Vivian then began to walk. "Besides, with your Marine Raiders unit, you'll most likely get yourself killed on whatever daredevil ops you lead them on. Which is fine by me."

"Shooting me is always a viable option, you know," Frost said, half-jokingly. Vivian stopped and looked at him. His tone became more serious. "If you're so hell-bent on making me pay for your friends, what do you care about the consequences?

"I promised Jasmine I wouldn't do that. I tried doing it right-"

"Right? Pardon me if I don't find myself as guilty as you do, but I'm pretty sure whatever promise you made to Jasmine, was that you drop this affair and let me be, not try to get me in prison."

"You should be grateful that she thinks so highly of you. She made me promise to spare your life, and I've kept it. Despite all my wishes and wants, I've kept it."

"You think sending me to my death is different than pulling the trigger yourself?" Frost questioned. Vivian hadn't thought of it like that and Frost knew it. At least he had the decency not to look smug. She marched over to him and reached into her back pocket. She held up the photograph of him, with the man hanged from the tree in the background. His eyes widened for a moment and then he grimaced.

"You feel no guilt for this, do you?"

He didn't answer at first.

"Not in the way you mean. I feel shame for another reason altogether."

"What reason is that?"

"One you can't understand."

"You and your cryptic bullshit. Just remember I have _this._ Imagine the world of shit you'd be in when I show this to my crew. They'd want your head on a mounted on the bow of the ship."

"You'd be breaking your promise to Hayes then, wouldn't you?"

"Don't act like you've kept it. You're the one who spilled it to Jasmine, and your whole squad too I'm sure."

Frost straightened up a bit. Vivian took a breath. "This photo, and the others I have, stays with me. If you _hurt_ her in any way, these photos goes to the crew and I don't give a damn what kind of shitshow will come out of it. Understand, Jack the Ripper?"

"Yes, Captain Ahab." He turned and began walking. "Too bad."

"What?"

"I thought our little therapy session was going quite well for a bit there," he said mockingly.

"Your fault it turned south," Vivian mumbled.

"My apologies," he grunted.

"Let's just go."

She closed her eyes for a moment as she walked. Voices echoed in her mind. Hands clutched and scraped her. Shadows with familiar faces seemed to follow her, crowd around her, darken the sky and the land around her. For a moment, there was no one else around her, just an utter blackness, save for the shapes of five people. They pointed and screamed. _Betrayal. Betrayal. Betrayal. Betrayal. Betrayal._ How she wanted to scream back at them. They were gone, they weren't real. Jasmine was real and her happiness was far more important than anyone's. It was time to focus on the living, to care for them, not the dead. The dead had no ears, had no way of knowing.

Vivian opened her eyes. She wanted to vomit. It didn't just feel like she was betraying them. It was like betraying _herself._ Her principles, her beliefs, her feelings. Five years of hoping, gone. Letting him live felt like an insult, like punching herself in the gut. All she wanted to do was hide, find her bed, and try to sleep. All she wanted was one night of undisturbed rest. One night without dreams or nightmares, one night where her head could fall on the pillow and she'd fall asleep instantly. One night where she didn't have to be utterly exhausted just to get a few hours. One night without ghosts or voices. One night where it felt like she had done the right thing! Letting him live didn't feel right, nor did sending him to his death. What was she left to do? What could she do?

By the time they reached the command post, Vivian had been able to fight off her plague and focus. To the best of her ability, at the very least. Frost still seemed unemotional, unaffected, as if what had just occurred hadn't happened at all. She loathed how he could just take everything in stride. Nothing seemed to the phase him. Years of combat had adjusted him to...anything, really. Whatever seemed big for her was small for him. Being one step from death, fighting for your life, that had to make other things so miniscule in scale. Did he even feel fear? Definitely not towards her. To him, she was probably just a fly. Something that could be easily crushed and swept into the rubbish bin.

Inside the main area on the first floor, among the bustle, were Hayes, Holst, and Adley.

"Adley," Vivian greeted, "meet the volunteer. Gunnery Sergeant Nathaniel Frost."

Hands cuffed behind his back, he looked at Vivian for a moment, as if confused.

"Should I know this guy or something?" he asked. Hayes leaned down a bit.

"You'd probably know him as _Jack the Ripper._ "

Adley's eyes widened and he took a step back. Holst and Hayes both had a hand on him and held him place.

"I knew you fucks would screw me over. You're just going to hand me over to him? You're sick, you're sick! He'll fucking butcher me! I wasn't even on Skopje, I swear!" he cried, struggling in their grasp.

Frost gave Vivian a confused glance.

"What's his problem?"

"This man's a thief and a rebel," Hayes answered.

"Ex-rebel," Holst corrected.

"So what? Put a bullet in him and be done with it," Frost said nonchalantly. Vivian grimaced; it was almost frightening how easily he talked about killing.

"Sergeant, your mission is to head up to the ridge, inserting from the lower eastern point here," Vivian said, pointing at the holographic projection on the map, "and head west. According to this man, the Covenant are setting up anti-aircraft vehicles and possibly artillery, in the hopes of eliminating our air support and staging some kind of counterattack. This man knows where they are and can lead you there. Your job will be to mark the target for a concentrated artillery barrage, which will knock out their equipment and make their position untenable due to being zeroed in."

"You want me to work with a rebel?" Frost growled. "A traitor to humanity, and a thief at that?"

"He can't point it out on a map. He'll lead you there on foot and he _will_ cooperate, or you get to put a bullet in his head," Hayes said. "We can't take any risks. It's too forested on that ridge for an accurate strike. If we miss, they'll simply move to a different location and concentrate somewhere else. Or they might attack. What they do if we ignore their build up or if we fail to hit them is not certain, and a two man operation, moving quickly and stealthily, is the best way to do it. Minimal risk for the entire AO."

"High risk for the operators, though," Frost grunted, "an entire squad would be better."

"Negative," Vivian said, "we've determined that even a squad the size of yours would be easier for the Covenant to detect. You know how to move quietly, do you not?"

"They don't call me Jack the Ripper for nothing," he answered. "I can do it." He looked up at Adley. "Hey asshole, there a path I can follow along the ridge? Something that can lead me to where they are so I don't to bring you along?"

"No. There's no path, and no landmarks you'd recognize. You need me," Adley said, a little too confidently. Frost stood up from the projection table and slowly walked over to him. Getting right into his face, he practically bared his teeth.

"I don't _need_ you. Give me the time and I can find them if I so choose. If it's an order to bring you along, fine. I follow my orders. But when shit hits the fan, you're own your own. Understand?"

Adley seemed to shrink in front of Frost. He nodded quickly. Vivian grimaced but continued to fill him on the details that Adley had relayed to her. His expression remained wary but he didn't seem overwhelmed. Any man who had faced operations such as he would be phased by little, she knew. Putting her personal feelings aside, she knew he was the right man for the job. Frost had unique training, plenty of experience operating in forested and alpine environments, had nearly six years of combat under his belt against both Insurrectionists and Covenant, was used to operating in solo or two-man capacities, and had the salt to get hard jobs done. A hunch told Vivian that despite the dangers they posed and the innate human need for self-preservation, he enjoyed the difficult missions, the ones which resulted in death if just one mistake was made. He was too collected to be an adrenaline junkie. All of his anger and hate was funneled into combat, and in that strange cataclysm of emotion, he found some kind of thrill nothing else could offer. She just hoped he wouldn't execute Adley.

All of the details were given and Frost nodded.

"Unless you want me to work out the grid coordinates myself once I find it, do you have any other methods for marking the target?

"We ran through some options. Use your GPS to triangulate the position once you find it, then transmit the coordinates to us."

"That means I have to get into the center of the Covenant position and get a look at the whole camp to judge its size."

"Exactly; find a vantage point _within_ the Covenant camp, preferably somewhere high to get a complete view of the base, then triangulate, and then send it."

"Somewhere high? Been a long time since I climbed a tree," Frost smiled. "What if I can't find a spot?"

"You'll have to improvise. Take an IR beacon as a back up. We're setting up multiple spotters all along the northern perimeter all the way from the Curve back to the CP. We'll have multiple eyes from multiple angles so if you have to use it, it'll be seen, guaranteed."

Frost grinned and looked at Vivian.

"And the first man to spot it gets a Spanish doubloon, I suppose?" he joked. Vivian frowned.

"IR beacon tech has come along way so our spotters should be able to pick up over the distance between the ridge and the base, if you get it to a clear spot in the canopy."

"We're going to put a platoon of paras in an overwatch position to the northwest of the curve, to act as a QRF if you get caught and decide to head directly south. Note that these men will be called back if the Horseshoe is attacked. But remember; your best chance of exfiltration is going back towards the east. You can lose any pursuers in the trees and have air, artillery, and sniper cover once you on the eastern part of the ridge." Hayes inhaled and nodded.

Vivian folded her arms across her chest.

"Once the target is acquired, you're going to have to evacuate immediately."

"I figured. How long of a delay do I get before the shells fall?"

The officers looked at one another.

"About thirty seconds."

"So there's a chance I might get caught in the barrage?" Frost asked.

"Yes," Vivian answered. Frost braced his hands on the map table and leaned forward. He grinned.

"How exciting," he said, without a hint of sarcasm. Vivian shuddered. Adley cleared his throat.

"The hiding spot I mentioned, it's sort of a ditch on an upwards slope with heavy logs over it. There's big rocks around the spot too."

"Decent cover for a barrage," Hayes said, "get there as quickly as possibly." With a heavy sigh, he said, "Alright then, that's the whole story. What do you make of the plan Gunny? Honest opinions.

Frost studied the map for a few more moments before he stood up.

"Overall, it's a bit fragile but I can make it work. I wish we a few more options for painting the target, but it'll be too dark for smoke and a flare will get me spotted." Frost said. "After the first barrage, I'll make a quick evaluation and radio corrections if need be. If not, we'll beat feet back to the eastern ridge, and then once we're parallel to the CP, we'll cut immediately south and head right back into the perimeter." Frost said all of this while tracing his finger on the map. "The Colonel is right. Staying on the ridge will be the best bet for our escape. Lots of natural cover until we get to the east. Heading over open ground back towards the more western parts of the Horseshoe will leave us exposed and possibly running into more Covenant." He said this more to himself, then looked back up. "Sir, are you sure there's to be no support during the op?"

"Affirmative," Hayes said heavily, "Nothing until _after_ the bombardment."

"Can we position a sniper here on top of the CP? They'll be able to cover us along the eastern part of the ridge until we get into the more heavily wooded western part."

Hayes considered for a moment, then nodded. Frost grunted. "Good. I'll get word to Steele to get his kit and head over." Frost said something to himself, his eyes darting along the map. Then his gaze shifted to Adley. "You and I, we'll be moving quick, quiet, and light. No excess gear for me."

"I don't even get a vest?"

"Vests belong to soldiers," Frost said with a devilish grin, "besides, a vest won't stop a plasma bolt." He eyed Adley for a few tense moments. Frost walked over to him, stopping only when they were almost nose to nose. Adley shrunk in front of Frost, who stared with a stern gaze into the prisoner's eyes. "Captain, can I entertain you with a question?"

Vivian pursed her lips.

"Go ahead."

"Do you consider that this man might be lying?" Adley was about to say something but Frost gave him a threatening look. Vivian and the other officers looked at one another. They hadn't thought of that. "This man was caught stealing. Do you think he's just trying to buy himself time? Maybe lead me into some kinda trap so his cronies can kill me and spring him?"

"No, I'm not with them anymore! I'm not lying, there's Covenant up and the ridge!" Adley cried. Frost slammed his fist into Adley's gut. Vivian stepped, clapping her hand on his shoulder.

"Sergeant, you will _not_ bash that prisoner again! He is under my protection! Do you understand!?"

"Do you really believe him? How could have heavy vehicles gotten up on a ridge like that? Why haven't our spotters seen trees being blasted or felled? If they have a base camp up there, shouldn't there be some kind of clearing we can see, or a break in the forest canopy? Did you consider any of these questions, Captain? Or does the little man here have you scared with tales of Covenant in the woods?" Frost growled.

"I'm not lying, I swear!" Adley wailed.

There was a deathly, uneasy silence in the CP. Everyone was looking at Frost and Vivian; the pair were face to face. An NCO talking to a senior officer that way was a surefire way to get him locked in the stockade. Maybe this was the opportunity Vivian was hoping for. Goad him a bit more, push him past his personal-restraints, make that fatal swing that would land him in the brig. Yes, a few more well chosen words. Unlock that fury within him, that hate for the enemy, direct at her.

But she thought of Jasmine, of the conversation just past. She'd keep her word. She had to. With Hayes present, Vivian knew she wasn't going to get away with that either. After she took a deep breath, she relaxed her posture into something more professional.

"Gunnery Sergeant Frost, whether or not this man is lying is irrelevant. We have to investigate any Covenant presence, real or imagined. If you find nothing there, return to base. If you do, complete the mission. Understand?"

"Yes, Captain Ahab," Frost said, shoving past Adley and out the door to gear up.

* * *

Frost felt over his pouches and bandoliers to make sure everything was secure. He didn't want anything brushing or clattering against his armor while they sneaked through the woods. Stealth really was their own advantage. The Covenant didn't know they were coming.

It wasn't a terrible plan, just fragile. Brittle. Waters was good for the orbital battles, no doubt. Admiral Cole would probably get a run for his money, but Frost was sure he could swat her like a fly despite her skills. But she was interfering with ground operations. According to his superiors however, it wouldn't be interfering. Cross-branch operations was nothing new; unique task forces such as their had multiple commanders. In theirs, Waters was number one. Whoever headed the fleet, headed all of the personnel on board. She hadn't been stepping on the toes of Hayes and Holst since they had begun, but she had this time. No doubt because she saw the opportunity to get rid of him. But whatever had passed earlier between her and Hayes, if he trusted her plan, than Frost did so as well.

He could see the wisdom in it. Low exposure to their depleted troops; losing even one squad could weaken an entire front. Having only two men on the operation meant that concealment would be easier. Although, one of them was a prisoner, so that meant he'd have to waste a lot of his energy with babysitting. Of course, the prisoner was expendable after the objective was complete. Getting there would undoubtedly be the easier part of the mission; the Covenant didn't suspect that they'd be coming for them. Escaping would be much more difficult. An accurate barrage would eliminate their heavy vehicles and fortifications, but any patrols outside of their camp would be on the hunt afterwards. There was a chance that they'd return to their main base of operations, but Frost doubted that. The Covenant were monsters but like any soldiers they sought revenge for their fallen comrades. Personally, he had never seen the Covenant deploy rescue teams to down aircraft or pinned down units. But he had been on the receiving end of some brutal counterattacks after small raids or after large victories, which were seldom some years earlier. His alien counterparts probably viewed that rescuing stranded troops as a weakness, or they simply had the numbers to afford such losses. Humanity did not have the luxury, nor the inclination. Most soldiers he knew would rather die than leaves comrades to die.

A grimace crossed his face. Leaving Bishop like had been one of the most difficult decisions of his life. Something nagged him, tore at him, accused him of immorality, breaking trust, cowardice. It would have kept him up all night for Jasmine. If not for her, he probably wouldn't be standing just then. He'd be a corpse out in the field. Carris deserved some credit too. Frost realized then that once she got an idea into her head, it was impossible to get it out. When Steele had been nearly killed, it had been her decision to whisk him back to the field hospital. After Bishop had thrown him from the roof of the blockhouse, she had been the one to pull him back. Much like Jasmine, she had known that if he had lingered, he may have been overwhelmed himself. How Bishop managed to scramble into the blockhouse and survive until nightfall was beyond Frost. Questions would have to wait however; he was still too rattled to be pressed. Seeing him like that, crying, shaking, hanging onto Maddox and Langley like a child to his parents, it made Frost feel utterly guilty. Still, he was grateful that Jasmine and Carris had talked him out of the old ways.

"Hey."

Frost had just taped a sheath on his right forearm and slid an extra combat knife into it. He was kneeling and turned halfway around. Steele was standing in the entrance of the tent, with Carris a step behind him. A cigarette dangled loosely from his lips. Unlike Frost, who had taken the time to wash his face, a thin layer of dirt coated Steele's face still.

"I thought you were setting up."

"Will in a moment," Steele said, taking the cigarette between his index and middle fingers. "Just wanted to give my two cents."

"You always do."

"I don't like this mission. It's...stupid," he groaned. "We _always_ do things together. And I don't mean just our squad, I'm talking about the entire Corps. One of the major rules is don't do anything or go anywhere by yourself, right?"

Frost shrugged.

"I sent Nora into that blockhouse alone. She did just fine. If the 'rookie,' can handle that, then I'm sure I can handle this."

"Fuckin' wanker," Steele muttered under his breath, then said, 'would you humor me for just one second?

"Right. We do things together."

"So why did Hayes and Holst and Waters-the three big heads of operations for a bunch of leathernecks and pirates-in all their infinite wisdom and experience and training...come up with this ridiculous fuckin' plan."

"I know," Frost said as took another sheath with the knife already in it, and taped it to his left calf. "But it's not my place to question orders or plans. My job is to carry them out to the best of my ability. That's what I've always done and it's kept me alive for this long. I'm still standing"

He wasn't looking at Steele, but he could just feel him rolling his eyes.

"Bruv, this is breaking every rule in the book of small unit tactics. And it's not gonna do well for squad morale. We almost lost Bishop, Maddox hates my guts right now, you and I almost got buried-"

"Which was of your own doing, Steele," Frost remarked over his shoulder. "I know the squad is all shook up, but I volunteered and I won't back out."

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"You ain't taking this just because you want to kill the rebel, right?"

Frost stood up and slowly turned around. Steele shrugged. "Just askin'."

"Lou, our position on this planet just went from dominant to tenuous. There are still thousands of Covenant here. Any move we make as a large force will cause unnecessary casualties. I won't waste their time by pitching my own plans or backing out and forcing them to find someone else. I volunteered and..." Frost paused for a beat. "Do you think I'm blood hungry or something? That I get off on killing people?"

Steele stared back at him, betraying no thoughts or emotions. "Unbelievable," Frost said.

"I didn't say nothing."

"The look in your eyes says it all."

"Skopje was a long time ago, Nate-boy."

"No it was not," Frost growled.

"This guy wasn't there."

"Neither were the people I killed in the woods. Or all the others. But fuck them, they're as guilty as the ones who actually did it."

"This doesn't sound like the man who sat me down some time ago and told me I shouldn't have pummeled a potential rapist because I would have been slated for prisoner abuse. I thought you had gotten all past that, brother. Now, in a split-second, you're going right back to the way you used to be."

"Used to be?"

"You know what you were like back then!" Steele said, stepping right up to him. "Don't be coy. You've changed, and for the better. I told you I'd handle the dirty stuff so you don't have to; that's the way it has to be. You're squad leader now and this ain't Skopje! I don't want you going back to the way you were."

"What way was that, Lou? Tell me."

"Do I really have to tell you?" Steele said darkly. "You don't think Bishop told me how he found you all those years ago on Skopje? After you were trapped down there in the tunnels? He found you howling and laughing, covered in mud and blood, bleeding from so many wounds, a knife in each hand..." Steele paused, "a smile on your face."

Frost hunched his shoulders slightly, bracing, almost defensively. He felt cold. Steele's gaze softened. "The Ripper's gotta stay inside, Nate."

"It's just a name."

"Not to you." Steele groaned. "Fuck, I'm really worried man. You always say it's because of Skopje, but every time you say that I just think of you in that tunnel. Is it really about the girls or-"

Frost pointed at him.

"Don't, even, go there."

With a sigh, Steele raised his hands.

"Alright, alright, sorry. I just got a bad feeling about this one, okay? I don't want you doing anything you'll regret."

"I won't."

A moment passed.

"You taking this mission is just...really fuckin' dumb, mate."

"I know," Frost sighed. Steele came over and adjusted the straps on his armor and checked his rucksack. Nothing was exchanged between the two for a moment. When Steele came around the front, his face cloaked in seriousness, Frost felt bad. He cleared his throat. "I kissed Jasmine the other night."

Steele snorted.

"I'm going to need photo evidence otherwise I don't believe you."

They both laughed. Just then, Carris stepped into the tent and moved in front of Frost. She was clad in her armor, her helmet tucked under one arm. Some drying bloodstains still coated the chestplate. Her black hair was a bit messy and her pale skin was clean. Those blue eyes were both strikingly handsome yet also eerie.

Her face was drawn in concern. Frost smiled at her.

"You have words on the matter too, no doubt. Speak your mind, Carris."  
"Let me go in your place."

Steele, who was stooped over adjusting one of the pouches on Frost's waist, stood up and turned around.

"What?" he said unison with Frost.

"I'm used to operating on my own. I have plenty of experience and my armor will allow me to take more hits than you if you're compromised. I can move fast, quietly, and will have an easier time dealing with the prisoner."

"No," Steele said immediately. Carris glared at him.

"You're not squad leader."

"Yeah but he left my in charge while he's gone. And I said no."

"He hasn't even _left_ yet," Carris said, bemused. "No disrespect to you, Gunnery Sergeant, but I believe I'm better suited for this mission. Sending you out there with no backup is suicidal."

"Carris-"

"Easy Louie," Frost said, holding up a hand. "No need to be so formal, C. I understand your concerns but I can't allow you to take my place as your squad leader, and as your friend. I won't send you out there without support."

"But there's less of a risk for me than for you."

Frost stepped in front of her and put a hand on her upper arm.

"Carris, don't worry. I'll be alright. I need you here to look after this guy," Frost nodded towards Steele. "But I appreciate it, Carris, I do. You stay here, rest, and stay safe."

The matter settled, he put on his war paint. Then, he turned around and took his helmet from Steele. After it was on, he said, "Alright, let's get this show on the road."

He stepped out of the tent. Steele and Carris didn't follow. So he stopped a couple feet away and listened.

"If something happens to him out there, I...I'll feel responsible," he heard Carris say.

"You won't be."

"But I'm letting him go out there when it'd be safer for me-"

"No love, it's not like that."

"Why won't he let me go? I can do it. It's safer."

"He knows you can do it. He just won't put you before him. That's the way he is."

"His selflessness will get him killed."

"Welcome to my world, love..."

Frost proceeded back to the CP with his squad in tow, excluding Bishop and Maddox. Vivian was standing outside of the building with Hayes and the prisoner, Adley. He stepped up and extended his hand.

"I'll take the handcuffs, ma'am."

"You won't need them. He'll cooperate," Vivian said to him.

"Just in case," Frost said. Vivian looked at Hayes, who nodded, before giving him the handcuffs. Frost slid them into his pocket. Hayes gave him a handheld radio.

"Here. Just in case."

Earpiece radios were standard issue among all personnel in the UNSC, much like the standard neural chip. Frost didn't like to think about the small piece of sophisticated tech residing under the skin of the back of his head. Handheld radios or radioes carried as backpacks were meant for ground commanders, spotters, or specialized radio operators like Langley. The devices were better suited from organizing comms traffic and fire missions. Most likely, his earpiece would be all he needed, but Frost having a handheld as a backup was always a solid precaution.

"You'll be deploying on foot through the grasslands to our immediate north. There hasn't been much action in this area so the grass can provide cover on your trek to the eastern ridge," Hayes said, walking towards the barricades.

Frost exchanged a few words and brotherly gestures with his squad. They departed to set up their sniper-spotter position on the roof. Hayes had a hand on Adley's back; Frost walked behind them with Vivian. He looked down at her. Her face was stony.

"I'm coming back," Frost said in a hushed voice, "so don't get your hopes up."

Vivian glared up at him.

"Nathaniel!"

They had just gotten to a small bridge leading over the trench, into the grassy fields. Frost turned around. Jasmine came jogging up to him. "I wanted to see you before you left."

Frost smiled as she came right up to him. Giving a glance to Hayes, who nodded, Frost turned to face her as the colonel led Adley over to the small bridge crossing the trench. Vivian headed back to the CP.

Jasmine smiled nervously. "When will you be back?"

"Probably before dawn, while it's still dark. I'd say it'll be quick and easy but since when does anything go according to plan?" Frost joked.

"Tomorrow's Christmas," Jasmine said. "Your birthday."

"Oh. Oh, yeah, I nearly forgot," Frost said, somewhat embarrassed. "I'd say I'd bring you something back but I don't think the Covenant have much for souvenirs."

"Don't worry about it, Nathaniel," Jasmine said. "Hopefully when you come back, we'll have a little time to celebrate with your squad."

"Yeah," Frost said. He wanted to kiss her terribly. But with Colonel Hayes watching as well as numerous other infantrymen, it'd be breaking plenty of fraternization regulations. It was obvious that she wanted to do the same. Their eyes parted and he cleared his throat. "Don't worry, alright? I've been on my own before."

"Nate, just about that prisoner, Adley..." Jasmine said, reaching out and touching his wrist. "I don't mean to assume that you'll do anything, I trust you, but-"

"You and Steele," Frost sighed, "from him I can take it but not from you, Jas."

"Listen to me, Nathan. I'm saying this because I care about you. Whatever you think you _have_ to do, you don't. You're a good man. You've proven that to me. Those people, the ones you fought for, they're safe now. You saved them, you avenged them. You don't have to live in the past."

Frost had looked down at his feet while she spoke. Jasmine surprised him by putting her hand to his cheek. "Promise me you'll do what's right. Promise me that you'll put the past to rest."

"The right thing to do..." Frost stopped himself. "...I promise."

Jasmine nodded and smiled, withdrawing her hand.

"Be safe."

"Always am."

"I'll be waiting for you right here."

Frost smiled, but it faded quickly. He suddenly felt very sad.

"Whatever happens up there...will you think differently of me?"

Jasmine's face grew ashen. Frost felt sadder still. She didn't even have to say it for him to understand.

"I fear more of what you'll think of yourself afterwards," she told him.

"What I think of me?" Frost let out a somewhat bitter chuckle. "I've never thought much of myself. There's no erasing anything. No going back."

"That's what you think," Jasmine said, smiling a little. Frost gave her a small nod, tipped his helmet a little, and turned around.

He walked over to Hayes, who looked away with a knowing smile, like a father who had just seen his son holding hands with a girl, and pushed Adley towards him.

"All yours."

Frost nodded, took out the handcuffs, and clapped them onto Adley's wrist.

"What is this? I thought I wasn't going to be-"

"Shut up," Frost ordered. "You're going to be bound, you're going to keep your mouth shut, and you're going to do everything I say."

Adley just nodded. Frost looked at Hayes. "I'm ready."

"Go get'em," Hayes said. But before Frost could take a step, Hayes leaned down and whispered in his ear, "do it after the barrage, quick and clean. I'll make sure nobody comes looking. Remember, we don't rebels them alive."

Frost withdrew a little and glanced back at Jasmine. She gave him a reassuring smile. Hre turned around, giving Adley a shoved, and walking into the immense field of yellow-green waist-high grass.

* * *

"Do you want a turn?" Steele asked Carris, taking his eye from the scope of the rifle. They were on the roof of the command post. The others were going over their equipment or dozing in the evening sun. Even Katz was present, taking photos of the base and the land around them. Frost had left with the prisoner some time ago and he had been watching the pair through the scope. They had proceeded through the sea of grass and had made it to the eastern ridge. Frost and his guide were keeping low and making good headway through the sparse coverage of the eastern ridge. A less dense population of trees stood there, with more dead ones than healthy ones. Most of the bushes were scraggly and there were more rocks. The more they went west however, the more lush and tight the trees became. More underbrush and bushes sat at their bases. Soon enough, Frost and his companion would disappear into the thick of the woods and be without sniper cover. Steele was already dreading that part, and there was little that made him uneasy. He didn't want to see them disappear.

Without a word, Carris came over to the small three foot wall that lined the square roof, taking the rifle grip and crouching down. Steele sat next to her and peered at her face. She had said hardly a thing all day. Granted, she didn't say much in general. But ever since the other night, she had been rather tight-lipped. After taking a swig from his canteen, he laid his head back and closed his eyes.

"Nice evening, huh?"

She didn't respond. "Ever get sick of all these green planets? There's probably better minerals on desert planets or rocky worlds."

"Food sources are more vital than minerals," Carris said bluntly.

"It'd just be a nice change of scenery. Been fighting on colonies like these for five fuckin' years."

"You have a strange set of preferences, Corporal," she said.

 _Alright, she's referring to people by ranks. Something's definitely wrong._

"What's eating you, Carris? The op?"

"No."

"Then what?"

Her face betrayed no emotions. She withdrew a bit from the scope and looked out across the plains. Wind brushed her hair to the side gently and her blue eyes glistened in the orange sun. Steele couldn't help but find her attractive then. Despite her muscular physique, she had a rather delicate looking face. Maybe it was just the pale, nearly translucent skin tone. But her small pink lips, her small elegant looking nose, the soft cheekbones. She was striking. Model material, in his opinion.

"Why did you make fun of me?" she asked him, somewhat coldly.

"Huh? What do you mean? When did I make fun of you?"

"When we were in the dugout, after you were patched up at the field hospital. You called me Mrs. Robot."

"Oh, I didn't call you a robot. I called you Mrs. Roboto. You know, like that song?"

Carris looked at him, somewhat agitated. He coughed. "Okay, maybe you don't know. I thought you may have come across it on Frost's music player. It goes, uh, in that one part, domo arigato, Mr. Roboto, domo...domo, Domo arigato...Mr...Roboto..." Steele trailed off as Carris stared at him. "I wasn't trying to make fun of you, love. It was a term of endearment."

"Endearment?" she repeated flatly.

"Yeah! You know, just a little thing you call your friends. Like how I call ya love, you know? That's all. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, not after you saved me."

"Mrs. Roboto..." she repeated, as if she had acid on her tongue, "...doesn't seem very endearing."

"Well, I just thought it'd make you laugh or something."

"It didn't."

"I'm sorry, love," Steele said meekly. "I didn't mean to...yeah, I'm, I'm sorry. It was dumb."

An awkward silence fell between them.

"Do you call whores 'love,' too?" she asked.

"What?"

"The prostitutes you've visited, did you ever call them 'love,' like you call me?" she asked. Steele was sure that he had once or twice. He had been calling on whorsehouses since he had turned eighteen and had lost track of how many times he had gone. He was sure that he had a few times, he had to.

"No, never."

"Then why do you call me that?"

Steele thought for a moment.

"I don't know."

Carris sighed a little.

"You've called them 'love,' before."

"Yes," Steele admitted, starting to feel like an idiot. He waited a few minutes then said, "do you want me to stop calling you that?"

Carris had brought the scope back to her eye.

"Doesn't matter to me."

"Yes, it does."

A few seconds passed.

"It does."

"Alright."

Carris raised her head again and looked at the ridge. The sun was setting behind it, turning a dark orange in the sky.

"I've done solo ops since 2525. One of the first Prowlers I was stationed on was called the _Danube._ It was the first time I tried to sit down and eat with a group outside of my original unit. When I sat down, all they did was stare at my armor. I had no idea what to say, so I just kept quiet. Eventually they all just got up and left. No one said a word to me. They just left me sitting there. It felt silly, but it hurt. I never tried again; came close a few times but I always just stayed clear. I sometimes found a secluded spot to eat or rest. Other times I just didn't eat-I just avoided any opportunity for interaction."

She brushed a lock of her black hair back. "Sometimes, when I was involved in large defensive battles, the common troopers would gawk at me. So many of them assumed I was just a machine. It wasn't until they heard me speak that they realized I was just wearing armor. After those battles they'd call me a hero or something along those lines. I never felt like one. It didn't matter if I was being praised or ostracized; I didn't feel accepted. Not until you and the others."

"You belong here, love," Steele said with a smile. "I can't imagine the team without you now."

That managed to make her smile a little.

 _Mission accomplished._

* * *

" _We had formed a truce, but the war was not over. We knew that, of course. What we didn't know was that it was going to get worse."_

-Vivian Waters, UNSCN

* * *

 **Author's note:**

 **Did you know,** _ **did you know**_ **, that this and the next chapter were originally one chapter. It was over 30,000 words and was 53 pages long in Docs. I decided against it because it was so long the document hardly moved. Anyways, I think it'll work better as too. Length I know is a big demand and question on this site; I know some among you want longer chapters, so I guarantee from now on that chapters will be at least 12,000 words or more. Is that something we can agree on? Lemme know folks, leave a comment or PM me!**


	35. Chapter 35: Of Hate, Guilt, and Good

Chapter 35: A Man of Hate, a Man of Guilt, a Man of Good

* * *

Jasmine had gone back to the field hospital after Frost had left. She had done her best to keep him out of her mind. But it was an uphill battle. Any bright-minded individual didn't have to be an infantryman to realize that a solo operation was militarily foolish. Some of the staff officers nearby had called it a two-man op, considering that the prisoner was going along as a guide, but he was no soldiers. Frost was carrying them both. Unable to cease her worrying, she had returned to the CP to find Vivian.

They were now on the third-floor, which housed an armory. The quartermaster, at Vivian's request, had departed and they were now along in the large room. Hardly any guns sat in the racks and most of the ammunition crates were empty. Vivian had turned one the square shaped boxes over and was sitting on it, while Jasmine paced.

"I'm not trying to insult your intelligence, Viv, I know you ran through other options. I just don't think a solo operation was the best one to choose. A squad can be just as clandestine as two men, can't they?"

"Sun Tzu said that there's no difference between commanding a large army and a small army, you just have to change up signs and signals."

"Last time I checked, we don't use banners and flags for communication anymore."

"The point is that a small force can be just as effective as a large one. A platoon is easier to detect than a squad. Thirty or so men make a lot of noise, tramping through the underbrush, pushing through bushes, slipping on slopes, booted feet on patches of gravel. Jackals are perfect scouts, they could hear an platoon before they even laid eyes on it. So then you take it down to a squad, but a squad still has to move as a united force, close together to support one another. That means they can't disperse, can't move on their own. Two men, in the woods, with the element of surprise-they're practically invisible. It's not the best plan in the world, I get it, but we considered the consequences as well. A larger unit could get spotted and the enemy could ambush them, or they could launch their counterattack before its ready, which will be to their disadvantage but it will put us back on the defensive and drain of us of more troops and supplies. Even if we do knock out their AA guns, we could suffer a counterattack."

"Then what's the point? If this is a success and they counterattack anyways, what's the use of sending him up there?"

"Because, if we knock out their AA capabilities, we'll be able to finish off their last few air assets and have total air superiority. If we lose our air support, or if it's being hampered in some way, we're going to lose ground again. And I'm not sure we'll be able to take any lost ground back. The Army units aren't combat ineffective but they're depleted enough to make another prolonged defensive battle without constant air support extremely perilous. We need to preserve our air assets if our position here at the Horseshoe is to remain tenable. Once the ridge is clear, we'll use our air superiority to soften their defenses at their main base and then finish them off with the 89th and the ODSTs."

Jasmine folded her arms across her chest and continued to pace. She wasn't convinced. Vivian sighed. "I don't think your concerns lie with the general strategy of this mission."

"You have to be real straight with me right now, Viv. Did you send him out there to die? Is this a zero-chance-of-survival mission?"

Vivian didn't hesitate.

"No, Jasmine. I didn't. Frost volunteered for this mission; if it wasn't him, it'd be somebody else. I wouldn't be sending anyone on this mission if I didn't think there was a chance of success. You know, as well as I do, he's one of the best in the 89th."

Jasmine sat down on another crate and put a hand to her forehead. Part of her didn't believe Vivian, but there was no use arguing it further. Vivian eyed her curiously. "That's not all, is it?"

"He promised me he wouldn't harm that man. I trust him. But..."

"I don't think he will. He needs Adley to get there."

"He doesn't need him for the way back," Jasmine said. She remembered her promise to him and took a deep breath. "He's not a mindless killer, Viv. He has a just cause."

"Just cause? What kind of cause justifies the execution of prisoners in the woods?" Vivian countered bitterly.

"It's...complicated. The Insurrectionists on Skopje did some horrible things and Frost is trying to do right by the people who were subjected to those horrors."

"Violence doesn't justify violence," she said.

"That's a...moral absolutist ideal, Vivian. I clung to that same perspective for a long time. But if you knew-"

"Then tell me!"

"No! I promised him!"

Vivian let out a frustrated cry, stood up, and kicked the crate she was sitting on over.

"What the hell is this!? Since I've met him all I've heard is 'you wouldn't understand,' 'you don't deserve to know,' 'I made a promise not to tell you,' and I'm fucking sick of it! How can you expect me to understand whatever argument or excuse or justification if you don't tell me what the _fuck_ happened on Skopje!?"

"Calm down, Viv!"

"Calm down!? How can I be calm, when you've decided to fall for the man who _killed_ my friends? Do you know how that feels? For once, why can't you just be on my side? How can I even call you my friend?"

"I am your friend! You're my best friend, Vivian. I care about you and I don't want to see you do something stupid and get yourself thrown in prison or off of this mission. Trust me when I say that he's a good man, he's not the monster you think he is. He had to do things, bad things, but there was a reason for it! He's a soldier-that's the sum of a soldier's duty. Doing horrible things for good reasons." Jasmine thought for a moment. "Aristotle, he said that we make war that we may live in peace. Frost is fighting a war of his own. It's over but he doesn't know it. I think when he comes back from this mission, with Adley in tow, that war will be over."

"Good man?" Vivian spat, ignoring her. "Good man? I'll show you a good man." Vivian reached into her back pocket and displayed a handful of photographs. Jasmine stepped closer and took them. The first showed Frost and his friend Steele standing before a tree with a man in Insurrectionist attire hanged from a tree. Another showed a dark, rainy night, with a crowd of marines assembled on airfield around Colonel Hayes. The third showed a group tying a man to a tree, with Frost pinning his face to the trunk with his hand. The final one saw multiple rebel corpses with Frost presiding over them. "Is that what you call a good man? Someone who executes and tortures? What kind of excuse do you have for this, huh?"

Jasmine handed them back.

"He told me he had to unspeakable things. He assured me that they were for the right reasons."

"Do you believe him still? After seeing these?"

Jasmine's gaze was steely.

"I do."

"You're as blind as Travers then," Vivian said, stuffing the photos into her pocket, turning the crate over, and sitting down with her back to Jasmine. Jasmine sighed. "You're letting your feelings for him obscure the truth."

"Your hatred for him prevents you from seeing the real truth."

"If you want to enlighten me, then break your promise and tell me what happened on my planet?"

Jasmine looked down. Vivian gazed at her over her shoulder. "That's what I thought."

"When I see him next, I'll try to convince him to tell you."

"Good luck." Vivian stood up and sighed. "I'm sorry I shouted."

"I'm sorry for...I'm sorry too."

Vivian turned around.

"Let's not let this come between us. Come up to the _I'm Alone_ and get some rest. Just for a few hours and then you can come back down."

"Alright."

* * *

Night had fallen. Frost crept carefully through the trees, holding his assault rifle in one hand. His other hand remained on Adley's handcuffs. The prisoner, despite all his struggling through the bushes, rocks, ditches, and exposed roots, was staying quiet. Having his hands free would have made traversing such obstacles much easier. But Frost was completely unwilling to free him.

Adley was sucking air, panting terribly.

"Shut up," Frost hissed, peering around for the tell-tale lights of Covenant armored suits. Jackals, Elites, Grunts, and Brutes often wore armor that was adorned with numerous lights. Even during ambushes they wouldn't turn them off. It made them easy to spot at night. Skirmishers were a problem however. Their armor was simple and possessed no lights, which made them terrors in the dark. Of course, Frost wore no lights on his armor either, which made him just as dangerous. Such a thought made him grin. Many individuals, he had ascertained as a child, prided themselves on being men or women of peace. Contributing to the community, going to fundraisers, donating to charity. A certain amount of self-satisfaction came with it. His own self-satisfaction came with knowing that he was a hyper-lethal vector, capable of taking on the biggest, meanest alien bastards and coming out on top. Knowing that he could handle any and all threats in life-knowing that he was a dangerous man-made him contented in a way.

"I'm tired, I need to rest," Adley huffed. "Please."

Frost shoved him roughly to the ground. Adley landed face-first in a patch of dirt and grunted. He was so tired he didn't even bother to lift his head. All he did was turn slightly so that his cheek was in the dirty. And he just stayed there, panting. Each breath sent a spray of saliva and flecks of dirt away from him. Frost didn't feel particularly winded. In fact, he felt quite well. Marching through the trees reminded him of romps through the woods as a kid, back when they lived near more wooded areas before Halifax or the sprawling grasslands of their ranch.

He gazed around the pitch black woods. One of the quartermasters had offered him a set of night-vision goggles before he left. Frost had refused. Ever since he was young, his eyes had been able to adjust quickly to the dark. Natural night vision came easily and he could see everything as clear as day. Adley's own natural night sight took more time but he had been able to get them on the right path. Once or twice he had lost his position, and Frost had to point out certain objects-trees, rock formations, ditches-to get the guide reaquainted with his surroundings. In hindsight, he should have brought the goggles for the prisoner, but he didn't like the thought of putting a set of expensive military equipment on some Insurrectionist. It didn't matter that he had thrown in the towel; he was still a rebel to Frost.

For a moment, Frost closed his eyes. The mountainside on Skopje had been covered with woods such as these. Similar cool winds whispered through the trees, biting at his nose and lips. A shudder ran through him. His moniker had traveled up the mountain before he had set foot at its base. Ambushes were plentiful; crazed charges down the mountain into their positions. Those rebels had been incredibly foolish, but they had all wanted their chance at him. 'Jack the Ripper!' they had screamed as they tore down the mountain, dropping their weapons and drawing their knives. 'We're coming for you Jack the Ripper!' He could still hear their crazed screeching, and Frost could remember his own, mingling with the deep roar of the other Marines, charging up to meet them. In battles such as those, every man was isolated. Only he and his opponent existed. Skopje's rebel bastion had been somewhat experienced but their hand to hand combat skills were nothing compared to the 89th. 'Jack the Ripper!' they had hollered at him. Frost exhaled and ran a hand down his face.

A twig snapped some feet away. Frost quickly drew his rifle up and scanned his surroundings. Adley had also heard it and began raising his head.

"What was-"

Frost, sitting on the root of a large tree beside Adley, booted the prisoner in the side of his face. Adley didn't make much noise, as his brief, quiet cry of shock and pain was muffled in the dirt.

Slowly, Frost stood up, still looking around him. The woods was a series of shadows, and he studied each one for movement. Brutes often skulked about, while Grunts waddled due to their short stature. Elites had a proud movement to their strides, but could glide like ghosts when they wanted to. Jackals had a very distinct walk; they stood very tall and bobbed their heads forward in a very birdlike fashion.

Two shapes made that very same movement. A pair of Jackals were coming through the trees, carbines on their backs. He could see the purple lights on their armor and could hear their garbled voices.

Kneeling down, he sat Adley up and put him against the tree.

"Two Jackals. They haven't heard us. Stay right here, don't make a sound. I'm going to take them out quietly," Frost whispered. He set his rifle down. "If you move, I'll kill you."

Frost left him then, walking at a crouch through the trees. He gave the two scouts a wide berth, moving around their right. The pair were walking in a direction that would take them past Adley's spot. Letting them be was an option, but Frost didn't want to run into them on his way back. Or have them start heading back while he and Adley were moving towards the Covenant camp.

After moving around far enough so that he was behind them, he crept carefully towards them. Both Jackals had stopped; one seemed to be looking around. Maybe they had caught Adley's scent; he knew some of the other Covenant species were very keen on smell. He wasn't sure about Jackals but it didn't matter. They had stopped in a perfect spot; a tree stood on either side of the pair, like they were standing between a pair of goalposts. Frost picked up speed a little, keeping mindful of where he was stepping. He got closer. Sweat ran down his face and neck. Heat was trapped inside his armor and he felt his undershirt cling to his back and chest. Slowly, he drew the knife from the scabbard on his wrist and gripped it upside down by the blade. It was smaller than his combat knife, making it better for throwing. Getting to the perfect spot, only a couple feet behind the pair, he raised his hand. The one on the right turned to face its companion. Frost drew his arm back and then flung the knife forward.

The blade hit the Jackal directly in its long neck. It opened its mouth but only a gurgle came out as it fell down. Before the other could react, Frost had rushed forward with his combat knife, threw his arm around the Jackal, pulling its head up, and brought the blade across its throat. Blood flowed over his hand and wrist. He kicked it down, then pulled the quivering form onto its back, and drove the blade into its heart. A moment passed, and it squirmed no longer. The other was still groping at the blade in its neck. Frost crouched in front of it and stabbed it quickly several times over. When it lay dead, Frost wiped both knives on his pant leg and sheathed both of them.

"Okay, we're clear," he whispered to Adley, who was just a few feet away. When he looked over, he heard a rustle of leaves and the stamping of running feet. "Fuck!"

Frost ran after Adley, who was a stumbling shadow. Leaping over logs and roots, Frost did his best to catch up. Adley was heading to north, back toward his farm no doubt. There was no way he was going to let that happen thought.

Catching up was easy. Frost was fit and lean; Adley was by no means a large man, but he was also not a particularly thin. He was not an athlete like Frost was.

After one more burst, Frost tackled Adley from behind and fell on him hard. Adley groaned as Frost pressed his face into the dirt again. "What did I say? If you move I'll kill you."

Frost drew his knife and held it against his throat. Adley stopped squirming. "You agreed to this and you're going to see it through."

"What's the point? You're just going to kill me anyways," Adley said, his voice rigid from the blade being held against his Adam's apple.

"What makes you so sure?" Frost growled.

"You're Jack the Ripper of the 89th. You never take prisoners. I heard so many stories about you when I was with the rebel cell here. How you tortured prisoners, killed them in ghastly ways, made examples of them-"

"Probably why you left, huh? Afraid I'd come and get you?"

"No. I left after what happened on Skopje."

"Knew the rebs had no chance in hell of succeeding against the UNSC?"  
"No. What they did to those women from the Army garrison. It was a crime against humanity. I wasn't going to be a part of an organization that allowed its people rape prisoners."

Frost hesitated for a moment.

"That's not all they did, fuck-face."

"I know. I was disgusted by it. So I left. I lost all faith in the Insurrection after that."

Again, Frost didn't say anything.

"Get up."

"I know you're going to kill me," Adley said as Frost stood up.

"You think your little story makes me feel sorry for you? I'm sure that's what every rebel says when his life's on the line."

"It's the truth."

"I don't give a damn. It won't save you. You stick with me, do as I say, and see this through, then maybe you have a chance."

"Waters promised me-"

"Waters doesn't know jack shit. She's not the master of life and death out here. I am. I decide if you live or die. Now get up and march."

###

After about an hour's rest, another hour and a half of trekking crawled by. The woods became thicker, harder to pass through. Frost had yet to tire but could feel the first waves of fatigue beginning in his lungs. Adley was doing his best to continue but it was taking just as much effort to mask his panting. Frost had his assault rifle slung over his shoulder and it felt heavier than usual. The mountain on Skopje had been easier than this ridge; at least he had to go straight up. Moving along the ridge, he was sure he had gone up and down, zigzagged and more in the past hours.

Adley stopped suddenly. Frost still had a hand clamped on his handcuffs and he pulled him close. "Better not be leading me into a trap set by your rebel buddies, pal."

"I told you, I left," Adley panted. "And we're here. This is the vantage point. Up this slope there's a bunch of fallen logs and brush over a ditch. When we crawl up there, we'll be able to see into the Covenant camp."

"Okay," Frost said. Already, he could hear the sound of Covenant vehicles and machinery, their strange voices trailing down the slope. Dim lights shone over the crest. If only they could send some flyboys over; they could have spotted the lights through the canopy. What was invisible to the men below at the Horseshoe would have been a lightshow to a passing Shortsword. Hell, if drones weren't so expensive they could have sent one up here instead of him.

He looked at the back of Adley's head. For a moment, his fingers twitched.

 _Let me out._

Frost closed his eyes.

 _I am Jack the Ripper. Nobody knows me._

He opened his eyes, reached into his pocket, and pulled out the key to the handcuffs. "Listen to me, I'm going to take off your handcuffs so you can crawl up there with me. Are you going to try to run?"

"No."

"Do I have you word?"

"You do."

Frost unbound him and slid the cuffs and the key into one of his belt pouches.

"Let's go."

Side by side, they slithered up the slope. Soon they entered the ditch with the logs over it. The space became tighter and the smells of damp soil and rotting leaves filled his nostrils. When they got to the end, which had many leaves and a few bushes concealing it, Frost finally put his eyes on the Covenant camp.

Multiple barricades had been set up in rectangular formations, providing three sides of cover to the AA Wraiths, which had a more golden-violet hue to their armor than the standard light purple to most Wraiths. They were unmanned at the moment, their crews milling around them or doing maintenance. Multiple shelters and supply crates had been established. Many hardpoints-prepared positions with turrets-linked by horizontal barricades formed the perimeter. A few deployable guard towers with gravity lifts also stood along and inside the perimeter. These were not so tall as their spires, so they were just as concealed as the ground defenses. Squads of Grunts led by an Elite went this way and that; pairs of Jackals stood vigilantly on the towers. More Grunts and Elites stood watch at the perimeter defenses, and groups of Skirmishers, going over their weapons, sat together, most likely waiting to go out on patrol. A few light vehicles sat around the base; Revenants and Ghosts. How had they managed to get up there?

And that was only what he could see from the ditch. He was sure if he moved in he'd discover more.

Both he and Adley slid a bit down. "You weren't kidding," Frost grunted.

"Why would I?"

"See any vantage points?"

"Not really."

"Neither did. Couple good trees behind the line of Wraiths, though."

Frost went back up and had another look. There was a large tree with many low, thick branches on the trunk. If he was going to get a proper look at the camp, it was there. And if he applied any of the military logic he had acquired in eight years, the most important assets-the AA Wraiths-would be at the center.

He went back down. "Okay. The big tree with the branches is my target. I'm going to make my way over to it, and if that turns out to be the center, I'll have a good look at the camp, I'll triangulate our position and send the coordinates. Once they've locked in the location, I'm going to scramble down and make a dash back here. We should have enough cover here; after the first barrage, I'll go out and check and make sure all the Wraiths are destroyed. If the AA equipment is knocked out, we're bugging out to the east."

"What should I do?"

"Stay put. You gave me your word, didn't you?" Frost said as he removed his rucksack and helmet.

"Can I at least have a gun?"

Frost smirked as he slung his assault rifle over his back.

"Nope." Frost unslung the handheld from his rucksack and handed it over. "But here, have a radio."

With that, he slithered out of the mouth of the hiding spot. Despite their heavy fortifications, the Covenant hadn't placed any sentries or defenses near the slope. Most likely because, other than the ditch, climbing up would have been impossible due to the large boulders on either side.

He clawed his way over to a tree trunk and crouched behind it. Quickly, he looked around the left and right. Most of the Covenant troops were going over the vehicles, their gear, or keeping watch. From the vantage point, they had been looking at the line of Wraiths diagonally. Now, he had moved far enough over so that he was directly in front of them. The thick patch of trees he now crouched in was only about thirty or forty yards in length, from the edge of vantage point on his right to the Covenant barricade to his left. If he was going to have any chance of slipping in, he'd have to go out and around that strip of defenses. That would leave him moving horizontally along an uneven, rocky slope. The Covenant had chosen their spot well; they had found a clearing, a piece of high ground on top of highground. Anyone who came up would have to fire up at them, and they'd have the advantage of cover and firing down. Moving quietly like that would be difficult, even for him.

After making sure none of the aliens were looking his way, Frost laid down and slowly crawled through the thicket. It was slow going and he kept his eyes to the right, observing the Covenant camp. Every time one looked towards the seemingly impassable thicket, he paused and laid as flat as he could. Despite being cloaked in shadows, all it would take was one light and he'd be spotted. Whenever a sentry or a resting Covenant soldier looked away, he resumed the crawl. Moving slowly and stopping every few moments to avoiding being seen, made the whole affair take roughly ten minutes.

His heart was beating in his chest. Frost swallowed and wiped his forehead. Still in the shadows, he looked at the set of fortifications. It was a series of barricades-taller ones with gaps to fire through, and shorter barricades that were much longer, with more firing ports. A few Grunts stood watch along this wall; one of them was on a turret.

Without another moment of hesitation, he remained on his belly and slowly inched along the wall. The Grunts stood just high enough to look over their barricade, but not enough to look down. Or at least, he hoped so. His pace was agonizingly slow. He didn't dare risk making that much noise. Many of the Covenant troops within the perimeter were chatting loudly; there was a good deal of movement too. Supply crates were being moved, vehicles were being worked on. The amount of noise was bound to cover the slow sliding sounds of his uniform against the grass and soil. Still, he was taking no chances. Slowly, carefully, he crept his way forward, staying as close to the barricade as he could. One slip, a movement that was too quick, and he might be heard or spotted.

It was then that he truly realized how deep in he was. No squad to back him up, no support that would get to him before he died. Adley had no weapon and no training. Frost was all on his own.

Frost had never considered himself a courageous man, or a selfless one. Or intelligent, for that matter. He had found himself to be a man who simply knew he had a set of skills, a mission to complete, and the willingness to carry out it out. The willingness, and the strength, to commit violence for a just cause. Yet, knowing the predicament he was in, he did not feel afraid. Tense, but not afraid. In fact, he was quite exhilarated by him. One slip equaled death. Plain and simple. What a challenge! Plenty of times he had been on his own, fighting humans and the Covenant. All had been the most extreme tests of his fortitude, his experience, his willpower. He welcomed another. So as he crawled under the barricade, he kept a smile on his face, a mixture of his wolfish soldiering and the boy he never got to be.

Before he knew it, he had round the corner at the end of the barricade. He took a moment to breathe. Ahead was another line; it looked like they had a somewhat hexagonal shaped perimeter instead of the square he had originally pictured on his head. Ahead of him was a similar line to the one he had just slithered under. But he could see the point where the next set connected; it was a corner. Or at least it should have been. There was a gap due to a large tree. It was big enough for him to squeeze through. Frost wasted no time and carefully made his way over to it. The tree blocked any right-side sentires' point of view, and there was a supply crate conveniently placed on his left. He went through and sat in the shadows for a moment. He was now looking down the line of Wraiths, being on their right side. Another row sat behind them. Behind those was the rest of the camp. Some minor, squat structures had been built. Multiple Shade turrets had been set up, many of them with the anti-aircraft configuration A few of the Type-29 Shades were present as well; they were like big seats clapped on a large tripod with a plasma cannon attached. Those weapons tore through infantrymen and light vehicles. Frost was glad then for Vivian's plan; trying to sneak a squad into this base would have been more than difficult. He believed in his friends but even they could bite more off than they could chew. Granted, they had destroyed a Scarab and withstood an all-night onslaught in a dinghy complex basement. The first one was practically gift-wrapped for them though, and in the latter circumstance, they had plenty of ammo. Attacking a prepared position like this would have been suicidal; infiltrating with a squad sized element would have been just as damning.

Frost withdrew slightly as a Revenant hovered by; an Elite appeared to be testing it, as a moment later the engines flickered, died, and the craft fell flat on the earth. Some nearby Grunts seemed to laugh, but a quick look from the Elite silenced them. The red-armored alien got out and began roaring at the Grunts in its native tongue, making the little ones bow their heads and quiver with fear.

He looked past the Wraiths; the vantage point earned its name. He couldn't see Adley in it. He could barely see the covered ditch at all, just some misshapen logs in a great pile. Then his eyes went back to the target tree. It stood just behind the second line. But a new snag developed; beside it was an undeployed gravity tower. A group of Covvies activated it, and soon the platform rose up into the air, hovering some feet above the gravity well. A pair of Grunts seemed to argue with a Jackal, who shoved one of them before jumping up into the gravity lift and gracefully landed on the platform. It then began to look to the south in a rather lazy fashion. The Grunts, muttering to themselves, stomped away. Frost swore under his breath, knowing he'd have to take out the sniper.

The two lines of Wraiths were very close together and numerous barricades and crates around them. It afforded the most cover for him; he'd have to get in between the Wraiths and then he'd be able slip over to gravity well. Timing had to be perfect. But first, he'd have to dart over to the line itself. There was a good twelve or fifteen feet between himself and the Wraiths. It was open ground. With all the lights he'd be spotted in a second.

 _Come on. Think. Think!_

Frost peered back over at the Elite who had been berating the Grunts. Its honor satisfied by yelling at some vastly inferior beings, it was beginning to walk back towards the Revenant. He was some feet away. Frost looked at the ground. A few good stones sat at his boots. He picked one up, raised his arm, and gave it a sharp throw. It was some feet away but he was used to throwing grenades and satchel charges over longer distances. The rock, which had been about the size of his palm, hit the Elite right in the back of the head. It cracked against his heavy armor. Immediately, it turned around and stormed back over to the Grunts. The Grunts lept away but he snatched the first one up by its neck and threw it over the barricade. It kicked at another. Other Grunts nearby began to run away and other Elites were coming over, trying to stop their friend from harming their cannon fodder. Others that didn't rush over seemed to find it amusing. Some seemed aggravated by the whole affair, like they were embarrassed,, and averted their gazes, returning to their duties. Frost looked both ways a few times, waiting until the commotion was at its thickest, and darted out, hunched over. As he ran, trying to be light on his feet, he waited for an alarmed cry or the firing of a plasma weapon. But as he slid into cover between a pair of crates sitting behind closest Wraith of the first line, he heard nothing but the Elite's angered cries and the caterwauling of the Grunts.

He took a few steady breaths and looked up. The Jackal in the tower was looking to the east and to the north now, away from him. Frost crept up and moved to the next Wraith in the second line. It was the closest one to the gravity well of the tower. Just in time as well; at the other, a Jackal came walking between the two rows. Remaining hidden until it passed by and paused to examine the continuing disturbance of the angry Elite, Frost made his way over to the gravity well. It was obscured by multiple crates and unmanned barricades. He leapt in and was lifted up. It wasn't the first time he had been in a gravity lift but it felt so strange. His body felt strangely light and having no earth beneath his feet made his stomach lurch.

Landing delicately and drawing his knife in the same instant, he clapped his hand around its elongated maw and dragged it down into a sitting position. He wrapped his legs around the writing beast and drove his knife into its neck multiple times. Frost didn't let go until it stopped moving. Pushing it to the side before the blood seeped onto his uniform, he slid his knife back into the sheath and peeked over the edge of the platform. No one had noticed him. And now he had the perfect position to start climbing the tree.

Before he did, he kept low and look around from the guard tower. The rear of the camp was more of the same-barricades, turrets, crates, shelters, and plenty of aliens. Judging from the position of the target tree beside the platform, this was the center indeed. But towards the rear barricades, he saw an opening. Grunts were coming up through it, and others going down. There was something below and he couldn't see it from the platform.

He went to the other side of the platform, stood up, and jumped to the nearest branch. Not bothering to wait, he began to climb up. No one was looking up at him. His mind flashed back to when he was a boy, climbing up trees in the woods near his home. His knees, legs, hands, and arms would be covered with so many scrapes and cuts but nothing was more satisfying than reaching the top.

Panting hard, he went up and up until he was almost to the top. Holding on tightly, he craned his head and looked down the slope. Just below was a small flat with barricades, and a pair of Shades sitting side by side. It was just a redoubt, barely an extension of the camp. Frost felt he had wasted his own time, but he had to be thorough.

His first inclination was to start heading back down to triangulate the position, but he hesitated. He was so close to the top of the tree. After a few moments of staring up at the thick green leaves, he decided to press onward.

Frost pushed through the leaves, balancing both feet on a sturdy branch. He broke through and found himself standing in the night wind. The wind pushed his hair back and he inhaled sharply. The air was sweet, like when he emerged from the Skopje tunnels for the final time. Although he knew he had reached his objective, and time was of the essence, he still took a few moments to look at the stars in the night sky, the blazing lights at the Horseshoe and the lights of the city in the far off distance. To him, it was beauty, and he wished he had someone to share it with. For a moment, he felt utterly lonely, and missed his companions, and Jasmine.

Finally, he raised his wrist and tapped the screen. Whereas some centuries ago he would have had to have a map spread out on table, a pencil, a compass, a ruler, and would have needed to stay knowledgeable of time and bearing during his journey, all he had to do was press an option on the UGPS that did all of the work for him. Soldiers of the 26th Century had it so easy. After about a minute or so, the screen displayed his coordinates.

"CP, CP this is Bravo One-One. I've got eyes on the target, over."

"Solid copy, One-One. Transferring you to artillery, out."

A moment passed.

"Yeah whaddya want, over?" said a gravely, cranky voice. Frost transmitted the coordinates and the artilleryman responded with a grunt, "Better move your ass real quick if you don't wanna be turned into putty, One-One, out."

"That's some fabulous advice," Frost muttered to himself as he discarded the strobe and quickly worked his way down. Some smaller branches snapped and fell and he knew he was making a great deal of noise. He didn't care. He was confident that he could make a dash through the camp, back to the vantage point.

Once he was low enough, he jumped back into the platform. The metal was very smooth, causing him to slip and fall onto his side. His assault rifle slipped from his shoulder and clattered to the deck. "Shit."

Frost retrieved his rifle and stood up to jump over the side. Below him, several Jackals had taken notice of the noise. He instantly regretted standing there like an idiot. Cries rang out and soon he heard the stampede of feet coming towards him. Plasma bolts flew by him and he ducked down. "This is Bravo One-One, cancel the time restraint! Fire now!"

Frost took a grenade off his bandolier, pulled the pin, and tossed it. The fire died down as the enemies below scattered. Getting back on his feet, he jumped from the platform onto the nearest Wraith, landing between the dual mounted guns. He slid down the lower half of the tank and sprinted between the rows, dodging plasma fire. Lobbing another grenade, buying himself a few more precious moments, he dove for the vantage point as the first shells crashed down. He came short, a foot away from the mouth of the vantage point. Immediately, Adley sprung out, grabbed Frost by his straps, and hauled him into cover.  
"What's happening!?" he yelled.

"Get down!" Frost ordered. They slid halfway down the ditch and curled up. The earth should with tremendous fury. It felt like a rainstorm of shells, pounding the camp. Dust filled the ditch. Frost felt shells land to the side of the covered ditch, below it, above it. Trees fell, their trunks shattered and cracking. A volley of shells landed nearby and the sheer force ripped the logs covering the ditch.

A solid minute of shelling passed. As the last few landed a bit ahead of them, Frost began to stand. He could hardly hear. Slowly, he put his helmet back on and with his assault rifle, groggily walked back up to observe the carnage. Trees had fallen all around, the barricades were nothing but twisted hulks of metal. All of the Wraiths had been destroyed, some with many direct hits evident in their busted hulls. Bits of flesh, armor, shrapnel, and other remnants littered the churned up, crater-ridden zone. Even the Shades had been devastated. There was no one to be seen.

Coughing for a moment, Frost put a finger to his earpiece. "Bravo One-One...uh...good effect on target. Exfiltrating now."

He went back down into the ditch, put on his rucksack, and picked Adley up. Without even thinking, he said, "Get up, you're no good to me dead."

"I think I am dead," Adley muttered as the shellshock faded.

"Not yet."

* * *

"Jasmine?" Vivian said, knocking on the door to her office on the _I'm Alone._ There was no response. She knocked again. "Jasmine?" she repeated, speaking a little louder.

"Come in," came the tired reply. The door slid open, Vivian walked in, and it slid shut behind her.

"Jas, I just wanted to..." Vivian raised a confused eyebrow. Jasmine wasn't at her desk, or at her bookcase, or the stand where she brewed coffee. "Jas?"  
"Down here."

Vivian stepped into the room and found Jasmine laying on her back on the floor, in the center of the triangle formed by the two armchairs and the leather couch, all bolted into the floor. She was wearing her white lab coat and had her hands folded together on her middle. Her glasses were pushed up on her forehead. Her eyes stared up at the ceiling.

"You okay...?" Vivian asked cautiously, stepping a bit closer.

"I'm alright," Jasmine sighed, "just thinking."

"What about?"

Jasmine shifted uncomfortably and her gaze fell to her left.

"Nathaniel."

Vivian always felt anger churn in her chest at the mention of her name. But she fought her instinct to make a face or sling an insult about him. It was obvious that Jasmine was worried about him.

"I haven't any word from him. I'm assuming the mission is going as planned."

"Or maybe something went wrong."

"Don't do that to yourself," Vivian said, standing over her. She paused for a beat. "Why're you on the floor?"

"Oh, I don't know," Jasmine said with a little laugh, "I just sort of stopped in the middle of something, I don't remember what, and laid down to think. I used to do it as a kid."

Vivian stared at her for a moment, the sat down right beside her and laid flat on her back with a sigh.

"My mom was a maniac when it came to cleaning," she said, "she'd lay down like this, except on her belly, and look under every chair and table for dust bunnies or bits of food or dead bugs, you name it."

"She was a Marine, wasn't she?"

"Yep. Dad too. He was a neat freak as well. They probably got it from being in the military."

"The marines I know are all dirty, bearded, and smelly," Jasmine chuckled.

"Yeah, me too," Vivian said.

Some time passed. It was actually quite nice, laying there. The room was quiet, the door blocked all the noises from the corridor. She could have fallen asleep there.

"Do you know why I joined OCS on the medical track?"  
"Mm?"

"I have a thousand reasons; contributing to the war effort, moral binding, my parents being doctors and enlisting their services, patriotism," Jasmine said, "but what pushed me over the edge, what made me finally go through with it, was a Hippocrates quote." Jasmine inhaled a little and said, "War is the only proper school for the surgeon."

She sighed. "I try to think about what kind of doctor I'd be without this war. Would I be a good doctor? I'm not so sure." She paused. "If not for this war, would I be the person I am now? It's only been...what, a little under three months, that we left Mars? It feels more like three years."

"I know exactly what you mean."

"I don't think I'd have the feelings I do for Frost if it wasn't for the war. I mean, if I was a civilian and he was still a soldier. I'd be disgusted by him, no matter what excuse he'd give me. No matter how much good he showed, I'd still see him as a criminal. But after what I've seen, after what he's told me, after seeing what the war has done to him, to me, to everyone around us, I know I can't judge him like I could if I wasn't where I am now. On this ship, in the middle of this war, fighting these battles."

Jasmine looked over at Vivian. "I know what he's done, though. I know why he did it. Maybe you're right and I'm wrong, and he is a murderer. Maybe I'm right, and he isn't. Whether or not we're right or wrong, I don't care. I _know_ he's a good man."

Vivian nodded, unsure of what to say. "Do you think I'm crazy? Do you think I've lost all integrity defending him?"

"No. We can't help who we fall for, Jasmine. He's good to you, and in the end, that's all that matters. Just promise me you'll take it...slow. Or at least carefully. It's only been a few months. And I don't want whatever happens to impact your duties."

"It won't."

"We can't be down a doctor because she's having relationship problems," Vivian said, trying her best to speak as a friend and not as a superior officer, "I trust you to handle things if they go wrong. But if I feel like I have to step in, I will."

"You've always been a pessimist."

Vivian frowned. She had often been called that before but just then it hurt a little more than usual. After a few moments, she looked over at Jasmine.

"I meant to tell you earlier, before I lost my temper, that I talked with him. We've formed a truce."

"You have?"

"Yes. I'll leave him be, so long as he treats you well. You're my best friend and I've decided that your needs come first. I haven't forgiven him, I haven't forgotten. Nothing is behind him and me. But it can stop for now."

"Thank you, Vivian. I'm...truly grateful," Jasmine sat up a little, "I think you've made a big step in the-"  
"Don't go therapist on me," Vivian said with a little laugh and a wave of her hand. Jasmine chuckled and laid back down. For some reason, it felt good to finally say it. A weight was lifted from her shoulders. She felt like she could breath. Maybe she'd get the good night's rest she had been dying for. "I was really surprised when you said you envied me the other night."

"I always have. Looking back I always found myself so meek and afraid to meet the world halfway."

"I was practically a recluse after what happened, Jas."

"You're too hard on yourself. You got to experience a lot of things I didn't. Even love."

"I wouldn't call what I had love. Brice was...not exactly the tender type, know what I mean? He was just another teenager driven crazy by his hormones. As much as I wanted something a little more from him, I didn't decline. Sex was a big stress relief for me."

"Sex shouldn't be just about relief, Viv."

"Yeah, I know, _Mom_ ," Vivian said, trying to sound like a grumpy teenager. They both laughed.

"What was it like?"

"Huh?"

"Sex."

"Oh. Er, I dunno how to put into words. It's...nice."

"Really? That's all you have? It was nice."

"It's a bit awkward to talk about."

"Come on, we're friends. We're supposed to talk about this stuff, right? Isn't that what normal people do?"

"Hell if I know what normal people do anymore," Vivian joked. "Sex was like...I dunno. I don't really know how to describe the act itself, what it felt like, but I remember what it was like leading up to that."

"Yeah?"  
"Yeah. Sometimes, we just went straight into it, not even taking our clothes off. Other times though it was a bit slower. We'd take off all our clothes, very slowly. And there was this moment where we'd just sort of...stand there, or lay on the bed, naked, and look. It was an exciting but scary feeling. You're literally exposing yourself, putting everything out there, not just your body. You've got no defenses left and it's exhilarating, frightening, and relieving all at once."

Jasmine's face was unreadable at that moment.

"It does sound nice," she finally said and they both laughed a little.

"You and Frost never...?"  
"No, I think it would have been too soon."

"I figured. I knew you wouldn't have already, but I just had a little doubt. You two just got close so fast. Lots of people talked about it."

"They have?"  
"Mhm. Even my officers on the bridge have discussed it a couple times."

Jasmine turned red. Vivian smirked, "Considering there's already one public relationship on board, I don't think anyone would mind. I think it's good for morale; I think soldiers like gossip."

"I don't want to be the subject of gossip. Neither would Nathaniel."

"Then make a statement."

"Oh, shut up."

"You're lucky. At least you can have someone."

"Who says you can't?"

"I'm the captain. I'm supposed to have no flaws, no vices, no nothing."

"Come on, you can't impose that on yourself."

"Ah, well, I haven't been that hard on myself. Decatur is a good conversationalist. I was thinking of asking him out."

"Well, you won't need condoms for that."

"Shut up!" Vivian said, giving her friend a little jab with her elbow.

"But you wouldn't need them anyways, you've got the birth control."

"Oh you mean that kind that doesn't help with periods like you said?"

"Give me a break; I always recommend the old school stuff. We'll switch you to something more modern and then you can have all the sex you want."

"You're such an ass!"

"No I'm not, I'm your doctor!"

They both laughed. Jasmine was about to say something else when Koroma's voice filled her earpiece.

"Captain, we've gotten word from Hayes. The Covenant camp was discovered and neutralized with an artillery barrage. Gunnery Sergeant Frost and the prisoner are making their way back."

"Solid copy, thank you Koroma, that'll do."

Vivian stood up, as did Jasmine. "I'll arrange a Pelican to take you planetside so you can be there when he comes back."

Jasmine's face lit up.

"Thank you, Viv."

* * *

Frost and Adley had been sprinting through the woods, heading east as fast as they could. As far as he could tell, there were no Covenant after them. The entire population of the camp had probably been annihilated. But Frost wasn't going to stroll along the ridge and let a retaliatory patrol ambush him from behind. What mattered was that the AA equipment had destroyed. Whatever plan the Covenant had for them had just been hindered. Hopefully, he could get back to camp before the enemy decided to try something.

"Slow down," Frost said to Adley, who was huffing and puffing. They slowed to a jog, then to a walking pace.

"I can't believe it," Adley said. "All night I thought I was gonna die, mate. I thought the Covenant would get me, find me sitting there. When that fight broke out I thought they'd come over to me eventually."

"Yeah, we did it," Frost grunted, slightly offended that he had to share the mission success with a criminal. Adley was beaming still. He slid his hands through his dirty hair and sighed happily.

Taking a quick look around, Frost decided it would be cruel to wait any longer. He took out the handcuffs, came up behind Adley, and clapped them on his wrists. "Hey! Aw come on, do you have too-"

"Shut up!" Frost ordered as he shoved him to his knees. Shouldering his assault rifle, he pulled out his sidearm, flicked off the safety, and pressed the barrel to the back of Adley's head. Adley froze for a moment, then he began to shake and snivel.

"Please," he quivered, "please. I have a wife and three kids."

"I don't care if you've got a happy little fucking family and you've been a fucking saint your whole life. You're a traitor. Traitors deserve to die."

"I was never with the UNSC! I wasn't a soldier!"

"You're a traitor to humanity! You could be out there fighting the good fight with us, but instead you sneak into our camps instead of waiting like every other law-abiding citizen, steal what you need, and cast your lot in with a load of terrorists, assassins, murderers, and rapists."

 _Let me out._

Adley looked over his shoulder slightly. Frost pressed the barrel hardened against Adley's skull. "Don't you fucking look at me! You said you left because of Skopje, but you weren't there! You didn't have to see those poor women bloodied and stripped in the snow, left there to die. You don't even know what they did to the men, do you? That mountainside was bathed in blood." Frost's hand began to shake and he felt tears well up in his eyes. "You have a family? So did they! All of them; they were sons and daughters, mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters...dozens upon dozens tortured in the cold. Those women were raped so many times, some of them can't even have children anymore because of what happened! Some of them almost died before we got them to the hospital! You didn't see their legs coated with blood down to their knees from the dozens of men who were on top of them." Hot tears burned down his cheeks.

 _I am Jack the Ripper...nobody knows me._

Frost inhaled. "My name, is Jack the Ripper. I'm not a protector, I'm not a savior. I am an _avenger._ I am here for those men you butchered on the mountainside and the women you ravaged, for the things you've stolen that got my friends killed. I, have come for you."

His finger twitched but remained stiff against the trigger. Adley whimpered and shook terribly. But when Frost didn't fire, he slowly looked over his shoulder.

"Do you know anything about the real Jack the Ripper?" he asked in a fragile voice.

"Am I not real?" Frost growled.

"The, the first one!" Adley cried. "He murdered five women, Sergeant. He tore them apart, tortured them, made them suffer."

"Yeah, so what? I killed five girls too," Frost interrupted. An image of five shadows in a dark room flashed through his mind.

"Jack the Ripper was insane and sadistic. Nobody ever found out who he was."

 _Let me out._

Frost felt his vision began to redden. No, blacken. Like it used in the old days. It was as terrifying as it was exhilarating. The urge, the twitch, the snap inside, demanding he pulled the trigger. No; it wanted more than that. Such a force it was. It wanted blood on his hands; to take out his blade and tear him apart.

Adley turned around a bit more. "Nobody figured out why he did it. It doesn't matter though. He was a murderer. He was guilty. He was wrong." Adley looked down for a moment, tears rolling down his cheeks. His shuddering ceased and he looked right up into Frost's eyes. "When I heard what you did to them, I felt terrified. But I was also glad. Because they deserved it. They weren't people anymore. They were monsters. I realized the Insurrection was a sham; I thought they had given up on the old ways-the bombings, the murders. They told me they had; my cell just wanted to lay low and live out of sight of the UNSC. But after that, I knew they hadn't. What kind of organization fights for freedom and independence when they commit atrocities like that? I left, to preserve what little dignity I had left."

Frost stepped around in front of him and pointed the pistol at Adley's forehead.

"You think your little sob story is going to save you? You don't think I know what it's like to give up your dignity? Your morality? Your integrity? What I did to the Skopje rebels was worse than you can imagine." Frost took a shaky breath. "I gave it all up. I know I'm not a good man. I became the monster the UNSC needed on that planet."

Adley shook his head.

"No, I don't think it'll save me. I figured that the UNSC would have me one day, whether or not I committed crimes myself. I have, though not the ones you speak of. I've stolen lots of things to survive, I'll admit that. But I wasn't there. I was not on Skopje. Still, I understand why you think you have to do this. I don't hate you for it. I'm terrified, but I understand." Adley paused for a moment, swallowing hard. "Sergeant, Jack the Ripper was a name given to a man who had no regard for human life. Rebels gave it to you because you frightened and hunted them. The UNSC gave you that name because you're an excellent soldier. But in my eyes, you earned that name because you're man who values life."

"Values life?" Frost almost laughed. "I don't _value_ life. If I did, you think I would have killed all of those Insurrectionists like I did? I mean, if I valued life, do you honestly think I'd have you on your knees with a gun to your head!"

"You think you don't. But you do; the victims of those crimes, their lives, their well-being; they matter to you. They mean something to you. How can I fault you for doing what you did, when it was all for them? You're a man of hate. But that hate is better justified than most."

"How can you say all this?" Frost whispered tearfully. "I'm going to kill you, and you weren't even there." Saying the words out loud made him think of what Jasmine had said, and more.

Adley smiled.

"You probably think I'm nuts. A thief trying to talk his way out of death. My word doesn't mean shit to you. But I assure you, I say what I say, because I know if I had been in your shoes, I would have done the same things. Any good man would have. Evil men-truly evil men, like those on Skopje-they deserve evil ends. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I would," Frost answered. He thought of the men he killed in the woods, and felt regret.

"Does punishing guilty men make your guilty yourself?"

"I..." Frost couldn't answer. Guilt was something that had clung to his heart and his bones for five years. Not for everything that he had done; guilty, more so, for the man he had become. The name from long ago that he had lived up to.

Adley didn't wait for an answer. He sat straighter on his knees. Frost still had the pistol to his head.

"Please, just make sure my family has something to bury, and that Captain Waters sees her part of the bargain through." Adley closed his eyes.

Frost pressed the barrel of his pistol against Adley's head. He bit his lower lip, his finger quivered, and he shut his eyes tight.

 _Let me out._

" _...You're not one for fighting dirty, at least not anymore..."_

 _Let me out._

" _...I know you, bruv. In the end, if you had done what I had done on that ship, you would have regretted it..."_

 _Let me out._

" _Whatever you think you_ have _to do, you don't..."_

 _Let me out._

" _...you're a good man..."_

 _Let me out._

" _...You've proven that to me and to them..."_

 _Let me out. I am..._

" _...those people, the ones you fought for, they're safe now...you saved them..."_

 _I am Jack the Ripper._

" _...you avenged them..."_

 _Nobody knows me._

" _...promise me..."_

"Let me ask you one thing," Frost asked then, so suddenly that he surprised himself. It seemed as though his voice was not his own. Adley opened his eyes. "Would you have gone back to the UNSC after you stole the supplies you needed?"

Adley thought for a moment.

"At the time I wasn't sure. I thought of hightailing it back to the farm. But my conscious told me, I'd be letting a lot of good people die, soldiers and civilians alike. I promised myself that'd I'd go back once I had given the supplies to my family. I knew I needed to help, but my family had to come first. I had to do _right,_ by the _right_ people first, the people who are counting on me, who need me. The greater good is important, but in the end, the well-being of the people I love is something far more valuable and important to me."

Frost blinked.

"Do right by the right people?"

"You're a soldier. You have duties. I'm not a soldier, but I have duties as well. Duties of love and loyalty. Duty to my family." Adley let out a shaky breath. "If this is your duty, then get it over with. Don't drag this out any longer than it has to be."

Tears spilled down Frost's cheeks and he choked back a sob. For a moment, he felt as lost as a child. He did not know right from wrong. What act was just and unjust? Killing a man just for being a rebel, or for a crime he never committed? Was that crime so grave that all who shared an alliance with the guilty deserved to be punished? How could he slaughter a man for trying to take care of the people who mattered most? Who mattered to Frost? Those women he had fought for, killed for. His own conscious? Steele? Jasmine?

"Have I done right by them? Have I done enough? When can I stop being...?"

"You can stop being Jack the Ripper right now, tomorrow, whenever, however you see him and yourself," Adley said. "In the end, no matter what connotations we put on it, it's just a name."

Frost squeezed his eyes shut. Slowly, he lowered his pistol. Part of him felt like sobbing, but he did his best to hold himself together. The darkness that had clouded his vision retreated. He placed the pistol into his holster, stood Adley up, and took off the handcuffs. When he went to put them into his pocket, he stopped and looked at them for a moment. Then, he turned his hand and let them slide from his palm.

Adley turned around, his eyes wide. "Thank you," he said.

"No, I should-"

Multiple plasma bolts flew by them. Frost and Adley ducked down. Multiple red dots moved onto his motion tracker. Green and blue plasma bolts lit up the night. "Run!"

They tore into the night. Plasma sizzled by their heads and blasted bark from tree trunks. The voices of Elites and Skirmishers filled the air behind them. The red dots multiplied. They must have had a quick reaction force of their own.

Adley had a lead but Frost soon overtook him. Eventually they slid down a slope and took cover behind a boulder.

Frost took his last frag grenade and lobbed it over. It would buy only a few moments. "This is Bravo One-One. We are under attack and heavily outnumbered. Any air support you have, send it. " Frost took his finger from his earpiece and turned to Adley. "Fuck, they must have had a QRF of their own somewhere to the northwest or west. Listen to me, you're too slow. They're going to catch up. Take the handheld and my pistol."

"What? We have a better chance if we stick together!"

"No, we don't. You're too slow and I'm faster on my own. Take them. And take these too." Frost reached into his shirt and yanked his dog tags from his neck. "Give them to Dr. Ebrahimi."

"Sergeant-"

Frost smiled.

"I'm going to hold them off for as long as I can and lead them further up the ridge towards the north, then break east. You head directly east as fast as you can, and remember when you get adjacent with the fields of tall grass, change direction south and head into them."

"Sergeant, you'll die."

Frost grinned.

"For a guy who was just about to be killed, you sure are awfully concerned for the executioner's safety."

"I knew you wouldn't."

"Shows what you know. Now run!"

* * *

When Jasmine's Pelican landed, she was in good spirits. The mission had been accomplished, stabilizing the area of operations before it had even gotten destabilized. More importantly, he was safe and coming back. For a few moments, there had been a terrible pit in her stomach. She feared that only he would be returning. But something inside told her that both men would be returning. As soon as they came marching back into through the perimeter, she planned on kissing him and she didn't care who saw. It was Christmas after all; she wondered if she'd hear men singing songs like they did at OCS.

But once she was off she saw Marines and Army troopers running back and forth. They were buzzing with concerned conversation. Formations of Shortswords soared by overhead and artillery was pounding away. As one man ran past, Jasmine caught his arm.

"What's happened? Are we under attack?"

"Switch to the net frequency!" he yelled and hurried off. Reaching up, she touched her earpiece. Multiple voices filled her ear as she headed towards the CP.

"This is Halberd, I've got one blue on screen, over."

"We need two blues, two! Is one down, over?"

"Negative, negative. One's a civvie, no IFF tag, over."

"Ah, shit. Alright, hold off on your strike." A moment passed.

"Hey, this is Captain Sigmund. Fuck the land preservation clause, I'm gonna keep the artillery barrage rolling from west to east on the tree lines. The brass can court martial me if they want. Over and out."

"Captain you are in direct violation of-"

"Sorry can't hear you, sir, the howitzers are really loud, over and out!"

"Sigmund? Sigmund! Goddammit!"

"This is the OP. We have major activity on the ridge; multiple foot mobiles heading east, heavily armed, moving fast, over."

"I need numbers, OP."

"Count's approaching two hundred, over. Request permission to assist, over."

"Request denied, OP, enemy strength is too high and the insertion team is already too far east of your position. Recommend you hold position and spot for artillery, over."

"Solid copy, CP. OP out."

"Net call, net call, snipers to the northern perimeter. Repeat: snipers to the northern perimeter, focus fire on the ridge, over."

"CP, shut the fuck up for one second," said a familiar English-accented voice, "Frost, can you hear me? You need to get to the east so we can provide sniper support. There's too much cover for the Covvies in the wooded section."

There was no response. "Frost, this is Steele, can you hear me?"

"Uh, uh, this is Adley, uh, Bravo...One-Two," said a panting voice, "I'm getting close to the tree line-"

"Where the fuck is Sergeant Frost?" Corporal Steele shouted.

"He led a large portion of the Covenant north on the other side of the ridge."

"God fucking dammit. Frost, you nobhead, bring them over to the _southern_ face, not to the fucking north!"

Jasmine flew over to the ladder on the side of the command post and scaled it in a few seconds. Steele was at his perch, the bipod of his rifle set up on the short wall that line the roof. Carris was right next to him with a pair of binoculars. Jasmine slid in on his left. None of the others were present.

"What's happened?" she asked.

"Covenant sent a retaliatory force onto the ridge looking for whoever waltzed into the camp," Steele said, peering through his scope. "Apparently Frost and the prisoner have split up. He's drawing their numbers north."

Jasmine looked around and found an extra set of binoculars. Snatching them up and bringing them to her eyes, she looked at the ridge. Zooming in, she could see pink, blue, and green lights dashing through the trees. As the trees thinned out, she could see the hulking forms of aliens. Shells landed further back in the trees, sending columns of dirt and fire upwards. Every so often a tree would collapse. But before any of them came into view, a lone figure burst out. He wore no armor and carried only a pistol. It was Adley.

Steele saw him too.

"CP, Steele here. I've got eyes on Bravo One-Two, heading east on the southern face. Covenant in pursuit, over."

"Copy that, provide covering fire. Sending Falcons to extract, over."

Jasmine watched through the binoculars as dozens upon dozens of Skirmishers darted from the woods, followed by Jackals armed with beam rifles and carbines. Squads of Grunts came in their wake, each one led by an Elite.

"I should take over," Carris said to Steele.

"Love," Steele said with a somewhat humorous tone, "let me work."

He pulled the trigger and the sound made Jasmine's right here ring. It was more like a cannon going off than a rifle. Jasmine watched as a Skirmisher that had just leaped off a boulder was struck right in the middle in midair. The heavy caliber round nearly seared it in two, and the body tumbled down the slope. Every time Steele fired, another Skirmisher fell. Yet for every one that he killed, another seemed to take its place.

Other snipers were firing along the entire line and dozens were dropping. More and more Covenant still appeared. Falcons buzzed overhead, shining searchlights onto the enemy positions and raking their forward units with their main cannons and side-mounted chainguns. Still, they came thicker.

"We need another sniper up here," Steele growled as he slammed another clip into his rifle. "Love, go fetch another one, and plenty of ammo too."

Without a word, Carris jumped to her feet, sprinted towards the ladder, and leaped off the roof. Jasmine continued to watch. She had been observing Adley's jumbled sprint over the uneven terrain and looked back to the west to watch the enemy forces. Some had stopped and were firing up at the Falcons. Jasmine began spotting for Steele, picking out counter-snipers among the packs heading after Adley.

Carris returned holding two sniper rifles and a bag of ammo. She handed one to Jasmine.

"You too, Commander," she said. "That's a target-rich environment out there."

"Ever use one of those?" Steele asked as he reloaded, calm as he could be.

"I barely passed the course!" Jasmine answered as she set up the bipod and pressed the butt against her shoulder.

"Doesn't matter!" Steele said. "Squeeze the trigger, control your breathing."

The rifle was heavy. Jasmine knew she wasn't exactly made of muscle and that made the rifle difficult to handle. All the same, she put the circular reticule on one of the snipers, who had changed their attention to Adley, and fired. S The bullet struck the alien's bicep-the impact tore the skinny creature's entire arm right off.

"I got him!" she yelled, looking at Steele.

"There's two more snipers!" he yelled, pointing. Jasmine put her eye back to the scope and found them; lining the shots up, she took each one down. "Good doc, good," Steele complimented. Carris was firing fast but Steele seemed to be picking off targets even faster. He'd empty a clip in less than ten seconds and reload in half that time. Langley was nearby, spotting targets through her own binoculars. "Adley's pinned behind a rock and a tree. Falcons are taking a lot of fire. Okay, there's Skirmishers making for his position. Take those ones out first, I'm going to call in close air."

Jasmine did her best to keep the reticle on the fast-paced Skirmishers, but it was difficult. They darted around, sliding, dashing, sprinting, jumping from cover to cover and she had to switch targets every few moments. When she managed to fire, the round missed.

"I keep missing!" she said as she reloaded.

"Lead the targets, doc! Didn't you pay attention on the range?"

Jasmine did as he bid, and after a few misses, she found her mark on a Skirmisher as it skittered up a slope. The bullet buried itself into its wait and the alien crumpled over. Leading the next target, she pulled the trigger and watched the Skirmisher's right leg snap off at the knee.

Eventually, the formation of Shortswords returned and following Steele's instruction, they delivered their payload onto the Covenant pursuers. A brilliant wall of flame ascended and hundreds of shadows disappeared. The aircraft shot by overhead.

"Good effect on target," Langley said.

"There's a lot vegetation burning on the ridge," Steele said, sounding professional for the first time, "it's causing a lot of glare. Turn off the scope's night vision."

Jasmine kept firing. It was so surreal; dozens fell from sniper rounds but two dozen more replaced them. All along the northern perimeter, yellow muzzle flashes lit up the night. The rifle reports, one after the other, almost seemed like a song being played on a piano. As well, music was playing within the HQ:

" _God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay..."_

Looking through the scope, Jasmine watched as one of the Falcons hovered over open ground a short distance away from Adley's position. The VTOL lowered itself until he could climb in. It took off and began heading back to base. Another Falcon was flying further past the ridge and multicolored plasma was slashing up at it. Large bolts narrowly missed them. Jasmine gasped a little as she watched a streak of bolts strike the base of the left propeller, and a puff of smoke and flame spurted out briefly, shaking the craft.

"Charlie 56 here, we're taking heavy small arms fire, damage sustained, we need to pull out, over."

"Negative, Charlie 56," Steele said, "do you have eyes on Bravo One-One, over?"

"Affirmative, he just changed direction and is heading south, up the northern face of the ridge. Lots of Covenant in pursuit. I need to bug out."

"Fuck," Steele grunted, looking through his own rifle. "We need to go out there and get him. CP, request permission to outfit a Warthog and a secondary QRF to retrieve Bravo One-One, over."

"Negative," came the voice of Colonel Hayes, "if your Warthog gets busted, we're going to have to send someone to get you. We can't risk-"

Steele shut off his radio.

"Fuckin' cunt!" he seethed through gritted teeth. "Mother fucking pansy shits! Stay here, Doc, I'm getting a Warthog."

"Look corporal!" she shouted.

Frost had just broken over the ridge. He was holding his rifle in both hands and was running like a madman in a southeasterly direction, down the southern face. Six Skirmishers were right behind him. Jasmine got ready to take him but her finger froze on the trigger as she watched Frost stop dead in his tracks, turned, and empty a clip into the first trio of Skirmisher. He then let it drop and hang by the sling over his shoulder, and drew his knife. When the closest one came to him, he ducked a blow and slashed it across the throat. The next he slammed his fist into the next one's gut, spun it around, and slit its throat. However, the third crashed into him and the pair tumbled over twenty yards down the slope. Frost lost his helmet in the process. He was the first to regain control. Jumping to his feet, he then hurled himself onto the Skirmisher, who had fallen into a ditch. Somehow, his radio was on and she could hear him as he began striking the Skirmisher repeatedly with his fist. He let out a war cry, not a deep roar, but something shrill and inhuman. Through the scope, she saw his face, filthy and contorted with animalistic fury. His fist continued to fall on the Skirmisher, while the song grew louder and faster.

" _Oh, tidings and comfort of joy, comfort and joy! Oh, tidings and comfort of joy!"_

More Covenant came spilling over the ridge. A Jackal managed to get to him and tried to wrap its arm around him. Frost reached over and yanked the thin beast over him, raised his knife, and drove it into the creature's neck. Grabbing his helmet, he got back onto his feet and began running straight to the east. His mouth was open, his teeth were bared like a dog, and he bounded along at a ferocious pace. After some time, he headed north and disappeared over the crest of the ridge, taking the Covenant with him.

"What the hell is doing!?" Steele shouted. He turned his radio back on. "Frost, Frost, talk to me! You need to come south, now! What the hell are you doing!? We've got Adley! Come on! Don't do this!"

Finally, Frost spoke.

"CP...CP, this is Bravo One-One," he panted, "requesting immediate air support, over."

"This is Colonel Hayes, we have you on blue-force tracking, send the coordinates for the strike, over."

"Sir, send all the Shortswords you can. Have them carpet bomb the entire north face, over."

"Son, you know-"

"I know. I've got hundreds of Covenant on my tail. We have a chance to take them out right now so they can't play a part in the fight later on. Just do it. I've got plenty of cover. Frost, out."

"Fuckin' crazy bastard..." Steele muttered. Not even five minutes passed before formations of Shortswords came over the base from the southeast, looping around the western end of the ridge, and making their bombing runs as they headed east on the northern face. Jasmine watched as explosions billowed up on the other side of the ridge, lighting up the night. Repeated attempts were made to raise Frost, but there was no response.

###

Dawn began to approach and there had still been no response. Falcons had made a few ventures over the ridge, but Covenant stragglers continued to fire at them with concussion rifles, driving them off. The combination of aerial bombings and artillery had caused a brushfire. The entire eastern part of the ridge was aflame, slowly creeping westward, consuming the lush trees. HIGHCOM's agricultural analysts were positively outraged, though no one planetside paid their angry messages any mind. A wind blow from the north pushed the tan-gray smoke over the valley between the base and the ridge. Combined with the receding darkness of morning, it was impossible to see the ridge any longer. Not even the Falcon pilots wished to bring their craft through it.

All the same, Jasmine stood in the same exact spot she had been the previous day, when Frost had parted with her. She had been there for hours, staring at the impenetrable smoke screen. The morning sun was threatening to come over the ridge now. Many Marine and Army troopers had come to the northern perimeter and were looking. Many expressed their doubts in hushed whispers, which were countered by the maxim, 'If there's no body, then he's not dead.' In a strange way, their vigilance was one of respect. Despite the wall of smoke before them, they remained at their posts to see if they could spot him. Still, she could see some were beginning to waver.

She looked to her right. Frost's squad, save Steele and Carris, were standing on top of the hesco bastions that made up part of the defenses. All of their faces were grim. Steele and Carris were still on top of the CP; he wouldn't leave until it was absolutely certain that Frost had been found. Some Falcons had been sent out again but they had been repelled by a secondary ground force of Covenant that had arrived on the ridge. The Falcons reported they hadn't seen him. A platoon of Rangers had volunteered to go to the ridge but the CO's wanted all the personnel inside the perimeter. The counterattack was going to kick off soon. She knew that hopes were sinking. Many who had stood at the walls were beginning to drift away. Steele had assured her that he could be walking right at them and they wouldn't be able to see him. The grass was tall and Frost was probably keeping his head low in case there were enemy snipers, who had taken a few potshots at the perimeter. Even after the airstrikes and artillery bombardments, UNSC snipers had been picking off Jackals and Skirmishers trying to comb the ridge for any humans.

A pair of footsteps approached. Jasmine turned and found Adley standing there, guarded by two ODSTs. Filthy and exhausted, he looked worse than he had when he left. Still, he managed to smile a little.

"I was told you're Ebrahimi." Jasmine nodded. "He asked me to give you these."

Jasmine held out her hands and he slowly lowered his dog tags into her hand, the chain pooling into a neat pile.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"He led them away so I could have a chance," Adley said, looking to the ridge.

"I'm surprised you're alive," she said, without thinking.

"It was a hell of a chase," he sighed.

"That's not what I meant," Jasmine admitted. Adley gave a small chuckle.

"He was going to. But...we talked." Adley scratched the back of his head and looked away. "For years I heard about him. A legend, a nightmare. People in my rebel cell used to tense up just at the mention of his nickname. They didn't even call him Frost; he was always Jack the Ripper. I should have thought as much when he had me on my knees with a gun at my head. I just...couldn't. I can't. All I saw there was a man, doing what he thought was right."

Adley narrowed his eyebrows in thought for a moment. "I told him he was a man of hate, but still a man of good. But I think, he's just guilty more than anything else, guilty for something that was out of his hands."

Jasmine nodded and Adley smiled. "I must be cracked. Guy was going to shoot me through the back of my head, but by God, I hope he's alive."

Saying no more, Adley departed with his two guards. Wind brushed against Jasmine and she felt a great relief in her heart. She couldn't help but smile.

 _Finally._

The sun came ever closer to rising, giving the smoke a more putrid glow. Smoke swirled and rose and sank and twisted all about over the grassy plains. She could hardly see a thing. Someone had requested that they turn on the lights back on, but CP had ordered the lights to be dampened in case the Covenant tried to counterattack.

As soldiers started to drift away, Jasmine let her heart sink. She made to turn and head to check on her patients, when she felt a southerly wind press against her. Looking over her shoulder, the smoke seemed to finally dissipate, as if the breath of wind had finally coaxed it away. The sun, stark white, rose up into the sky from behind the ridge. The valley of lush green grass began to shine like a sea of gold, swaying in the breeze. Holding up her hand against its rays, her eyes widened. Standing in that dizzying ocean of golden grass, was Frost. His brown hair, dirty, was tousled by the gentle gusts. His helmet was clipped to his belt and his rifle was slung over his shoulder. Despite the distance between them, she could see he was filthy, exhausted, and smiling.

As a cheer rang out across the line, Jasmine ran across the bridge over the trench and into the waist-high golden grass, a smile on her face, tears of happiness rolling down her cheeks. As she approached, she took the binoculars from around her neck and through them to the ground.

"Nathaniel!" she cried, jumping into his waiting arms and throwing hers around his neck Frost twirled her around in a complete circle before setting her back on her feet. Jasmine, held in his arms, looked up into his eyes. Instead of gray, they were a stunning, deepwater blue that shimmered beautifully in the morning light.

Frost nodded his head to one side with a little shrug.

"Mission accomplished, as they say."

Without another moment of hesitation, she pressed her lips against his. When they parted, she let out a relieved gasp. With a smile, he said, "Merry Christmas."

"Happy birthday," she said back, before kissing him again.

A series of cheers, jeers, whistles, encouragement, advice, and laughter broke out across the line.

"They don't even need mistletoe!"

"Ah, take it inside!"

"Ain't that fraternization!?"

"Take her upstairs, Frost!"

"Better marry him now, he's popular with the ladies!"

"Oh, look at that!" Jasmine turned around saw Steele standing on the roof of the command post with Carris. "They finally kissed! _Fucking, finally!_ " He threw his arms into the air. "Now we can finally sleep at night!" he yelled. He turned around, tossed his helmet over his shoulder, and walked away with Carris in tow. Frost's squad were ecstatic and Katz was there, taking pictures with his camera.

Jasmine faced him again.

"We have to stop meeting like this," she joked.

"Oh, it's just part of my thing," Frost said back with a smirk that exposed his missing tooth. "Dramatic entrances, suspense and all, you know."

"How did you get away?"

"Found a rock overhang for cover. When it ended, I was planning on going right back over but some of them survived and were hunting me. I didn't have any ammo left so I had to go around the entire ridge and come back."

"Why didn't you contact us over the radio?"

"After the airstrike, my earpiece just wasn't working. I couldn't raise anyone. I don't know what happened," he said, reaching up and tapping it. "Gotta get a new one before I roll out on my next op."

"You're a great big fool," she said, tucking her face against his neck. "Why did you have to take that risk, calling in those bombers?"

"I could give you a lesson in strategy but let's just say I was desperate," he said with a breathy chuckle.

"I'm glad you're safe."

"Me too."

"Are you tired?"

"Nope."

"You can put me down."

Frost beamed at her with the warmest of smiles.

"You're as light as a feather," he said sweetly and began walking towards the line, "you're light as a feather." He held her in his arms with ease, carrying her like she was a newlywed bride. The morning sunlight was warm on her cheeks and the wind cool. She enjoyed the silence between them for a few moments. "Did Adley make it back?" Frost asked.

"Yes."

"I'm...glad to hear that."

"I'm proud of you, Nathaniel. I have to ask, what made you stop?"

Frost's eyes met with hers and he smiled kindly.

"I'll tell you later."

Jasmine accepted the answer, contented enough just to be held in his arms.

As they stepped onto the bridge, Katz came over.

"Can I get a shot of you two side by side? The sun behind you is great."

"Sure," Frost said. He set Jasmine down and she leaned against him. Both had an arm around one another. After snapping a few more photos, Katz smiled at them.

"Thanks, these'll be great. I'll make some copies for you."

Frost's squad came over and greeted him warmly.

"Next time, make sure you take us," Moser said.

"Damned right," said Grant.

"Thanks for the cover fire," Frost said to Steele and Carris, who were holding their rifles.

"The Doc here picked up a rifle too. I'd say thank her too but I think you already have, huh?" Steele said, poking Frost in the ribs. Jasmine blushed. Frost came over to her again, a glint in his eye, when Colonel Hayes strolled up.

"Glad to see you made it Gunnery Sergeant."

Frost saluted.

"Mission accomplished."

"Thatta boy." Hayes grunted, satisfied. "Now, I know you're a few men down and you've been through hell. But the tanks are warming up and the troops are sharpening their knives; the counterattack against the Covvie stronghold is about to begin. You want in?"

Frost looked at his able squad members, who all nodded. He faced Hayes once more.

"Yes, sir."

"Get yourself some rations and ammo, and a new radio, and get up to the Curve. Hurry, now!"

"Yes sir; alright you guys, let's go!"

"Wait, Nate!" Jasmine stopped him before he jogged off with the others. She hurried over and put his dog tags back around his neck. "Come back soon."

He reached up, brushing his thumb gently against her cheek, before running off.

* * *

" _I took a lot of photos when I was with the I'm Alone. But my favorites definitely have to the ones I took that day. To see the happiness on their faces-pure, uninterrupted, blissful-it was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. I think there's only two others that come even remotely close."_

 _-Matthew Katz, war correspondent_

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Anybody catch that reference to the film "Heaven Knows, Mr. Allison?" Anybody? You get a cookie if you do.**


	36. Chapter 36: A Name

Chapter 36: A Name

* * *

Jasmine sent another report to the _I'm Alone._ Satisfied with the state of the field hospital, despite the influx of casualties, she went over to a nearby tent that she had devoted to Frost's wounded men. Bishop was sitting on the edge of his bed, clad in his fatigues, staring straight ahead. Maddox was on the bed across from him, smoking a cigarette, his cast-covered arm in a sling. She was worried about Bishop. Aside from a few mess hall greetings and his rant in her office, she hadn't had much interaction with the man. But it didn't take a doctor to see that something was wrong. Langley had relayed to her the other night how she had found him. Being alone-trapped-in that blockhouse, in the dark all day and for a moderate portion of the night, hunted by the enemy put an unspeakable amount of stress on the body, mind, and spirit. Soldiers saw all manner of horrors in their daily lives. Consistency, Jasmine found, was their key to mental and emotional salvation. The same faces, the same routines. In there, Bishop had been cut off from his most trusted companions and the familiarity of frontline combat for a whole day. All it took was a single day to break someone. No doubt, he had to fight like a rat in there to survive. Was he broken? Her gut told her no, but he was far from solid. When Frost returned, she planned to advise him that Bishop should pursue therapy, and she'd take extra time for him.

"How are you holding up?"

Bishop merely grunted.

"Bored as hell," Maddox mumbled. "I'd rather be out there fighting with the squad."

"You wouldn't do much good for anybody with an injured hand," Jasmine told him. Maddox snorted.

"Wouldn't have been that way if Carris and Steele hadn't gotten in my way. We could have gone out there, grabbed our boy, and been back in no time flat." Maddox wrinkled his nose and his eyebrows narrowed. "If it weren't for her, my hand wouldn't be busted up like this. If it weren't for her, Bishop wouldn't have been left behind"

"That's a lot of blame to levy onto one person," Jasmine said disapprovingly.

"Yeah, well, she deserves it, Doc. She ain't like you and me."

"I thought you were friends."

"We were. But anybody who can plant themselves in the sand and says you can't go back out to get your best friend of eight years, and not betray a hint of emotion? That ain't right. She-"

"She wears a fully enclosed helmet," Bishop finally said, his usually tough voice soft. "How can you tell what emotion she was feeling?"

"I just can. You don't actually have to see a person's face to-"

"Kyle, shut the fuck up," Bishop said emotionlessly.

Jasmine sighed and walked out of the tent as Maddox angrily rolled on his side, turning his back to Bishop. As she did, a Pelican came flying in fast overhead.

"This is Triple Seven," came the voice of the pilot Jasper, "we have a critical casualty on board. Repeat, critical casualty."

A team was already prepared, rushing a stretcher bed out to the pad. Jasmine followed. The Pelican landed and the rear hatch opened. Captain De Vos, the crew chief and copilot, as well as Frost's squad and numerous others, all bloodied and scarred, jumped out and began carefully moving the casualty onto the stretcher bed. Jasmine searched the dread-filled faces; Frost was not among the standing.

Running over and looking at the bloodied, blackened casualty, her heart stopped. Frost lay on the roller stretcher, eyes vacant.

"Nathaniel!" she cried.

Frost's eyes, distant and gray, opened a little wider. He coughed and looked over at her as they began wheeling him towards the hospital.

"Jasmine..." he choked.

"Get him over here!" Jasmine ordered, pointing to one of the tents where they performed critical operations. She looked at him again, moving in between the other medical staff who were administering an IV. Two spiker rounds were embedded in his left leg and he was so bloody; his armor was practically gone and his fatigues were ripped up. She could see bits of shrapnel sticking out from exposed skin. There was a terrible, horizontal gash, starting from the bridge of his nose that went about three quarters of the water under his left eye. A white bandage was wrapped around what was left of his left middle finger and she could see bone on his index. Whirling around, she walked with Steele beside the stretcher bed. "What happened?"

"He got hit by rounds from a Brute shot," he said, visibly distressed. "And he got those spikes in his leg, and, and, his fuckin' finger is missing-"

"Is everybody here?" Frost croaked. "Louie, count them off..."

"Everybody's here, man," Steele said, leaning over and taking his right hand, "everyone's here, we're all okay. Don't talk brother, okay? Don't say anything, yeah?"

Jasmine turned around and jogged into the tent. Frost had just been moved to an operating table. She quickly slid on a pair of gloves. Inside, she wanted to break down, curl into a ball, and sob. But she refused. She was not going to stand by while he was hurt and let somebody else operate on him.

"Louie," Frost croaked. Jasmine looked over. Steele bent his head and Frost whispered something into his ear. He then pointed down. A large blood stain was on his crotch. Steele nodded and unzipped his trousers.

"Just blood coming down from your stomach wounds, bruv."

"You sure?"

"Right as rain," Steele said with a smile. "Nothing to be envious of, but..."

Frost laughed which led to a bad coughing fit. Jasmine, now prepared, came over and put a hand on his face.

"Don't worry, Nathaniel, don't worry. I'm going to fix you, okay? I promise. I'm going to fix you." Frost had tears in his eyes then, and he nodded. Jasmine looked up at Steele. "Corporal you need to leave." She looked over and realized that the rest of the squad, the crew of Triple Seven, and Captain De Vos were all standing there, crammed into the surgical tent.

"What are you all doing!?" Jasmine yelled at them. "Get out! We need room to operate! All of you get out, now!"

Reluctantly they all began to file out. All except for Steele.

"I'm not going anywhere. He's my bruvva."

"Corporal, get out of this tent before I have somebody throw you out." That lit a fire in his eyes.

"He's my bruvva!" Steele shouted. "What if he needs blood? We're both AB positive! I can give him blood!"

"We're administering fluids right now and we have plenty of plasma. The best thing you can do for him is to give us space."

"I'm not leaving," Steele said, his voice cracking. Just as Jasmine was about to give an order to get a few orderlies to manhandle him out, Carris approached him.

"Come with me Louis," she said, her tone almost sweet. She reached down with her gauntleted hand and gently took his wrist. Steele looked at her. Carris bent over a little so that she was eye-level with him. Her smile was gentle and understanding. Steele looked terrified. "Come with me."

With only a few words, she cast some spell over the sniper, and without another word he let her lead him from the tent.

Jasmine turned around and put on a mask. One of the orderlies came and put an operating gown on her. The staff was prepared, the instruments were on the table, medicine had been administered to him, assisted breathing established. Once she took a few deep breaths, she was ready.

"One spike to the calf, one spike to the thigh," she said to the team, "we'll have to remove one side of the calf spike with the buzzsaw. The spikes could be preventing major bleeding, we'll wait on those. Cap the finger with biofoam, we'll work on that later. Priority is the shrapnel." Sweat dripped down her forehead. "Multiple shrapnel wounds to the lower chest and stomach." None of them had been too deep, none were high enough on the torso to threaten his heart, and although his voice was fatigued and heavy, it made no tell-tale sounds of a lung wound. He was definitely weak and losing blood.

Jasmine grabbed a pair of forceps and began to pulling out shards of metal. Some came easier than others. Once she carefully removed one, one of the operating staff would quickly swab and she would stitch the wound. One after the other; remove, swab, stitch. Remove, swab, stitch. It took a great deal of self-control not to glance up at his face. He was unconscious from the medicine. A part of her still worried-a jump in her stomach each time she yanked a piece out-that it still caused him pain.

 _How did this happen to you? What did you do? Why aren't you wearing your armor, Nathaniel?_

The pan on the stand beside her was now filled with metal scraps. By her count, she had extracted nearly thirty pieces of shrapnel. Very small bits of his armor had been blown into his skin as well when it had been practically disintegrated by the explosives. Those proved the most difficult ones to pull out; he was lucky they hadn't gone too deep. An equal number of short, black lines of stitches decorated his stomach and chest. Jasmine looked at the spikes in his leg.

"Get the saw."

###

Jasmine washed her hands and stepped out of the tent. Right outside, camped out near a medical crate, was Steele and Carris. The former was seated on the ground, hugging his knees to his chest and his head down. The latter was kneeling in front of him.

"Look up, Louis."

He shook his head. Carris leaned a bit closer. "Look at me, please." Corporal Steele slowly raised his head. There was a cut on his cheek. Dousing a clean cloth with water from a canteen, she carefully ran it across the cut. Then, she reached into her first aid kit and procured anti-bacterial cream, dabbed it on the same cloth, and pushed into his wound. Hissing, the sniper began to recoil but Carris held his head in place with her other hand. Afterwards, she took out an adhesive bandage and applied over his cheek. "There you go."

"Thanks love," Steele mumbled. He then set eyes on Jasmine, who was approaching. Jumping to his feet, he ran up to her and grabbed her by the arms.

"Is he alive!?"

"Yes, he is," Jasmine answered calmly. Limply, he let go and sighed. After a moment of utter silence, he looked her in the eye.

"What's the damage?"

Jasmine offered a tender smile.

"You can go in and see for yourself." Steele appeared more hopeful, and went to walk by him. But Jasmine planted a hand on the center of his chest. Confused, he glanced at her. "Corporal, what the hell happened out there? This morning he came back with a smile on his face, and now he's returned all..."

The words stuck in her mouth. "What happened?"

Steele shook his head.

"I..."

"Doctor."

Everyone turned their attention to Katz. Where he had been and where he had come from, Jasmine did not know. From the look on his face, she didn't care either.

Katz was holding his video camera in his hands. Sheepishly, he walked up, holding it like a child who was holding something they shouldn't have had. "I filmed what happened. You should take a look.

* * *

 _Earlier that day..._

"Running low on ammo!"

"I know Grant, I know!"

"The Warthog carrying the supplies just got hit!" yelled Borko.

"Fuck!"

"Loading!"

"Toss me a mag!"

"Where the hell is our air support!?"

"They're tied up at the center of the line!"

"Gunnery Sergeant!" Carris cried over the calamity of gunfire and plasma, "Permission to assault the Covenant position!"

"Denied! Hold your position! We're in no position to mount an assault!"

"Sarge, do you think I should pick up a gun!?"

"Keep your head down Katz, and mind your camera!"

Frost grabbed a bandolier from the chest of a fallen trooper, loading one of the fresh clips into his empty assault rifle. Fog had rolled in with the late morning sky, and along with his squad and other soldiers, had taken cover in a long, shallow ditch in the land. Many mangled, twisted bodies lay in the ditch and around it. They had advanced beyond the Covenant base, which was nothing but a smoldering ruin. The task force had come in hard with armored, artillery, and air support, rolling over their defenses. Momentum carried them after the retreating Covenant as they made for a stretch of forest half a mile behind their base. Having regrouped there, they were now laying thick plasma fire onto the forward UNSC troops, which Frost and his squad were a part of. Pockets of resistance had destroyed half a dozen Scorpions, and a dozen more had been disabled. Covenant numbers were still high, many of them Brutes, who were putting up a stiff fight. Artillery was pounding away at the forest, felling trees, sending columns of earth and fire heavenward. Plasma fire was intensifying and they were using the cover of the forest combined with the thick fog to their advantage. UNSC troops were bogged down in crags, ditches, trenches, and rock formations. Being so far from the remains of the Covenant base left them in the open and exposed. Mopping-up operations were still taking place behind Frost and the others, and if the main body of the attacking force didn't regroup, they'd have to fall back in the case of a counterattack.

"CP, this is Frost!" he yelled over the comms, "We are heavily outnumbered and need reinforcements, ASAP!"

"Covenant holdouts are still giving the troops behind you trouble. The line is fractured. Recommend you pull out and regroup with units further back, over."

"We're almost dry, we lost our ammo wagon! We need air support!"

"Air is tied up right now. Wait one..." Plasma sizzled over Frost's head. "I have a platoon of ODSTs from the _I'm Alone_ prepping for a drop. _I'm Alone_ needs ten mikes to get into position for a drop. The Helljumpers will deploy and escort you out of the hotzone!"

"No time!" Frost yelled as plasma fire intensified. "I'm pulling us back while we have time!"

He looked up over the edge of the ditch. Blue, green, and red plasma bolts came blazing out of the fog. Three hundred yards ahead of their ditch was a shell crater. Nabiyev and his men were pinned down.  
"Nebiyev, fall back to our position, we're going to withdraw to the Covenant base to link up with friendly forces. We're too exposed out here. We'll provide covering fire for you," Frost yelled to him over the comms.

"Roger!"

Frost turned to the others.

"Alright, on my command, lay down suppressive fire! We need to have fire superiority! As soon as Nebiyev and his boys get here, we're falling back!""

"I'm down to one clip!" Grant yelled.

"I'm out on my primary!" Moser hollered, drawing his pistol. Frost gave them a fleeting glance. Everyone was filthy and looked shaken. Katz was on his knees, shaking like a leaf, slowly rising up to try and record the battle on his video camera.

"Use everything you've got," Frost yelled, wishing that Bishop and Maddox were with them then. "Fire!"

Everyone raised themselves to a crouch and began firing away. Frost had five clips for his MA5B, but he knew the others would have to begin drawing their sidearms soon. "Nebiyev, move!"

As plasma fire dwindled, Nebiyev ordered his squad to get on their feet. They came sprinting out of the crater, bucketing along as fast as they could. Nebiyev was the last man out, but a moment later he was struck in the hip by a bolt from a Brute plasma rifle. He fell hard on his side. One of his men, his Air Force comms specialist, Sánchez, was the closest one to him. Wheeling around, he ran back and grabbed Nebiyev by a strap on the back of his battle armor, and began dragging him. Nebiyev picked up his assault rifle and began firing back, but his last clip was soon spent. With others down the line crying that they were out, the pair would be defenseless out in the field.

More shadows appeared in the fog. They came closer and closer. Some were slim and short, darting around. Others were large and cantankerous. Skirmishers and Brutes were coming. Frost grimaced. Nebiyev and Sánchez were still out there, and wouldn't be able to get back before their alien assailants overtook them. As soon as the Covenant got to them, they would be torn to shreds.

"I'm out!" came the cry down the line.

"Out!"

"Empty!"

Frost crouched down, panting, thinking, harking to a time when a squad, bereft of ammo, was ripped to pieces by assaulting Brutes. He had the ammo in his hands; he was so close he could have tossed the clips to them. Instead, he had just stayed there, letting the Covenant pin him down. All he had to do was get up and run to them; he could have saved them. Yet, he stayed and let them die. It was not the rebels who had killed them. No, it had been him. Not again.

He looked at the men on either side of him. Katz was doing his best to film the the battle in front of him but was ducking his head down every few moments. The others were in various positions; flat on their bellies, hunched down, kneeling and reloading. Steele got to his feet and fired the last clip from his sniper rifle in quick succession, before tossing it to the ground and drawing his sidearm. A needler round whizzed by, grazing his cheek, leaving a thin red line. He didn't seem to notice, blazing away on his pistol while blood began to roll down his cheek. Grant stood up and lobbed his last grenade, and caught a plasma bolt in the center of the armor. The impact made him lose his footing and he fell on his back; he let out a cry of shock. M52B armor could stop a single bolt, but the heat still cooked a Marine in his armor just a little. Another Marine, who was just lobbing a grenade was struck in the face by a bolt and he clutched it with both hands as he fell back onto his knees, screaming. A corpsman who began to run over was hit in the side by a carbine round. Still, he began to treat the wounded man. Lieutenant Conroy was holding a blue plasma rifle he had ripped from the hands of a dead Elite; a Brute spike was lodged in his left shoulder. Moser had spent all of his pistol ammunition in just a few moments and had gotten back down on the ground. He was drawing his knife. If it came to close quarters, they were going to lose people. They were stretched thin, exposed, out in the open, not in the funneling confines of an ammo-packed basement, with no support, and were dealing with an enemy that had nothing to lose and no regard for their lives.

Grenades detonated near Frost and his ears began to ring. He could hear his own breathing begin to slow. Frost closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and let his mind wander. Who was he? Jack the Ripper, the avenger of lost soldiers. A legend, a ghost, a tale that scared the enemy at night. No longer would his moniker stand for such causes. The past would remain unchanged, no matter what he did to undo it. Retribution had been meted out; the honor of those who had been wronged had been upheld and defended. These men needed him _now._ Not the vindicator, but the warrior. Not a monster, but a man. A soldier.

Frost stood up. Plasma bolts sizzled past him. He needed to be fast. First he threw down his helmet, then took off the pauldrons of his M52B body armor, then unclipped the chestplate, revealing the black ballistic and heat reductive material underneath. Steele stopped firing to look at him, his eyes wide as saucers.

"Louie," Frost said, throwing his armor to the ground and picking up his assault rifle, "round them up and get out of here."

"Nate, what're you doing!?" Steele cried. Frost ignored him, taking off his helmet and dropping it.

 _I am Sergeant Frost. I will feel no fear._

Frost ran forward until he reached Nebiyev and Sánchez, and placed himself in front of them. Skirmishers rushed out of the fog, enraged, squawking, mad for blood. He gunned them down, one after the other after the other. Dozens of Skirmishers fell with each burst of his rifle. Even when the bodies began falling at his feet, he held his ground. Looking over his shoulder, he checked to see if Sánchez had gotten Nebiyev back to the ditch. No; they needed more time. He pressed forward into the fog.

Sidestepping a charging Skirmisher, Frost dropped his assault rifle, letting it hang by the sling, and drew his knife. It came at him again, raising its fist, but Frost deflected it with a deft hand, and slashed the creature across its chest, opening it from shoulder to middle. Turning around, more came at him. One of them raised a needler rifle to strike him with the stock, but with great strength, he stopped the blow with his free hand. The creature had the nerve to look surprised. Frost took the blade and drove it into the Skirmisher's belly, then withdrew it, letting the alien drop. Another came from the side, attempting to tackle him. Frost grabbed it by its frail neck, planted his leg behind it, and tripped the beast. Once it was on its back, he stabbed the Skirmisher in the heart. He slashed at another, who blocked the blow with its shield gauntlet. But he brought his knee into its gut, causing it to keel over. Frost then opened its throat with the blade. As more came, Frost drew his second knife and rushed into them. More and more came at him. He weaved and flowed around their blows, slashing, stabbing, cutting, striking as he did. Many fell, clutching at fatal wounds they could not heal. Frost lost count of how many he killed, but the field was littered with Covenant dead and dying. His vision blackened like last night. His instincts, his training, the fire inside, was taking over. It felt good. At first he held his ground, but Frost realized he was moving forward, cutting down each Skirmisher as he went. As the carnage unfolded, he found it strange. He did not feel afraid. Nor did he feel the rage like he did rage like before. Something in the darkness was holding him, guiding him. Purpose.

When he stopped to get his bearings in the fog, a roar from behind made Frost turned around. A Brute threw away its weapons and charged at him. Frost ran at the monster, and dodged around its grab attempt. He quickly clambered onto its back, gouging out its eyes before it could put its mammoth hands on him. The Brute roared and shook, but Frost held on tight, until he sliced its throat. Another grabbed him and threw him off. After a few uncontrolled rolls, Frost recovered, stopping himself on all fours and then jumping to his feet. Stomping over, the Brute lunged. Frost darted back, then back in, stabbing the Brute's gut each time with both blades. This served to only infuriate it even further. Brutes had tough hides. After bleeding it enough, though, it felt to its knees, and Frost rammed the blades directly into the Brute's face, before letting it drop. Turning to face another, he narrowly avoided a punch to his chest. If he hadn't been fast enough, his rib cage would have been busted in half a hundred places. Gasping, he stumbled back and managed to dodge the next few strikes. Eventually, he ducked down and cut across the Brute's leg. The blow was severe enough to make it drop to one knee. Frost seized the opportunity and jammed the knives directly into the Brute's spine. Paralyzed, the beast felt. Frost drove both blade sinto side of its head before sheathing it.

"Frost, Frost!" someone cried. "Come back! We've got them! Fall back!"

But Frost ignored them. A darkness gripped his vision. Energy rippled through him. An urge to continue the fight. He kept pushing forward, farther from his team. Through the haze, he could his own voice.

 _I am Jack the Ripper! Nobody knows me!_

Growling liken animal, he took his his MA5B back into his hands. Pushing on and on, his comrade's pleas fading, Frost fired at an approaching Brute. He was panting heavily, but he pushed past it. Brute minors were approaching. It took nearly twenty rounds to kill an unshielded Minor; if he fired in short bursts, he could take at least four down per clip. He fired, dropping it, then killed another, another another. Reloading, he strafed back and forth, ducking, dodging hails of spiker rounds and red plasma. Ammo was running out, but he kept firing.

Another Brute minor fell. Frost reloaded and turned to face the forest, cloaked in the fog. No targets were in his field of view. Then, he felt something strike the fleshy part of his calf. Frost felt to one knee, his wounded leg out stretched. The pain was terrible-heavy and burning-and he let out a quick, pained cry. Looking back at his leg, he saw that one of the superheated metallic rounds used by Brute spiker was sticking out of his calf. With much effort, he tried to stand up, but another struck him in the thigh of the same leg. Frost roared at the pain. Before he could try to turn, he heard the sound of a Brute shot being fired.

The first round land a few feet in front of him. Frost felt dozens of shards hit in his torso. The second round land right in front of him. Frost was flung back and landed on his back. His ears rang. Trying to sit up a bit, he saw his leg, where the spikes still stuck out. The ballistic gel layer had been torn apart and melted in some spots. His combat jacket was exposed, which was torn up and bloodied from below his sternum to his groin. Pain gripped his entire body, and there was an especially sharp pain in the center of his face.

As the fog finally cleared, blown away by a sudden wind, came a Brute major, holding the Type-25 grenade launcher. Minors also accompanied it. Grunting, Frost reached over and took his assault rifle in his hands. As he did, Frost realized that the middle finger of his left hand was missing, and he could see about a quarter of an inch of bone on the lower part of his index finger. Hissing from the pain, he aimed the assault rifle, which was fully loaded, and fired. One of the minors fell, and another appeared. Frost killed it too, and another. _Click._ His assault rifle was empty. More were coming; a pack led by a green-armored chieftain, toting a gravity hammer. Slowly, confidently, sinisterly, they approached. Drawing his pistol, he raised it, and fired. It had no effect; their armor repelled the rounds with ease. _Click._ It was empty. Frost dropped it and took the sheath of his blade in his left hand, and drew the knife with his right.

Brutes fanned out, firing at the marines behind Frost. Hopefully, they would be able to get away now. Standing over Frost, the chieftain snarled, as if he had found something that had disgusted him. Frost grinned at him, raising his knife, pointing it at the monster.

"I am Jack the Ripper," he said, hoarsely, "I am not afraid, of you."

With that, he laid his head back, putting his right hand on the center of his chest. The Brute raised its hammer. Frost's eyes went to the sky. As the clouds retreated, something caught his eye. Dark specs, that seemed to be growing larger. Suddenly, they appeared to be balls of flame falling from the sky-twenty of them-forming a perfect circle. The chieftain stopped and along with its minions, looked up, listening to the roaring of what sounded like rockets. No; like thunder.

The Brutes scattered. The objects fell with a tremendous sound and flurry of soil, falling one after another in a perfect ring around him. Frost finally realized what they were: HEV pods. The doors blew off and an ODST rushed out of each one, firing away with their classic suppressed SMGs.

"Form up!" cried a familiar voice.

One of the ODST, the insignia of a captain branded on the chestplate, crouched down over him. The visor depolarized, and Frost saw Captain De Vos looked at him.

"I've got you, Gunny!" she shouted, then to her troopers "Cover me!"

"My squad..." Frost croaked.

"They're right there, I'm bringing you over. Stay awake, Gunny."

De Vos picked Frost up, standing him up on his feet, before throwing him across her shoulders. As fast as she could, with her ODSTs in tow, carried him back towards the Marines. More pods dropped from the sky, unleashing Helljumpers against the Covenant. Frost, for some reason, despite the pain, despite the fog in his mind, felt himself smile.

"Frost!" he heard his squad yell, crowding around him.

"Get the biofoam!"

"He's got shrapnel all over his front!"

"The bleeding looks bad."

"Stay awake, man, stay awake," Steele urged him.

"This is Bravo One," Langley said into her radio, "requesting immediate CASEVAC at grid..."

The voices faded from his ears. He gripped his knife tightly.

 _I am..._

* * *

Steele was back on the _I'm Alone._ Fingering the bandage on his cheek, he walked up to the bed where Jasmine had placed Frost. It was in the farthest corner of the medical bay with a blue sheet held up by a metal frame on wheels seated between his and the nearest bed. It was a good spot by all accounts; a bit farther away from the other beds with the benefit of the large window right next to it.

Jasmine was sitting on a chair she had pulled up next to his bed. She was near the head, and had a hand in Frost's messy brown hair. Steele pursed his lips; he felt like he was intruding then. The doctor was so focused on Frost that she didn't even notice him walk up. They had been taking shifts at his beside for two days. Frost's operation was a complete success but he had been in much pain afterwards. The medicine they were giving him was making him extremely groggy and he hadn't said more than a few slurred sentences since he was moved to the ship after the surgery. Mostly, he just slept.

To see him lying there in the white sheets, shirtless, with an IV in his right arm, hooked up to several machines, made him look small and vulnerable. Steele cleared his throat.

"I'm here, Doc."

Jasmine looked at him.

"Hello, corporal," she said softly. "He's sleeping still."

Steele looked at him for a moment. Frost seemed peaceful in his berth, his chest rising slowly, his breathing steady.

"Well, he deserves a rest."

"I wish he'd wake up, let us know how he's feeling." Jasmine's eyes began to glimmer and she quickly swiped at them. "I just want to know if he's in pain or not."

"The meds are working Doc. If he was in pain, he'd be awake. You...did a good job," Steele smiled. "I thought you were gonna have to take his leg off. I've known guys that got those spikes in the leg and had permanent nerve damage."

"My aptitude has nothing to do with it," she sighed, "Nathaniel's extremely lucky. No permanent damage to worry about. No deep wounds, no arterial damage, no nerve damage. We were even able to prevent substantial blood loss."

Steele nodded; even the most basic of medical language was rather beyond him. He didn't mind. Jasmine stood up and stepped closer to him.

"Corporal Steele, Frost fought on his own against dozens, maybe hundreds of Covenant. Why?"

He knew the question was going to come sooner or later. Frankly, he had been dreading it. Mainly because he didn't have an answer himself.

"If I knew, I'd tell you, Doc. Frost just stood up, took off his armor, and told me to police up the men and fall back." Steele's eyes drifted to the wall, remembering. "So strange. His voice was so calm and his eyes...they just went blank for a moment. They became so dark I swear they were nearly black. When he charged out there, it was like the fog was parting around him. We could see everything. Like it was making way for him. I've never seen anything like it."

Steele looked at Frost and smiled a little. Then he chuckled. Jasmine gave him a curious look. "Something you should know about Nathan is that..." Steele rubbed his chin for a moment, still smiling, "uh...is that when you're with him, something amazing isn't too far down the line."

Jasmine smiled.

"I think I know what you mean."

"Some of the things he's been through, _we've_ been through, I mean, they were absolute hell at the time but I look back now and I can't believe how incredible some of those things were. All that I can think of and just be astounded, were with him."

Jasmine looked at him intently.

"You two have been through a great deal."

"Everything. Skopje, losing Wright and Ocampo and Teo, mission after mission, battle after battle, when we were wounded." Steele cleared his throat. "I don't think I can describe how it felt to wake up, after almost dying, and knowing, just knowing, that he was there. He's my brother. My real brother."

"I've heard it mentioned that you have family on Earth."

"Fuck'em," Steele grunted, "this guy's the only family I've got."

"He's very special to you."

Steele nodded. Jasmine seemed to shuffle her feet. "Very special..." Steele shot a mild glare at her.

"You ain't go nothing to worry about, Doc. It's just...he was first person in my life to ever show me kindness. Abused by my brother, treated like I was subhuman by my stepmother, neglected by my father, never met my real mother. She wanted nothing to do with me. Do you know what it's like to grow up for thirteen years of your life with that? I joined up to get away from it. And I met him."

Steele paused for a moment, thinking. He was resting one arm on the bed, the other on his thigh. His eyes were on Frosts. "My parents named Louis-Henry. God knows why. All my life, my family called me Henry. Everybody did. Not once did they use the first part of my name. When I enlisted in the program, he and I met when we choosing bunks in the barracks. We shook hands, and exchanged names..." Steele could hear their voices like it was yesterday.

" _I'm Nathaniel J. Frost, of Halifax."_

" _Name's Louis-Henry Steele. London. Pleasure."_

" _Good to meet you, Louie. Mind if I take the top bunk?"_

Steele looked up at Jasmine, gazing at him with some perplexity. "He called me Louie. The first time in my life I heard somebody say it. He was the first person who actually wanted to know me." Steele sighed. "I'll do anything to make sure he makes it through this. He's the kind of person who deserves to go home."

"Not you?"

"Ain't got much to look forward to, Doctor. He's got a family waiting for him. One he doesn't talk to enough," he sighed. He looked at her. "Doesn't ever write them. Think you can say something to him? Doesn't matter when, just, he ought to talk to'em more."

"Sure." Jasmine inhaled a little. "Well, I'll leave you alone. I'll be back in a couple hours."

Steele nodded and turned his gaze back to Frost. He reached over and put a hand on Frost's forearm, and shook his head.

"Louie, you called me..."

* * *

To his front was an impenetrable darkness. Then a snowy hillside. Blood in the grass. Trees swayed in the wind. Snowflakes landed on his cheeks. Half-stripped girls, their bare skin blued by the cold. Bloating corpses, tied like animals, their faces frozen in agony, eyes bulging. He came to one of the girls, a thin thing in a green combat jacket, long slender legs with blood between them. Kneeling, he took her in his arms, his hand on the back of her black haired head. Hot tears slid down his cheeks. An indiscernible whisper escaped his lips. Then, Frost was once more confronted with darkness. After some time, he heard a low murmur, the methodic beep of something mechanical. It stirred him more than it had before, and the darkness began to break, being replaced with stark white light.

Frost opened his eyes he found himself in one of the medical bays of the _I'm Alone._ He was on a bed; there was an IV in his arm, and he felt groggy and exhausted. Around him, however, were three stands with blue curtains. He could hear the moaning and grunting of wounded men around him.

Trying to sit up hurt him, but he straightened up a little bit. His chest felt incredibly sore, as did his leg. It was then he realized that Jasmine was there. She had pulled up a chair right next to his bed. Her arms were folded on the mattress and she had laid her head down on them; she was asleep. Thick, black hair spilled over her face. Frost smiled a little, watching her that way for some time. In those moments, he felt warm, and the pain ceased. Eventually, he reached over and gently pushed a lock of her hair aside. Jasmine's eyes opened and she quickly sat up.

"Nathaniel, you're awake!" she said happily. Standing up, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him. Frost hugged her back. "I was so worried," she said into his neck. Frost could feel her hot tears rolling from her face onto his neck.

"I'm sorry I scared you," Frost said, his eyes closed, a smile plastered to his face.

"What in the world do you have to be sorry for?" she said, crying, sniffing. Jasmine withdrew a little, looking him over. "Sorry, was I hurting your chest?"

"No," Frost sighed. "How long have I been out? Few hours?"

"You've been in an out for a few days," Jasmine said.

"Shit."

"Don't worry. The Covenant have been eliminated and everyone's back on the _I'm Alone._ "

"How's my squad?"

"As far as I know, they're holding up just fine." Jasmine blushed a little then. "I hope you don't mind, but your beard had gotten a little unruly over the past few days. You haven't had anytime to shave. I mean, you were out fighting..." Jasmine looked away briefly, still smiling. "So... I gave you a little trim."

Frost reached up with his right hand and felt his beard. It was almost down to stubble. Jasmine smiled a bit more. "I also shaved your mustache."

"Huh? Why?" Frost reached up, surprised to touch bare skin; it was the first time he had been without a mustache in some years.

Jasmine pulled her chair up to the head of the bed and sat down, putting one hand on his arm and resting the other in her lap.

"Because, if you want to kiss me again, I don't want to have it scratching my lip and nose."

"How do I look without it?"

"Very good. I think you look better without it."

Frost grunted unhappily. Jasmine snorted. "It's either grow a mustache or kiss me, which would you choose?"

"Well, if you're gonna twist my hand..." Frost chuckled. "So, what's my damage?"

"You had multiple pieces of shrapnel in your chest and stomach. You're extremely lucky, none of them were deep. If they had been...I don't want to think about it. But...you've, um, lost your middle finger."

Frost raised his left hand. His middle finger, save for the stub underneath the knuckle, was gone. For a few moments, he stared at it.

"Fuck," he breathed. "I don't know whether to feel sad or pissed. Can you reattach it?"

"No."

"But it's the 26th Century. Medical science can do anything, can't it?"

"We can't because it wasn't recovered from field. Captain De Vos told me there wasn't much time to look for it."

"Goddamn. I can still feel it. Like it hurts."

"That's called phantom pain. It's just a perception. If you want, we can make a robotic prosthetic finger for you."

Frost shook his head.

"No thanks. I don't fancy having something like that; I'm sure I can still do my job without it. What else happened to me?'

"As for your index finger, we irrigated the wound, performed a microsurgery to make sure your fine motor skills would be retained, and were able to transplant a skin graft. You have a pretty deep gash on your face; we cleaned and stitched it up. You'll have a very nasty scar, though. For the leg wounds, the spike in your thigh was a fairly simple extraction. We performed muscular repair and closed the wound. For the one in your calf, we cut off part of it with a metal-cutting buzzsaw, repaired the muscle, and closed it up. There was no damage to any arteries or organs."

"What's in store for me in terms of recovery?"

"Lots and lots of rest. Your wounds are extensive and there's no special surgery or machinery that can whip you back into shape any faster. You just need to lay here and rest-let your body heal."

"Great. I'm going to lose my mind."

"After what you've been through, you deserve the rest."

"But my squad-"

"They'll be just fine. When you're a bit more rested, I'll let you have a crutch to help with walking around. You need to mind that leg. Until then, you need to focus on resting.

Jasmine pushed her glasses back up her nose. "Nathaniel...I can't stress enough how lucky you are. This could have been so much worse. If those pieces of shrapnel had been deeper, or those spikes a few inches in another direction, you could have bled to death out there."

"I didn't, though," Frost said. This did not seem to lighten her mood.

"Steele told me what happened out there. He said he saw your eyes go blank and you ran out into the middle of exposed ground to cover two retreating soldiers. Your kill count was nearing forty by the time you were wounded, he told me. Katz was recording the whole thing on a video camera. You were fighting so many at the same time, and they were all trying to strike you. Why did you do it? Why stay out there once they were safe?"

"Because I had to."

"No you didn't!" Jasmine said sharply. "I can think of over a dozen different ways you could have done it!"

"Jasmine," Frost said, "because _I_ had to. It had to be me."

"Why?"

"Because..." Frost sighed, looking ahead. "...because I've been thinking about what I've been doing all these years. Since Skopje, I've killed a lot of people. Trust me, look in the right places and rebels come out of the woodwork. Justice and vengeance, I told myself. But now I think, I've just been letting the guilt I felt push me harder, push me to do things to make up for it, because of what happened to those poor soldiers, the women left to die, the men butchered. Sometimes I've stayed awake at night, wondering if I had been faster up that mountain, I could have gotten to them."

"No, Nathaniel..." Jasmine whispered, tenderly touching his cheek, avoiding the bandages covering his wound, "...you can't do that to yourself."

"I was, though. For years. All I did after Skopje...it was to make the guilt go away. You helped me see that. Adley too. Here's this man, I have on his knees, I'm ready to blow his brains out, and he spoke to me like I was a lifelong friend." Frost paused. "I'll always be known as Jack the Ripper. It's my war name. It won't ever go away. But I've finally realized I don't have to _be_ him anymore. It's-"

"It's just a name," Jasmine said with a sweet smile.

"Exactly. It all sank home. I'm not going to wait until people die to do something about it. Revenge won't save lives. Action, _my_ action, will save lives."

"You've saved many lives," Jasmine said quietly, "including mine. What makes you think you have to do more?"

Frost smiled.

"Because, the Covenant are more deserving of my rage than so many scattered cells and militants and bands of outcasts. The rebels-the Skopje rebels-are far away. Part of me still thinks that one day I'll have to go back there. But the UNSC needs me here. My brothers need me. And you...I don't think it's so much that you need me, but that I need you." He reached out and touched her cheek.

Jasmine ran her hand through his hair, gently tangling her fingers in his mop.

"I worry that you are trading one guilt for another."

"No. This is how I serve. This is how I'm meant to be, Jasmine."

Jasmine's eyes were watering. She wiped them and continued smiling. Her mouth twitched, as if she were going to speak. But all she did was lean forward and plant a kiss on his lips.

Frost felt happy then. He was sore, and glad for the medicine in his veins despite how groggy it made him. Somehow, he felt more at peace. Hell, he could have forgotten he was wounded. Weights had been lifted from his shoulders, and he didn't feel so dark on the inside like he had for years, without even knowing. _This is good._

Then Jasmine looked at him seriously once more.

"I have one more question. When everyone was calling you to come back, why didn't you? You could have made it. Why did you keep fighting?"

Frost looked away briefly, biting his lip.

"I was trying to buy them more time to retreat."

Jasmine appeared unconvinced.

"Nathan-"

"Hey Doc, I've come to..." Frost looked up. Steele stood at the end of his bed. His surprised expression changed into happy. "Hey, man!"

"Hey Louie," Frost said. Steele came around the other side of the bed and knelt down. He put a hand behind Frost's head.

"Bruv, you're awake. How are you? You okay?"

"My head's swimming from these meds, but I'm good. You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good. Doing something new with the beard, huh? No stache."

"You've changed up a little too," Frost said. Steele had grown his mustache out so it came down around his lips a bit and he now had grown his soul patch out. "You look like a 1970's private eye. Or a pornstar."

Steele laughed.

"You kinda look like a rabbi or something." They laughed. Steele cleared his throat and his eyes turned a little red. "I'm just glad you're okay, man." Tears began to brim. Frost felt his own tears begin to form. Steele leaned forward and the pair hugged, sniffling.

"It's good to see you, man," Frost said.

"You too, bruv."

Jasmine had left them momentarily and returned then with a stool for Steele. When the pair parted, she was smiling warmly. Steele thanked her and sat down, and she took up her chair again.

"So, tell me all the news," Frost said. "What's happened to Adley?" he asked then. "Was he set free?"

An uneasy look settled into Jasmine's and Steele's faces.

"Yes...but..."

"But?" Frost echoed.

"I think you should wait, try to rest and-"

"Jasmine. What's happened?"

"Vivian told me last night..."

* * *

 _One day earlier..._

Mopping-up operations had come to a conclusion. Long range air and ground patrols assisted by orbital scans revealed no surviving Covenant on the planet. No retaliatory fleets besides the first one had arrived either. All that remained of them was wreckage, corpses, and fields of junk floating in space. Another successful mission for Vivian's Pirates. Saying it like that, Vivian found, made the accomplishment feel more dashing. She couldn't help but smirk a little. Another victory for the men and women under her command. Like after every orbital engagement and siege they had partaken in, she was proud of them all. To see them all cheering on the ground, along with the mechanized troops, the Rangers, the Airborne, and regular Army troops was particularly satisfying. Now they could all settle in and enjoy a brief Christmas and New Year's celebration before they set about rebuilding the Horseshoe, and her soldiers would embark their ships and head off in the reaches of space once more. Humanity needed more triumphs such as this. But she was happy just to have saved the planet and its inhabitants. Hopefully, the Covenant would steer clear in the future. Her gut warned however that they'd be back someday, with a much more powerful fleet and a much larger army. Next time they came, it'd most likely be an evacuation than a battle.

Still, she tried not to let the possibilities of the future weigh her down. Adley was being released with all of the supplies she promised. She had offered him a lift back to his farm in a Falcon or Warthog. He had declined however. Something told her he was proud of the part he had played in the night before. Maybe there was a soldier in the making of a rebel turned farmer turned thief. To her, this man's adventures were almost comical.

Standing with Major Holst, Captain De Vos, and several ODSTs to one side, and Colonel Hayes and some of his officers on her other, she handed Adley the food parcels and medicine at the same spot he and Frost had departed the other day.

"We can send a medical flight to your home, bring them here for treatment."

"No, no. This will do just fine."

"You sure you don't want some kind of transport, Mr. Adley?"

"I'm sure, Captain," he said. He was still rather dirty from his adventures, so he wiped his free hand on the new jacket he had been given, and extended it to her. Vivian took his hand. "I should have come to you to not as a thief, but to tell you of the danger. I was wrong to try and take these from you."

"A man who does anything for his family in no criminal in my book," Vivian assured him. "Next time, though, come to us for care. Stealing only aggravates old soldiers like these," she said, motioning to the officers around her. Adley laughed a little.

"Goodbye, Captain Waters."

"Goodbye, Mr. Adley. Take care of yourself."

"I will. Will you extend the same to Sergeant Frost?"

Vivian nodded. Adley bowed his head briefly, and began walking away, over the short trench bridge, and then to the grasslands beyond.

As she turned away to head back to the airfield, Colonel Hayes stepped by her. He had a pistol in his hand and was pointing at it Adley.

"No!" Vivian cried, turning and shoving the colonel. The pistol fired as the two tumbled off the bridge and into the trench. Vivian immediately stood up and looked over the threshold. Adley had been shot in the shoulder; he was clutching the wound. Blood leaked from between his fingers. He looked back at the line with a mixture of shock and horror. "Run Adley, run!" she yelled at him. He did so, moving as fast he could, disappearing into the grass.

Vivian turned to Hayes, who stood up. Casually, he brushed flecks of dirt from his armor, then picked up his sidearm and slid it back into his holster. Vivian stormed over to him and punched him squarely across the face, before snatching the collar of his armor and pulling his face down to her level. "What do you think you're doing!? We made a deal with that man!"

He was about to speak when she heard a series of metallic _clicks._ She looked up. Hayes' men had drawn their sidearms.

"Let go of the Colonel, Captain Waters," one of them ordered menacingly.

"Put your weapons down now if you don't want to a bullet in your skull," came Holst's voice. He and his ODSTs flicked the safeties off their weapons and raised them slightly. Some of the marines turned to face them in response. De Vos was the only one who hadn't drawn her weapon.

"Everyone stand down! We're all on the same side here!" she commanded. Vivian slowly looked back at Hayes. With one of his big hands, he plucked her hands off his collar.

"I didn't make a deal with him. You did, Captain."

"What makes you think you have the right to shoot a man who aided the UNSC?"

"Because he was a thief and a rebel. And _you_ just rewarded him. All rebels must die, Waters."

"I should have you arrested for this!"

"Just try it," Hayes said with a sinister grin. "Let's see what kind of argument you pose when you take the side of a criminal who just happened to also be an Insurrectionist. We're not supposed to make deals with criminals and traitors!"

Hayes looked up at his men. "Ease up, boys. Captain Waters is right after all. We are all on the same side." His officers obeyed, and the ODSTs put their barrels down as well. Climbing out of the trench, Hayes extended his hand to Waters. She swatted it away and clambered out herself.

"Make no mistake, Colonel Hayes, I'm aware of what you've done in the past. What the 89th has done."

Rashly, she pulled out one of the photographs and held it up to his face. "I know what you really are. If times were different, you'd be in the brig, shackled, and be on your way back to Reach for trial."

"How did you get those? I left a man in charge just to look after that collection..." Hayes said. Vivian didn't answer. Stuffing them back in her pocket, she pushed by him and his officers.

"Collect your men and get ready to head back to the _I'm Alone._ We'll have words on this later."

* * *

"Jesus..." Frost whispered.

Jasmine shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

"I haven't had much interaction with the Colonel. But he always struck me as such a jovial fellow. Such an act seems so out of character for him."

"Not really, Jas. I have seen him when he's truly in a fury." Frost shook his head. "Whatever skills I have, Hayes has them in double. Don't let that smile and booming laugh fool you. He's a real warrior; a killer."

"He seemed so confident that he could get away it."

"Hayes has been in more than a few hunter-killer units that have been deployed throughout the war against Insurrectionist installations and cells. It was only eight years back when he came up with the Youth Programs."

"Hunter-killer units? Clandestine in nature, I'm guessing."

"We call them bush men. Specially trained light infantry units, going deep into Insurrectionist space to conduct guerilla warfare, smash and grab ops, intel acquisition, targeted killings, and manhunts for hostile agents in UNSC space. Many of the captains and majors and most of his support staff within the 89th served with him, as bush men."

"I thought all the members of the 89th were recruited as kids."

"Most of us are. Some have ascended the ladder. But the majority of the senior officers are bush men. You can tell; they're the ones older than us." Frost sighed. "Hayes will catch a lot of flak from Waters for that, but she won't be able to do much. He's got too much pull, too much _gravitas_."

"I know. But I can't believe how his officers were so quick to draw on Vivian."

"I'm not surprised. Those were bush men; they're loyal to him, and only him."

"They'd die for him, then?"

"They'd _kill_ for him."

"You don't sound too fond of them."

"I hold no ill-will. But I know them well. They're quite dangerous."

"As dangerous as you?" Jasmine asked with a slight smile. Frost chuckled.

"Almost."

Frost turned his attention to Steele. "What about the squad? What's the skinny?"

Steele sighed heavily.

"They're a bit distraught. After what happened with Bishop they're still pretty shaken. Maddox is still royally pissed at me and Carris. And with you wounded, they're all a bit in a tizzy, out of focus But they'll be okay, they'll get over it. Bishop's the one I'm worried about."

"Why's that?"

"He's been acting strange. We've all gotten shore leave and he's been going out around late afternoon and doesn't come back until almost midnight. I think he's been hitting the city's bars. He reeks of whiskey. When he's here, he either doesn't say a damned thing or lashes out at the first person who looks at him the wrong way. And yesterday, he was already drunk, and did something very strange."

* * *

 _The day before..._

Steele and Carris had finished their meals early and had left the rest of the squad at the mess hall while they finished up. He had wanted to go check on Frost, as his shift was coming up soon, but Carris had asked if they could check on Bishop first. It would only take a moment, he thought, so they might as well.

The pair came up to the door of their barracks. For some reason, Steele stopped right in front of it. Something felt off.

"What is it?" Carris asked.

"I dunno. I think we should knock."

"Why? This is our barracks."

"I know, but I just think we should."

"If you say so."

Steele rapped his knuckles on the door a few times.

"Bishop? You in there?"

"What...of course he's in there," Carris said, "we've only been gone for fifteen minutes."

"Shush, girl," Steele hissed. "Bishop?"

There was no response. Steele looked up at Carris and she shrugged. He opened the door; it slid away and he was confronted with an impenetrable blackness. The lights were all off and the light from the hall only illuminated a bit of the room.

Steele and Carris stepped in slowly, side by side. Looking around, they heard and saw nothing. Both of them jumped a little when the door slid shut behind them. " _Fuck,_ " Steele swore quietly. Carris turned around and opened it back up, and pressed a button on the door control pad that would keep it open. Back in the light again, they peered towards the left side of the room where Bishop's bed was. "Why didn't you just turn the lights on?"

"I can't find the switch..."

"Ah Christ...Bishop?"

"Frank?" Carris piped up.

They heard a metallic _click._ Steele's hand instinctively went to his holster. Carris reached over and caught his wrist. He wasn't sure if it was to stop him or because she had gotten a little scared. His gut told him it was the former, but he was wrong all the same. She had spotted, as he did then, the small flicker of orange flame from a lighter in the darkness. Briefly, it illuminated Bishop's bearded face. _Click._ His face disappeared again. Instead, only the small orange circle of a burning cigarette was visible in his darkened section of the room.

"Frank?" Steele asked slowly. "You okay?"

"They'll see me..."

"What did you say?"  
"If the lights are on, they'll see me."

"What the fuck are you on about, mate?" Steele asked. He listened to Bishop get up from his bed and approach. All of a sudden the cigarette flicked out and hit him in the chest. "Ow!" Steele said, brushing away the sparks. "What the fuck man?"

Bishop said nothing, brushing past them both. Steele grabbed him by the arm but Bishop roughly pulled it away.

"Fuck off!" he snarled. His breath reeked of whiskey. Bishop went to the door, turned on the lights to the room, and left.

"That was odd," Carris said.

"Odd? _Odd?_ That was a tad bit more than odd, love!" Steele said, exasperated.

* * *

As Frost let the story sink in, Jasmine spoke up.

"I think Bishop should see me for counseling," Jasmine said. Steele folded his arms across his chest.

"I think so too. He won't even talk to Nora. Whatever happened in the blockhouse, it's hitting him pretty hard. Drowning it in booze won't help the situation either. And that's coming from me so you know this is pretty serious."

"Mm," Frost grunted. "Alright, leave him be in the meantime. Right now, I think he needs a little space. Once I'm up on my feet again, I'll ask him to see Jasmine."

"Are you sure it's wise to wait? I wouldn't recommend getting back on your feet for at least another two or three days," Jasmine informed him.

"What's a couple of days gonna do?" Steele asked before Frost could say anything.

"Even one day leaves a number of possibilities. Heavy drinking is an early sign of self-destructive behavior. We should see to his emotional and mental stability immediately."

"I know Frankie," Frost said, "he's a cantankerous fellow. Not like Maddox, but catch him in the wrong mood and he'll knock you on your ass. Give him some time, and he'll be more open to the idea."

Frost yawned a little. "Man, I'm already tired."

"You should get some rest," Jasmine said sweetly, "Corporal, if you wouldn't mind staying with him in the meantime? I have to see to my staff."

"Of course, Doc, of course."

"Thank you."

"Jasmine, before you go, think you can move this sheet? I don't like being boxed in like this."

"Sure," Jasmine said. She summoned an orderly, who wheeled the curtain away. Before she left, she planted a kiss on his cheek, and left. Steele watched her go and smiled at Frost.

"What?" Frost asked.

"Oh, nothing at all," Steele said, looking up at the ceiling.

Frost knew what he was thinking and looked away, embarrassed. Around him were hundreds of wounded men, some out of surgery, some being carted for an operation. Many were covered with blood bandages around arms, legs, necks, faces. Some had missing limbs. Others had robot prosthetics attached and were staring aimlessly at their new mechanical appendages. The low moaning seemed to grow louder, accompanied by shrieks of pain. Directly across from him was a man with a mangled leg, who stared out the window directly beside their beds. Frost took a breath. He had seen worse battlegrounds.

* * *

Vivian stormed down the hallway to the offices for the 89th MEU. _I'm Alone_ and the rest of the battlegroup were holding tight over the colony, restocking supplies and helping with the transfers and care of the wounded. Most of the troops recovering in the medical bay were from the multiple Army divisions below. Once their casualty state was better maintained, than they could depart once more. Despite all of Jasmine's controlling the influx of wounded over the course of the prolonged battle, there were still many who couldn't be moved from their ships yet. Civil hospitals were filled to capacity, as were the fields hospitals in the Horseshoe. She wasn't going to steam away from a friendly force that needed aid. Furthermore, it provided ample time to repair damage to ships from the last engagement as well as stock up on necessary supplies, as usual. It occurred to her than that Travers' grand plan for having her miniature fleet remain in Covenant territory were far fetched indeed. Battles with the Covenant, whether they were brief or extended, put a massive drain on ammunition, food, medical stores, water, spare parts, fuel, body armor, vehicles, and much more. Trying to moderate usage of said materials was a fool's gambit. No logical soldier would wait to use his biggest guns on the enemy, unless bound by ridiculous bureaucratic rules of engagement to save agricultural land. Vivian was still sore about such outrageous legislation. To go out into space under-supplied would be a major mistake on her part as the task force commander. No combat leader would embark on a mission without the proper equipment and materials unless absolutely pressed. Only in an extreme case would Vivian do so, such as in the case of a falling colony or another fleet in distress. Until then, she would stay to help her Army cousins, utilizing the time to give her own personnel shore leave to rest after a hard fight.

She had a bone to pick with Hayes. If spirits hadn't been so high yesterday after the defeat of the Covenant, she would have confronted him sooner. Morale needed to stay high so she gave him some time before they had their conversation. Word got around the ship fast; it was only a miracle the entire crew hadn't found out about her and Frost's shared past.

That made her think of Jasmine. For as long as she had known her, she had admired the young doctor. Seeing her diligence over him in the medical bay was different. Qualms about a relationship affecting her work had been dissipated. Throughout the time after his operation to today, she had been both watching him unendingly while still running her infirmary. Reports didn't arrive on time; they arrived early. Medical teams were rotated without a hitch, operations were being completed at a record rate, and transfers from ground to orbit, orbit to ground, were going smoothly. All of it, conducted and overseen by Jasmine, from Frost's bedside. Vivian was proud of her. Very proud. A good friend would visit her, so she decided that after her visit with Hayes, she'd check up on her.

When she entered the same offices she had some days ago, she saw the same rows of desks bolted in the decks. This time, she had expected to see them all manned with staff and senior officers busily crafting after action reports and other paperwork she knew she'd have to complete as well. Instead, they were empty. At the other end of the room, at the filing cabinets, was a crowd of young officers, huddled around something. They were swearing, shouting, hurling insults.

"You little shit, you gave her the photos!"

"Who's side are you on, you runt!?"

"What kind of dipshit lets some swabbie go rooting around in _our_ history!? Huh?"

"What's going on here!?" Vivian shouted. All of the officers turned around to face her. Vivian's eyes widened. Two men were holding Lompar, the Montenegrin officer who had shown her the book of photos, against the cabinets. His nose was bloodied, he had a gash in his brow, his bottom lip was swelling, blood dripped from his mouth. Bruises coated his face. Her eyes saw the blood on the hands of the other Marines, the result of so many blows.

"Unhand him!" she ordered, putting a hand on her holster. Her heart jumped; she expected them to go for theirs. Instead, they exchanged a few glances before throwing Lombar to the deck. "I'm going to have you all arrested."

"No, you won't."

Vivian turned around. Colonel Hayes stood behind her. His expression was stern. "You're all dismissed."

All of his officers slowly filed out of the room. Vivian stepped aside, glaring at each one as they marched passed. Some were smiling. _The bastards._ Hayes looked at Lompar, who had just pushed himself onto his knees, with grim indifference. "That means you too, Lompar. Head to the infirmary and see those cuts tended to."

"You stay right there, Lompar," Vivian ordered. She turned to the tall officer and pointed at him. "What kind of officer are you, letting one of your own men get mercilessly beaten on by your staff? You won't levy any punishment? Not even chew them out? What's wrong with you?"

"Did I say I wasn't going to take action against this behavior?" Hayes asked defensively. "No. I will proceed with the necessary measures to make sure that this will never happen again."

"Oh, bullshit, Hayes!" Vivian said, throwing her hand into the air, walking a bit further into the room. "You won't even lift a finger to help this man."

"Soldiers fight with one another all the time, Captain Waters. It's normal. Sometimes it gets rough and-"

"Shove it up your ass, Colonel!" Vivian shouted. "This was no play fighting! This was an assault on an officer! Those men should be arrested and court martialed."

"That will not be happening, Captain. I need every single one of my officers. It was just a little brawl to get some excess energy out and it got out of hand, isn't that right Lompar?"

Vivian whirled around and set her gaze on Lompar. The young officer met her eyes with his own, before shamefully looking at the floor.

"Yes, sir."

Vivian's jaw dropped with shock.

"Lompar..."

"See? No worries, Captain. I'll make sure my men are disciplined for getting too rough. Until then, I'm sure you have something else to discuss with me."

Vivian glared at him.

"Yesterday you tried to shoot an innocent man-"

"Let me stop you right there, Captain. That _man,_ was not innocent. He attempted to steal UNSC military supplies even though he could have been patient and joined the other civilians asking for food and medicine. The last time I looked at the rulebook, we don't make deals with criminals. And that's exactly what you did."

"Colonel, he had pertinent information on Covenant whereabouts. Without that information, our air support could have suffered and we would have lost the initiative. Adley went out there, unarmed, and showed Frost the way to the stronghold, and came back instead of fleeing back to his home. For that, he deserved the supplies and for his name to be cleared."

"No. He doesn't. The only reason I didn't speak up more than I did was because I didn't want to question your authority in front of that pissant Holst. Sending one Marine and a criminal out on an operation a platoon should have been sent on was a gross mistake on your part."

"Oh really? When the mission was a success?"

"One of my best soldiers almost died."

"He volunteered."

"At your behest."

"He's alive now."

"He _belongs_ to me!" Hayes bellowed. "I am his commander, his father! He's my boy; they're all my boys! I have to protect to him, and ensure that his life, if I must spend it, is spent for something worthwhile, not some counterattack that could have happened and we could have crushed."

"I guess Lompar isn't one of your boys though, huh? You're so concerned about your little prodigy that you can't be asked to help one of your clerks."

Hayes poked her hard in the shoulder.

"Captain, I've been at war before you were even born. I know this game better than you. A platoon could have slipped in undetected. And we wouldn't have needed him to guide the way. They could have just headed west and found it! You're too gullible and too eager to put Frost in harm's way."

"Gullible, am I? Trying to avoid the fog of war so I don't send our people into the hornet's nest? I'm _gullible_ for that!?"

"You honestly believe he doesn't know maps or can describe a path? He made himself essential so that we wouldn't throw him in a cell and he'd get the supplies he needed. You played right into his hands."

"I looked him right in the eye when I shook his hand! He regretted not coming to us sooner! Can you really fault a man for putting his family first!?"

"Yes I can!"

"Says a man who calls his men his sons!"

"Captain Waters, you're an excellent naval officer but you have to leave ground operations to myself and the Major. I will not allow you to use my men in such a way again."

"Don't try to distract from the point; we're discussing the fact you shot an unarmed civilian. You were going to kill him!"  
"You're damned right I was! You were letting a rebel thief walk away from us! That man should have been detained and forced to give up the name of his past associates, so we could crush the cell on that planet."

"That man was probably ready to come back into the fold! Now you've just made him an enemy of the UNSC! You don't win hearts and minds by trying to kill someone!"

"We're not here to win hearts and minds Captain Waters! We're here to keep people from being obliterated by genocidal monsters! Anybody who isn't with us is against us!"

"You'd have me believe that some farmer who tried to take some medicine for his family is as grievous a threat as the Covenant!?"

"All threats to our operations should be treated with the same principle: extreme prejudice."

"Not in my task force. Not while I am in supreme command. You and I may be of equal rank, Hayes, but I am the master of this vessel and this battle group. The lives of all the seamen, Marines, air force personnel, and more, are under my protection and must follow my orders. Including you. My ship, my rules."

Hayes grinned at her.

"Your rules don't mean jack shit when you have experience. And connection. Besides, what argument do you have? Yes, I shot a civilian. But that civilian was once a rebel and attempted to steal from us. What judge will take your side? You haven't a hope of getting me or my men court martialed. So you'd best drop it."

Vivian felt her hands squeeze into fists. Hayes folded his arms triumphantly across his chest. "Now that we've cleared that up, I have to go deal with my men."

Hayes left then. Vivian seethed, letting out a short, angry cry. With one great effort, she heaved the contents off of a nearby desk. Breathing heavily, she slowly looked over at Lompar, sitting on the floor, head hung low.

"I hope that wasn't your desk," she said after a moment.

He shook his head. Regaining her composure, Vivian walked over and knelt beside him. "Are you okay? Here."

She took a handkerchief from her pocketing and wiped away some of the blood on his face. He winced a little.

"Thank you, Captain," he said meekly.

"You should file a complaint, speak out, do something to let me help you. If it comes from me, nobody listens. But if you do, if you tell the truth, we can get those officers off of this ship."

Lompar shook his head. His sandy blonde hair was swept back and his brown eyes were brimming with tears.

"It's easier just to stay quiet about these things."

"Has this happened before?"

"Not to this extreme. Lots of officers and troopers in the 89th insult me. Call me a coward."

"Why?"

"When we were first deployed, I refused to take part in operations against the Skopje rebels. I said that we had been chosen to fight Covenant, not rebels. They thought I was afraid. And I was-afraid of fracturing my morals. I was brought up not to harm anyone, no matter what. Because of my refusal, Hayes took me off combat duty and has me working the brunt of our administrative duties here. Ever since then, the officers treat me like a second class citizen. Even the NCOs make fun of me and call me names."

"I thought you were all so close," Vivian said, helping him stand up. She brought him over to his desk and sat him down. Vivian gave him the handkerchief and he gingerly touched it to one of the more serious cuts.

"I was never close with anyone. I always felt like an outsider. I never even wanted to join the military."

Vivian blinked. She was confused.

"I thought the Youth Programs gave you an option not to join?"

Lompar's eyes grew dark and angry.

"Yeah, in bold letters. I was fifteen then and smart enough to read the fine print with my parents. It was basically conscription under the guise of optional enlistment. If you didn't join, your family would have to pay more taxes and anything that could fall under 'excess assets,' like a house you could use to rent would be stripped from your possession and be 'used for the war effort,' as compensation. Make no mistake, it was a draft. You had to just so your family wouldn't fall into financial ruin."

"Hayes told me-"

"Fuck Hayes. Whatever he told you, he's lying through his teeth. He acts like this is some grand accomplishment, training kids into elite soldiers to fight in the war before they've even learned how to shave. This is child soldiering, Captain. Using children as soldiers is _illegal._ But because it's labeled as a special enlistment program, they get away with it."

"He told me some refused."

"Yeah-those that could afford it. All the rest accepted because they were too dumb to read the whole thing or because their family would be living on scraps for the rest of the war. Another dirty UNSC trick. Some of those bastards forced to join like me have probably forgotten why. They're a bunch of junkies now, doping on the combat high."

"Jesus..." Vivian whispered. "...and you haven't told anybody?"

"What's the point? It's all sanctioned by the very top. Nobody would care. Wartime, they say; exceptions have to be made because of the war. Captain Waters, the UNSC can get away with murder and all they have to do is use the war as an excuse." Lompar threw down the handkerchief. "Besides, if I tried to take it to somebody, they'd know. And they'd probably kill me and piss on my shallow grave just for good measure."

Vivian grunted.

"I've gotten stonewalled plenty of times these past months. I can sympathize." She looked at Lompar, sunken into his chair. She took a heavy breath. "I'm sorry you've had to go through this. I feel responsible for that attack, seeing as how I took the photos behind your back."

"I knew you would. I don't care," he mumbled. "I'm just glad somebody saw them."

Vivian took them out of her other pocket and handed them back to him. "I was going to keep these, use them as leverage, but...I don't want anymore harm to come to you. Put these back where they belong. Hopefully that'll pacify them."

"Are you sure? You don't really know me, Captain."

"I couldn't live with myself if I knew I was putting someone in harm's way like this. It's better that you have them. Do whatever you want with them. Put them back in the album, burn them, hide them," she paused, then joked, "hell, show'em to somebody if you want.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said, gazing at them for some time. "Frost. He's been kinder to me than most. But I've seen these photos for years. I know what he's capable of. All of what he did, he said it was for revenge. For justice. I never believed him. That man's got a bloodlust. He enjoys the killing."

Vivian sighed. She thought it would be so rewarding to finally hear somebody else say what she had thought for some time. Instead, it just made her sad. At this point, there was no use that she could see. Child soldiers made up her Marine contingent, the reputation of their leaders and heroes along with the UNSC government's willingness to overlook so many problems made her goals untenable. As well, she had made a truce, and she wasn't going to be the one to break it.

She stood up.

"I agree with you."

Lompar smiled a little.

"It's nice to meet someone who actually does, ma'am."

"Make sure you go to the medical bay and have a doctor see to those. If you have any more trouble, you let me know. I can transfer you to another office."

"Thank you, Captain."

With guilt heavy on her shoulders, Vivian went to leave, but she stopped.

"Lompar, if you read between the lines, certainly some of the other men of the 89th have to. Nobody else shares your reservations?"

Lompar smiled softly.

"What kid wouldn't want to go?" he asked. "Get away from your family, your rotten school. Get to travel around the galaxy, shooting big guns, earning glory. What an adventure it is..." Lompar looked at the wall for a moment. "They're addicted to it. I'm telling you Captain, they love all this. Hayes, this unit, they've got the love of the brass, the reputation, and the willingness to kill. They can get away with anything. Law means nothing to them."

Vivian smiled bitterly.

" _Silent enim leges inter arma_."

Lompar chuckled.

"Laws are silent in times of war, indeed."

* * *

The next day, Steele and Jasmine had left to grab a quick lunch and pick up some real food for Frost. He was more awake than yesterday, and was pining for something other than bread and crackers. Jasmine had wanted him to keep it light but Steele had been able to convince her to give him a few pieces of chicken, as well as some macaroni and cheese without breading: Frost didn't like his mac with breading, Steele had explained.

On their way there, Colonel Hayes had stopped them momentarily. He seemed to be in a huff but gave Steele an NCO's cap wore when they were on the battle line to give to Frost. It was sort of a box hat with a flat brim. On the front, the hates usually bore an insignia; some had the emblem of the UNSC. Depending on the rank, it was either printed in black or gold. Some didn't have any emblem at all. In the case of Frost's soft cover, it was olive drab and lacked an insignia. Frost would have preferred his cap without one anyways. It was just a hat, but Steele couldn't help but feel a little excited to hand it over.

The pair entered the medical bay. It was filling with agonized men. Steele bristled at the sight. No matter how many battles he fought in, seeing so many soldiers afterwards writhing from the pain always sickened him. They walked down the aisle, doing their best to stay out of the way of nurses, doctors, and orderlies. When the got closer to Frost's bed at the very end, they stopped. A man was sitting in a chair beside Frost's bed. He had graying black hair and a somewhat scraggly beard. He was wearing fatigues but Steele knew who it was. It was Krupin, the Russian Orthodox priest. The UNSCMC didn't maintain religious personnel, but like in many other capacities, the Navy provided what they didn't have. Most warships had a large group of various military chaplains and other religious agents. This was due to the multi-religious personnel on naval ships and ground units. Steele wasn't too acquainted with them, aside from Krupin. From what he had learned, Krupin was an old friend of Hayes that had been with him since his days in the bush, despite being a noncombatant. At least three hundred of the men in the 89th were Russians, and as such, Hayes and his Russians attended Krupin's services regularly. Like Steele and most of the squad, Frost didn't belong to any particular religion. But since arriving on the _I'm Alone_ , Frost had always had a cordial friendship with Krupin; Frost seemed interested in the Russian Orthodoxy in an almost academic way. They didn't talk often but when they did, their conversations, filled with debate and discussion, could go on for hours.

"Who is that?"

"Krupin," Steele said, and explained who he was. "They like to chat from time to time."

"Frost isn't religious from what I gather."

"Yep. But he likes to talk to the man regardless. Come on, Doc."

Steele and Jasmine approached. As they did, he could hear their conversation.

"Nevsky's victory at the Battle of the Ice was not the only event that solidified him as a leader and a saint," Krupin said in his heavily accented voice. "He was able to strengthen Kievan Rus and put it on the course of independence, by deflecting the west and appeasing the Golden Horde. He was not the first nor the last to practice such policy, but was by far deft in the practice."

"Nevsky's just a good soldier to me. Think about it; he led peasant foot soldiers against armored knights on horseback and won. No small accomplishment there, in my book."

"There is much debate even today on the battle. Some say it was insignificant, some say it wasn't. Others criticize the accuracy of army numbers and casualties. And if you believe ancient Communist propaganda, they'd have you believe the ice broke up and the Teutonic Knights went sliding into the water."

"Numbers and significance doesn't really matter to me. An army of common men against an elite order of knights, coming out on top, that'll always dazzle me."

Steele walked up then. Krupin looked over and chuckled.

"It looks as though one of your _druzhina_ has arrived. I'll take my leave of you, son."

"Thanks for checking up on me," Frost said. Krupin nodded and departed. Steele took his seat. Jasmine was curt but tender in her greeting with Frost. It was quite obvious she wanted to stay but her duties came first. Frost was understanding in the matter. Steele handed over the tray of food and Frost began eating. Despite missing his middle finger, he managed both the plastic knife and fork well enough. Steele had to help him a few times, though.

"Chatting history with the padre again?"

"Just making conversation. Get enough to eat?"

"Yep. How you doing?"

"Meds are keeping the pain at bay, so I'm alright. Wish I could get up and stretch my legs, but Jas says I'm not ready."

Steele nodded, breathing in slightly.

"Yeah, you gotta heal up, bruvva." Steele handed him the hat. "From Colonel Hayes. Says he wants you to start wearing the cap and look like a real NCO."

Frost chuckled as he turned around in his hands a few times.

"Thanks." He sighed. "I wish I was back with the squad. I'm worrying more about Bishop. Maddox's behavior towards you and Carris won't do well for morale either. I need to get back over there."

"Yeah, but I think your lady wouldn't appreciate that too much," Steele said, smiling. Frost looked almost shy then.

"Yeah, you're right."

Steele smirked and let the silence sink in for a few moments, tapping his knee with his good hand.

"So..." he said.

"So?" Frost replied slowly.

"You and the Doc. What a shock," Steele said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Frost turned a little red.

"What about it?"

"You gonna hit that?"

"Ah, fuck you," Frost said, tossing the hat at him. Steele laughed and gave it back.

"Sorry, sorry, couldn't resist. I promise I won't make jokes about you and your lady. I'm happy for you man, I am...maybe you can finally lose your virginity."

"Fuckin' asshole," Frost laughed. They both chortled for some time, talking endlessly to one another until evening arrived, when Carris came storming up to them.

* * *

Carris marched up to a surprised looking Frost and Steele. Steele had been gone all day and she had finally gotten sick of the sight in their room. Nobody was talking to each other, the air was tense, everyone was moping or keen to snap at one another. It was becoming unbearable. It was the first time she had seen him since late morning, and it was now getting close to six o'clock.

She came up to him.

"Can I talk to you?" she asked. Men were still groaning in the medical bay but it wasn't too overbearing-not loud enough to disturb someone from their slumber.

Steele nodded and looked up at her. Carris waited.

"What is it?" Steele asked.

"In private."

"Nobody's paying attention, love. Just say what you gotta say. I don't wanna leave his side."

"Listen, you have to come back to the barracks. Bishop's back early and he's passed out drunk on his bed. Maddox won't stop glaring at me, Grant is moping, and the others are just wound up like springs. They need to be occupied, Steele. They need some direction at a time like this."

"Well, in case you haven't noticed, the squad leader is laid out on this bed right here," Steele hissed, swooping his arm in Frost's direction.

"Yes, but you're the ranking corporal. They need you right now; they need somebody to give them orders, give them direction, something to distract themselves or it's just going to get worse."

"You're a petty officer! You do something about it. If we're comparing ranks, you outrank me. You do it. They're your friends, they'll listen."

"No they won't. It'll mean something if it comes from you."

"Love, listen to me. That's not how we work. Putting you two ladies aside, we've all known each for eight years. We've slept together, fought together, ate together. We've done almost everything together. I even tried to share a woman with-" Steele coughed. "We're not typical soldiers who need a drill sergeant to kick us in the ass and bark inspiring speeches at us and made us polish each bullet in our fucking cartridge. I'm not going to make them do that shit, and neither would Frost. Hell, that was Teo's thing!"

"This is my point, Lou," she said. "You're all friends. Frost's wounded, Maddox is injured, and Bishop's still in shock from his ordeal. It's hitting everyone hard. You may not be able to see it, but I can. Sitting in that room is going to be miserable for everybody and won't make the waiting period any better. They need to be bossed around and occupied!"

"Hey, we've lost people before, alright? We've had worse."

"Yes, but Frost wasn't squad leader at the time, am I right?" Carris said.

"Right, so what?"

"Teo was your first squad leader. He was squad leader from the very beginning, correct?"

"Yeah."

"You've all told me that you're friends, but Teo was always the authoritarian figure in your squad. I've been told he was a rigid man, reserved, hard. Frost isn't like that. He was always on your level before becoming squad leader, and he's maintained a balance between being one of the guys and being the leader quite well. Tell me, was there ever a time when Teo was wounded like Frost is?"

"Yes..."

"How did the squad take it?"

"Not like this, I suppose."

"Right!" Carris said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "They're taking this harder because it's Frost, one of your own. No matter what you think of Teo, there was always a divide between him and the rest of you. I don't need to know him to understand that. You need to get in there and do something."

"Carris, love, the whole squad leader thing is a little beyond me. Frost practically shanghaied me into a promotion to corporal. I didn't want it. I'd be content to be a buck private my whole life."

"It doesn't matter what you want. The state of the squad is more important than whatever you want. So you need to march yourself back down to the barracks, take command, and figure out something to get their minds off these past few days."

Steele stared back at her with his blue eyes, hard and aggravated. After a few moments he looked at Frost, then at the floor.

"I can't leave him, love."

"He's in good hands. Doctor Ebrahimi will look after him."

"I don't give a damn, alright? I should be here for him. He's always had my back and I've always had his back. That's the way it is. I don't want to leave him alone in this fucking miserable place."

"What's more important to you, him, or the squad?"

"What's with the fucking questions, Carris?" Steele said angrily, trying to keep his voice down. "I don't need a lecture right now. I've known those guys for eight years. They can handle themselves. Frost can't right now. So I'm going to stay right fucking here, in this fucking chair, and the rest of the squad can fuck off for all I care."

"You're ignoring your responsibilities as his second in command."

"Oh am I? Why don't you go down there and-"

"Louie."

Carris and Steele both looked at Frost, who had been staring at them the whole time. Steele glanced at Carris and sighed.

"Sorry, bruv. You alright?"

"She's right."

"Aw, fuckin' hell..."

"Louie, I made you corporal because I need you to run things if I can't. If I fall in battle, if I'm not here, you have to take charge. That already happened, when I went on the op."

"Yeah but, I didn't really have to do anything, you know?"

"That's beside the point. I know you can lead the squad for a couple of days. That's why I chose you in the first place. And once I'm back on my feet, things won't be the same. When we form the new Raiders unit, I'm going to be in charge of fifteen, maybe even twenty marines. I can't just focus on the squad. I'm going to ask Hayes to give you another battlefield promotion; this time to sergeant."

"No way, no fucking way, man," Steele said, stepping closer and pointing at him. "You cannot just dump that responsibility on me."

"Steele, I was supposed to become the platoon sergeant when Hayes bumped me up to staff sergeant. You didn't know but I had to plead with him so that I could remain with you guys and not have to be with Conroy all the time. Now that I'm a gunnery sergeant, I'd have more than just advisement and combat duties. It's only because of the raiders unit that I can stay with you. Hayes has always wanted me to be in a large command capacity in this is our way of compromising. When we're raiding, I'm going to be in total command and I need to be aware of _everyone._ Having you as my sergeant, commanding our squad, means I don't have to worry as much. When we're not raiding, it'll be just like before. And you can still use your sniper rifle," he said with a smirk.

"Ha ha, very funny," Steele grumbled. "I don't want to leave you here by yourself."

"I've got plenty of people to look after me. Go on, I'll be alright. Oh, before I forget. Can you bring Moser and Langley tomorrow? I'd like to speak with them."

"Sure thing."

"Thanks, brother."

Reluctantly, Steele left with Carris. Nothing was said between the two. He glanced up at her. She wasn't smug or happy with herself. To her, this was a necessity. Steele had seen the squad dynamic shift over the past few days, and he was concerned, but not as much as her.

"Sergeant," he muttered. "I never even wanted to be corporal."

"Sergeant Steele," Carris said. She finally smirked. "It has a nice ring to it."

"Let's just keep it Steele. I don't think I could get used to the rank."

They reached their quarters and entered. Moser and Grant were sitting side by side on the former's bed; the latter was sitting with his knees drawn to his chest. Knight was on his bed with a book in his hands, but his empty eyes proved he wasn't reading. Langley was sitting beside Maddox on Bishop's bed. They had put him on his side in case he needed to vomit. Evidently, he already had; a trash bin was beside the bed and there were stains on his shirt.

Steele cleared his throat.

"Alright then," he said, being a bit loud. "Langley, help Maddox take Bishop into the bathroom. Take off his clothes and put him in the shower; cold water. Knight, run to the mess hall and get a couple bottles of water. A cup of coffee too. He needs to be hydrated. Grant, take his clothes and get them cleaned. Moser, take rubbish bin and empty it out. Give it a good rinse. On your way back, get some fresh fatigues for him. You know his size. Carris, go with Knight and get some stomach friendly food; something light and will sit well in his gut. I'll get his sheets clean and his bed made. Let's do it."

The squad took to their feet and began carrying out his orders. Steele watched them get to work. "Once he's settled, we'll each take a turn watching over him. The rest of us are going to get some exercise."

* * *

" _Sleeplessly embracing,_

 _Butterflies and needles,_

 _Line my seamed-up join,_

 _Encased in case I need it,_

 _In my stomach, for my heart,_

 _Chainmail..._

 _Hunger of the pine..._

 _Hunger of the pine..._

 _Sleeplessly embracing,_

 _Yawn yearns into me,_

 _Plenty more tears in the sea,_

 _And so you finally use it,_

 _Bedding with me you see at night,_

 _Your heart wears knight armor..."_

-Hunger of the Pine by alt-J

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Boom there's another one. Hope you enjoyed. No comment responses, as you know. I'll delay a later chapter for responses. But thanks for stopping in, as usual, I am grateful for your continued viewership. By the way, doesn't the composition of the lyrics just above look like a table lamp, or is it just me?**


	37. Chapter 37: Operation, GFTFOH

Chapter 37: Operation, GFTFOH

* * *

It was late. For once, Frost wasn't that tired. Although, he was still rather groggy from the morphine they were administering. Nurses kept assuring him in another day or two they could switch him non-narcotic pain medicine. Jasmine had stopped by a little while after Steele had departed to give him a few magazines to read. While he didn't read magazines that often-he found _STARS'_ overt patriotism tended to lean too close to propaganda-he didn't mind taking a gander from time to time. Especially when he was laid up in a hospital bed-anything to alleviate the lonesomeness and boredom would do. Steele had been his constant companion throughout the day, as well as Jasmine. It was the first time since he had really woken up that he had been alone. Unfortunately, Jasmine's duties had grown. Planetside hospitals were becoming understaffed and as such they couldn't handle the amount of wounded they had, even several days after the battle. Being the dedicated officer and doctor she was, she had them transferred to the _I'm Alone._ In the few moments he had with her when she had given him the reading material, she had said the problem was that too many soldiers needed surgeries of varying kinds and there weren't enough surgeons with enough rest to carry them out. _I'm Alone_ had plenty, so she had been in the operating room almost all day.

Frost admired her for that. Of all the medical professionals he had met, none compared to her. The way she commanded the staff was quite unique to him. Times would arise when a critical casualty arrived, and she would raise her voice and hammer out orders. But very often, she didn't really _order_ people around. She merely expressed a wish and it was carried out. When he had told her this, Jasmine had blushed and said, 'Vivian can be like that sometimes.'

He had never seen Waters command on the bridge before. Sometimes he thought about going up there one day and watch how she ran things. If she was so fresh out of training and wracked up such a high kill count already, it would probably make for a good show. Anyone who knew their relationship however would tell him not intrude on her territory. Most likely, he would get a public chewing out until he left the bridge. To him, that seemed like a good bit of fun. Yet she had declared that truce, and he decided it was best to stay clear of her as best as he could. There was no need to jeopardize it; while Jasmine seemed quite content with it, he feared it was a fragile peace. A phrase he had come across long ago came to mind: a bad peace is worse than war. What would Tacitus have to say about their strange connection, Frost wondered.

The night was getting on. It was nearing eleven o'clock and the lights in the medical bay had been switched off. Most of the patients were asleep. Snoring was accompanied by a few coughs and moans. Some nurses remained in the bay, checking on some of the worse-off patients. None had come to check the poor fellow with the battered leg across from him. He found that odd, but didn't pay it too much mind. With a tiny reading light Jasmine had loaned him, he looked at the article in _Time_ magazine Katz had written about his squad's actions. The caption underneath the famous photo of the dirty squad walking through the city streets read: _Sergeant Frost and company after the all-night battle still manage to go for an early morning stroll with smiles on their faces._

Katz had written a good piece on them. He kept it short and respectful, making sure the limelight was evenly spread and not focused on him. Frost enjoyed reading it from time to time. To see his squad, his friends, finally get some praise for their endeavours was fulfilling for him. Often, their occupation felt thankless. Earth was covered in a cloud of propaganda and censorship, and knowing that a trickle of the truth had gotten through made him rest just a bit easier.

He heard the door at the far end of the medical bay. Frost looked up. It was dark in the bay; most of the figures on the beds and even the ones moving about were just shadows. The windows had a tint function that prevented the bright white lights of the hallway from creeping in too. At least five people walked in with a stretcher bed. One of them came ahead and the others waited. As the figure approached, Frost knew it was Jasmine.

Before he could say anything, her hand reached out and took the reading light. She shut it off and set it on the chair beside him, along with the magazine in his hand. She gently ran her hand through his hair, and then rested it on his forehead. Frost couldn't help but smile.

"Go to sleep," she whispered after a few moments.

"Okay," Frost whispered back.

Jasmine pulled his blanket up and tucked him in slightly. Frost didn't close his eyes. Something felt off. Laying on his back, he watched as Jasmine stepped back and gave a wave towards the group waiting near the entrance. The group, with the roller bed, came forward. When they got closer, Jasmine stepped across the aisle to the bed, where the young Army trooper with the injured leg resided. A hint of light coming through the window caught Jasmine's glasses for a moment, giving her a ghostly set of eyes. The roller stretcher was set up beside the cot and the blanket was taken off. The staff assembled around the bed and they all leaned down to pick up.

"No!" cried the soldier. "No! Don't take me in there! Please!"

The trooper began to trash around, flailing his arm and his good leg. Jasmine and her staff struggled to pick up. A pair of orderlies from across the room rushed over and began helping. The trooper let out a long, frightened scream as they put him on the stretcher and strapped him in.

Again, he began to holler. "Don't take my leg! Please don't!" They began to wheel him out. He was sobbing and screaming. "Mother!" he wailed. "Mother! Help me! God, help me! _Mother!_ "

They finally wheeled him out of the door and it closed behind them. Frost watched, breathing heavily through his nose, as they came by the windows. No noise filtered in, but he could still see the young boy shaking in his straps, his mouth opening as he screamed, his tear-filled eyes wide with terror.

Frost was clutching the blanket with both hands. Slowly, he put his head back down on the pillow. But he didn't close his eyes. He didn't get any sleep that night.

###

The next day, around late-morning, Steele arrived with Moser and Langley. Frost thought about putting the matter off in exchange for some lighter conversation. But he wanted to deal with the issue now before some other disturbance boiled up.

It was good to see their faces-very good indeed.

"Hey," he greeted them tiredly. Moser sat in the chair while Langley sat on the edge of the bed, putting a hand on his forearm.

"You look good," she said.

"Do you feel alright?" Moser asked.

"I'm just tired. I didn't sleep well last night."

"Pain?" Steele asked, concerned.

"No. I'll tell you about it after. Think you can give us a couple minutes?"

"Yep, I'll go grab us some water."

Steele departed. Moser and Langley exchanged a cautious glance.

"What did you want to see us for?" Moser asked. Frost cleared his throat, rather uncomfortably.

"Nora, how's Bishop holding up? Steele's filled me in and things aren't looking so good."

Langley's face grew sad.

"It doesn't seem like he knows or even cares how bad he was the other night. Not even a thank you or anything. He hadn't said a word all day." She looked at her feet. "I'm really beginning to worry that he's angry at us or something. He hadn't looked me in the eye all day and just ignored me when I tried to talk to him."

Frost could see the hurt on her face and decided not press her with more questions. Instead, he turned his attention to Moser.

"You know that I'm not really a religious fellow, Dietrich..."

Moser chuckled.

"Most of the squad isn't," he said with a kind smile.

To say the majority of the squad was nonreligious was an understatement. Other than a few varying spiritual beliefs spread out between them, the squad members were atheists. Steele had once said that it wasn't so much that he didn't believe, more so that he didn't really care. A maxim echoed by most of the others. Atheism was on the rise across humanity. Many had their faith shaken from them when they saw entire planets glassed in a matter of minutes with millions still on the surface. After seeing something like that, an evacuee once told Frost, there was no way to believe in divine intervention. Others pondered why their God had also created a genocidal conglomerate of species hell-bent on wiping on humanity? To teach them a lesson? Check their growth in the galaxy? Why would he want to see humanity destroyed if they had been created in his own image? For Frost, however, what little spirituality he had was obliterated after what he had seen and done on Skopje. Even Moser had come close to cracking, wracked with so many of the same questions. The fact that after all he had witnessed he still possessed such a firm belief was something to be admired.

"Do you think you could try to get him to come with you to visit the padre next time you go?"

Moser gave him a surprised look.

"Bishop hates the padres. What makes you think that going to visit the ship's chapel will change anything?"

"I don't know. Maybe just going and hearing a few verses or talking to the padre, hell, _something_ might help him. I'm worried he might not take too kindly to the idea of visiting Jasmine for a therapy session; it might make him feel stupid or weak."

"He hates that almost as much as the thought of anything religious," Moser chuckled. "Don't you remember what he did to the chaplain when we were still in training?"

Bishop's sole purpose for enlisting with the youth programs had been one of vengeance. Both of his parents had served and had been killed when he was a boy. With the death of the people closest to him, Bishop had to live with his wealthy uncle, who owned an old mansion outside of Glasgow. Already a reserved child, Bishop spent his life among books, Gothic architecture, and windy gardens, shunning a social life. Even his uncle was kept at an arm's-length; he refused to be called by his first name, Karl, insisting this was a name reserved for his parents. As Bishop had told them all once, he refused to believe in a God that would be so cruel to rip his parents from his life.

He carried that belief with him wherever he went. During their first year of training he hadn't gotten along with Moser, threatening to beat him once. Only through Teo's persistence and the hardships of training had Bishop been able to befriend Moser and cease his antagonism. Although, it didn't stop him from taking out his aggression on others. Once, when the chaplain had asked for Bishop in an attempt to make sense of his parents' loss, Bishop had dragged the poor man up to the roof to the top of their barracks and held him over the edge of the roof. Again, only through Teo's and Frost's insistence had he escaped a court martial.

Moser sighed.

"I think it would just be better if he saw the Doctor. If I or the chaplain tried to speak to him, it would probably just make him angrier than he already is."

"Yeah, you're right," Frost said, deflated. "I just wanted to consider the options."

"If you really want me to, I'll do it. I just don't think it'll end well. We may be on a ship of titanium but I know he'd find a way to make that room burn," Moser said with a little smile.

"Maddox may be an angry sort, but I honestly don't want to see Bishop when he's truly in a rage," Langley said.

"Trust me, you don't want to," Frost said. "I'm glad he saves it for the Covenant. Alright, thanks guys. Take care of yourselves and make sure you listen to Steele, alright?"

"Sure. He had us drilling early this morning. It was welcomed. Well, take it easy, brother," Moser said, leaning down and pressed his forehead against Frost's. "That was a brave thing you did. Stupid, but brave."

"Wouldn't have had to if you trigger-happy morons hadn't burned through your ammo." Moser left, laughing as he did. When he was gone, Langley stood over Frost for a moment.

"Do you think I should speak to Frank about therapy? He was clingy with me when we finally got him out of that blockhouse. There's a chance he might take the suggestion a bit better."

"Maybe. But I'd rather receive whatever anger's in there than have you bear the brunt if he blows up at the idea. Besides, I can make it an order if I have to, and he's never disobeyed an order."

"Okay. Get well soon, Sarge," Langley said, leaning down and giving him a peck on the cheek.

"Ah, I'm not your sergeant anymore. Get outta here," He said, waving his hand. Langley laughed and left. Frost sighed. He had wanted to ask them to stay longer. He knew they would have stayed. But the last thing he wanted was for them to spend their post-battle free time sitting beside him in the hospital, still recuperating.

Steele walked up.

"Gone already?"

"Yeah. I don't want them seeing me all chewed up like this."

"Ah, you're getting better. Though I doubt we can go cruising for chicks with that scar on your face," Steele said, handing him a cup of water. They laughed. "What am I saying? You've got one now."

"Well, I mean..."

"What? You guys _aren't_ a _thing?_ I'd be really confused too after a woman kissed me half a hundred times too," Steele said sarcastically. "Come on, call her what she is."

"It'd feel childish to call ourselves a couple," Frost said, rather meekly, "like two teens or something. There's gotta be something more adult-sounding to call her."

"Who gives a fuck, mate?" Steele asked. "Do you see this war ending anytime soon? Come on, we're soldiers. You survive one battle, you're instantly living on borrowed time. We could die at any moment. A bloody Covenant fleet could jump into the system and blow up our ship. Whatever time we have, better make it count. Don't waste it on trying to find the right words, bruv."

Frost sighed.

"Have you ever had meaningful words with a woman before?"

Steele pretended to think for a moment.

"I've asked a girl which position she prefers before. Does that count?"

"You're a scumbag," Frost said with a smile. Steele held out his arms out, wide.

"Why thank you. I take that as a compliment." Steele downed his cup of water. "So what do you want to talk about?"

Frost took a deep breath and explained what had happened last night. How it had all seemed like some bad dream. The voice of screaming boy was still loud in his mind, like he was still in the medical bay. Since he had woken up, he had been particularly anxious and his nerves were shot.

"Being in here is suffocating now. I can't stand looking at all these poor bastards. It's not like when we're on the battlefield, where you have to focus. Here, it's right in your face. All this suffering...I can't stand it, man."

"You never minded hospitals before."

"Yeah, but I can't take this. I don't want to be here when the kid comes back missing one leg. I just don't want to be in here anymore, Louie. I couldn't sleep last night and every time somebody sounds like they're in pain I feel like freaking out." Frost paused for a moment. "You gotta get me out of here."

Steele blinked, obviously surprised.

"What? But the Doc doesn't want you on your feet yet. Another day or so, she said. Can't you stick it out for one more day?"

"I don't think I can. I'd rather be back in the barracks with you and the team. I need something to do. Lying here all day with a few magazines is driving me nuts. And seeing all these guys is making me real sick."

"Well, why don't we ask the Doc if she'll let you out early, or maybe move you somewhere more private? She'd understand what you're going through."

"I don't want to bug her, Lou. She's really busy. And I don't think I'd feel right in here," he tapped his thumb over his heart, "if I was hogging a private room that some bastard with his face burned off could be using. I just need to get out of here," Frost sighed. "I need to get out of here, man."

Steele nodded and stood up. Frost furrowed his brow, confused. "Where are you going?"

The sniper grinned.

"Commencing Operation: Get Frost The Fuck Outta Here."

* * *

Carris waited in the doorway as Steele went up to the counter of the pharmacy. The attendant was a second lieutenant who appeared to be in her mid twenties. She had black hair that came down to her jaw and dark eyes that burned like coals. Steele strolled up and placed an elbow on the counter.

"How can I help you, corporal?" asked the pharmacist. She was typing at her terminal behind the counter.

"Ah, I just need something for some headaches, Lieutenant..." Steele seemed to read the tag on her white lab coat. "...Srisati. Nothing fancy, just normal stuff."

"We have a selection of over-the-counter medication in front of the counter, as you can see," Srisati said, leaning over and pointing down. "Dr. Ebrahimi tries to eliminates the hassle of getting prescriptions for non-addictive medications for basic problems like headaches and the like."

"That's nice of her," Steele said, sliding his hands into his pockets and leaning down to look at the different boxes of medication. "Pretty dead in here, huh lieutenant?"

"I suppose."

"Don't you usually have somebody else working in there with you, ma'am?"

"He's indisposed at the moment," Srisati answered.

"Why, what's up?" Steele asked, leaning on the counter again.

"Well, I really shouldn't say," she said with a shrug. Steele flashed a charming smile and Carris couldn't help but roll her eyes.

"Come on, you can tell me. Just between us."

Srisati looked over her shoulder and leaned forward.

"Poor guy has irritable bowel syndrome. He's in and out all the time."

"Ooh, that blows."

"I know. I keep trying to tell him go see one of the docs but he doesn't want to. He's all self-conscious about it."

"Ah, who wouldn't be?"

"Well if I smelled the way he did when he comes out of the bathroom, I'd go see a doctor right away."

"He smells?"

"He takes like, toxic dumps."

"Man, I feel sorry for you."

"Ugh, tell me about it. Nobody else wants to change shifts with me, so I'm stuck with him. Don't get me wrong, he's a nice guy. But who would want to work with a guy who doesn't realize how stinky he is?"

"I don't think I would."

"Right. And he hardly ever says a word so all he does is sit here and let the smell fester. I don't think he even wipes."

"Man, sounds like you could use a break."

"Anything would be better than this."

"Well, the Captain got everyone shore leave. Maybe next time you're off you and I could hit one of the bars in the city."

"I'd kill for a good drink right now."

"When do you get off?"

"Oh I just started, I won't get off until evening"

"Well, I don't mind evening drinks if you don't."

Carris stepped away from the door as Langley and Moser approached.

"Maddox is going to mess around with the electronics nearby. He's going to cut the feed from the pharmacy security camera to the office for about one minute. How long will it take for you to hack the door, Carris?"

"Ten, fifteen seconds at the most." Carris had been forced to hack through doors on drydocked ships durings siege before to collect or destroy sensitive intel. She was used to it.

"Alright, we need to get a few syringes and a couple vials of morphine. Fentanyl isn't necessary for his recovery at this point," Langley explained. "The morphine will be in the fridge they have, most likely in the back. Carris, you hit the fridge, I'll grab everything we need for an IV."

"Are you sure morphine will be in there? Wouldn't it be with the other medical supplies?"

"The pharmacies act like storage units too, considering how much we need," Langley said. "Trust me, it'll be in there."

The trio looked down the hall, which was thankfully empty. Maddox had removed a panel with a few tools he had borrowed from a mechanic and was now fiddling with the wires. After a few deft movements with his good hand, he gave them a nod.

"Sixty seconds. Let's do this." Carris and the team rushed over, and after a few tricks, had the door open in twelve seconds. Moser stayed behind to keep watch while she and Langley quietly went in. Immediately, Carris went to the back where there were multiple fridges stacked on top of one another. Going by the labels, she looked for one that housed painkillers. She was counting down in her head. _Forty-five, forty-four, forty-three..._

Carris opened one of the fridges and spotted the vials. She took vials gently out of the fridge. They'd have to get something to store them in; perhaps the mess hall officer they knew was willing to give them a cooler and some ice. Quietly, she started making her way back through the rows and shelves of so many boxes and medical items. Langley slipped by her, holding a pack of syringes and needles, as well as a box of sterile cloths and a bottle of medicinal alcohol. Carris was about to follow when she looked back at the counter. Steele had leaned over and was holding a lock of Lieutenant Srisati's black hair.

"Man, your hair is really soft. And that shine. What do you use?"

"Nothing that isn't military issue. Honest! Don't look at me like that!"

"You gotta let me know; I mean, look at this mop of hair I've got." Srisati ran her hand through it. Carris frowned; something told her the act was going a little farther than he planned.

"Are you kidding? That's super soft. I should ask what you're using."

"Come on!" Langley hissed, taking her by the arm.

The pair quickly stepped out and Carris closed the door. Maddox put the panel back over the electrical wires and began heading back to the barracks. Steele walked out of the pharmacy as they passed by the door to the counter area.

"Alright, see you tonight," he said and joined them. "Got everything?"

"Yep," Langley said, slipping the items under her shirt. "Now we just have to get a crutch, and then get Frost out and back to the barracks.

"How're we going to manage that?"

"Maybe Steele can ask the clerk on a date too," Carris said, half-joking.

"Been awhile since I've had a threesome," Steele joked. Moser laughed while Langley wrinkled her nose and Carris burned, just a little, on the inside.

"Why are we doing this instead of asking Dr. Ebrahimi?"

"Because Frost asked me to get him out of there pronto, and that's what I'm gonna do," Steele said. "Why? Don't like stealing from the ship's medical supply?"

"No, no I don't," Carris muttered, "what if some other soldier needs that?"

"They'll be giving more to him anyways? Just think of this as his dose. Lighten up love."

"Steel, I think you're the only man alive who could get a date from a girl while talking about some poor bastard's shitting routines," Moser joked. Everyone laughed, except Carris.

* * *

Jasmine scrolled through her data pad, monitoring the vitals of all the patients in the medical bay. As she did, she headed towards Frost's bed. She had been unable to visit him all day and was eager to check on him before he ate his dinner. But as she approached, she was surprised to see that his vitals were not present on the list. At the same moment, she stopped at the foot of his bed, surprised to see it empty. For a few moments, she simply stared at the folded sheets and the magazines on the chair. Then, she looked around, seeing if he was up and around. But he was nowhere to be seen.

"Where did he go?" she asked aloud. Then she raised her voice, "Excuse me! Where did this patient go!?"

Everyone in the medical bay grew silent and looked her way. Jasmine stormed down the aisle and approached the clerk at the desk. "Where's Gunnery Sergeant Frost? He's not due to leave for another day and a half."

"Well, um, he was discharged this afternoon," answered the lieutenant, meekly.

"Discharged? On whose authority?"

"Um, well, yours?"

The other staffers had assembled around her. Jasmine, eyes wide with shock and frustration, looked around at the confused faces. For a few moments, she couldn't even say anything.

"No, I didn't. I didn't sign any discharge papers." She opened a tab on data pad and scrolled through. "But he's listed as discharged in the system. Why is my approval here when I didn't even give any?"

She looked around again. The orderlies and nurses looked at their shoes or the ceiling. "Anybody? Hm?"

"Well, one of his squad members came to pick him up. He told us that you said you had given your permission to discharge him."

"What?" she seethed. "And what made you think that it's _okay_ to _discharge_ somebody without any _discharge papers_ signed by a _doctor?_ "

Again, they were silent for a few moments.

"Well, we thought that, um...that because you and the sergeant are...involved...it would be alright if we just skipped a couple steps..." said the clerk.

Jasmine felt her shoulders sag for a moment at the sheer idiocy of it all.

"This is a military hospital!" she shouted then. "We don't skip steps! We do everything by the book to make sure we run efficiently!" She paused for a beat. "Did anybody even think to ask me if I gave my approval!?"

"I di-"

"Shut up!" she said, pointing at the nurse who spoke up. "We don't make exceptions here; this is the UNSC Navy, goddammit! Not even if I'm involved with a sergeant!" Jasmine turned bright red for a moment, then cleared her throat. "Did they take a roller stretcher? If they did, was it returned?"

"Um, no ma'am," said one of the male orderlies, "they walked out."

"Sergeant Frost shouldn't be walking without a crutch."

"Well, I got him one."

"You gave him a crutch without authorization? That's UNSC medical material, items that are distributed and then collected. And what made you think it was okay to just give it away without my permission?"

"The guy who came and got him gave me five hundred credits..."

"Well, glad to see you're not above taking a bribe," Jasmine said drly. "Who came and got him?"

"His second in command; the handsome English guy with the blonde hair and mustache," said one of the other nurses. Jasmine turned and stormed out.

"You're lucky I don't demote all of you!" she yelled over her shoulder. She made it through the door, stopped, and poked her head back in. "I _hand-picked_ all of you, for God's sake!"

With great speed and ferocity, she marched through the corridors of the _I'm Alone_. She passed Marines and sailors and airmen, all of who stepped aside and saluted as she passed by. Nobody tried to speak to her. Some even seemed nervous. When she got to the barracks, she didn't even knock. She opened the door and walked straight in. Sitting around Frost's bed was his entire squad. Most of them were smoking and they were all laughing. Frost was sitting on his bed with a crutch across his lap.

All of their faces turned white as they saw her.

"Ah, shit."

"The mission's been compromised!" Grant yelled. "Fine cover! Plan B!"

"What do you think you're doing!?" she shouted. "You should be in your bed at the infirmary! You need medical supervision, somebody to monitor your vitals and to administer your pain medication. What if something went wrong? What if your blood pressure dropped? What if one of your stitchings came undone? Do any of you have any advanced medical training!?"

All of them exchanged nervous glances. Langley coughed and raised her hand. Jasmine pointed at her. "You! You were a PJ! A Pararescueman! You got some of the best field medical training there is!"

"Well I never finished-"

"And you let all of these oafs just waltz in and take a wounded man from the hospital!? Where there's no medicine readily available!?"

"Well," Steele interrupted, "we did take a little pain medicine."  
"How did you get any without a prescription from a doctor?"

The squad was silent. Jasmine raised her eyebrows. "Oh no, no you didn't. Don't tell me you stole some..."

"We stole some morphine..."

"Goddammit!" Jasmine shouted, balling her hands into fists and stamping one of her feet on the ground. "You did it! You actually did it! Where is it?"

Grant went over to a nightstand where a cooler filled with ice was, and handed her the vials, as well as the other medical items they had taken, including alcohol, white cloths, and a package of syringes and needles. He gingerly held them out to her, keeping himself withdrawn, as if he were expecting her to hit him. Jasmine snatched it from his hand and he rushed back over to sit with the others. "How did you even take this without getting caught?"

"A little bit of charm on my part, a little bit of technical expertise on Maddox's part, and some quick fingers on Carris's part," Steele explained, rather triumphantly, putting an arm around Carris's shoulders. "Add in a little money, and Operation: GFTFOH was a success. Well, until you showed up."

"I'm ashamed of all of you. You broken military law and countless other regulations, you've brought shame to yourselves, your unit, and the UNSC! Most grievously, you put Frost at risky by moving a recent surgery patient _out_ of a medical setting. I ought to turn you over to Holst right now! Be thankful that I'll be directing my disciplinarian actions to my staff. Now get out, I need to speak with Nathaniel."

"But this is our-"

" _Out!_ "

Everyone quickly jumped to their feet, marching single file by her and through the door. Jasmine watched them set off. "And put out your cigarettes! In case you didn't pay attention in health class, smoking's bad for your health!"

"But I never went to healthy class!" somebody said in a snarky tone.

"For Christ's sake, we're in a pressurized cabin!" Jasmine yelled at them.

"See? I told you," Langley said to the others.

"Shut up, Nora!" came the chorus.

The door slid shut behind them. Jasmine stared at Frost, and he stared at her. He smiled faintly. Jasmine did not reciprocate.

"Hi, Jasmine," he said. "Sorry about all this."

"What were you thinking, letting them take you like that?"

"Don't be angry with them. I asked them to get me out of there."

Jasmine was surprised.

"What? Why? Did something happen?"

"Yeah. I just couldn't be in there anymore Jas. I need to be back with my friends, or at least away from the infirmary. Seeing all those men and women in there, wounded, torn up, bloody, moaning, I couldn't take it anymore, not after last night when you had to wheel that wounded soldier out of there, screaming for his mom."

Frost visibly shuddered. "I used to be comfortable in hospitals, but that really shook me up Jas. I asked them to get me out because I knew you wouldn't let me leave."

"Why didn't you tell me? I would have tried to get you better accommodations. I would have done everything to make you more comfortable there. I could have done _something_ if you just told me."

"You were busy and I was worried you wouldn't be able to, Jas. I should have listened to Steele, he said you'd be understanding on the matter. But you weren't around and I didn't know when you were going to come by again. I just had to get out. Being in there felt like I was drowning."

"I do understand," Jasmine set the items down and sat beside him, putting her hand on his. "Being in there is hard for everyone. And I wished you hadn't been there when we had to take that boy out. There was just no way of saving his leg. You could see how bad it was, even under all the bandages. He wasn't going to have anymore function. A robotic prosthetic is the only thing for him." Jasmine sighed. "I know it's hard. You don't spend time in there like me and the staff does. It can destroy your nerves. I would have tried to get you a private room. We're pretty full up but I'm sure I could have worked something out." She sighed. "Look, I don't mean to scold, but you know better. Thievery and bribery can not be tolerated and should be punished. You know that."

Frost chuckled.

"Colonel Hayes says thieving from other branches is a glorious tradition of all Marines. If we don't have it, steal it." Jasmine maintained a disapproving frown, which disarmed the nervous smile on Frost's face. "Yes, I know."

"You're an elite squad, part of an elite force, in the largest, deadliest, most capable military organization in human history. You've maintained the part well-don't act up now." She paused, rubbing her forehead. "I'm letting it go because I know these few days were hard for your squad. If it happens again, I won't be so lenient. Be sure to explain that to your squad."

"I will."

"This is the military Nathaniel, not a boarding school. You know that."

"Yes, I do."

Jasmine, having said her piece and cooled off, smoothed her lab coat.

"Now, let's see about finding your better accommodations. If you can wait a little longer a private room should be freed up in the next five or six-"

"I just don't want to be anywhere near it, Jasmine. Please. Can't I stay here?"

"I'm sorry, Nathaniel, I'm just not comfortable with you staying here."

"Why?"

"Your squad is unfocused at the moment, even with Steele at the helm. And after today I don't particularly trust them," she said this quite huffily. "You'd be safer on your own than with them."

"Well I beg to differ..."

"You're in no position to differ, Nathaniel."

"Alright, alright."

"You need to be somewhere you can rest, undisturbed, and some kind of monitoring system."

"Nora's a PJ."

"You heard her; she never finished. I won't have somebody who didn't finish their medical training looking after you. I don't care how far she got; I'm not taking any chances with you."

Jasmine thought for a moment. "You'll stay with me in the office." Frost laughed.

"Where will you sleep if I'm on your couch? Sleeping in a chair will make you ache something fierce."

"My room, then"

"Didn't you loan that to Katz?"

"Right, I did."

Frost nodded his head to the side, thinking. Jasmine studied for a moment. Then, he smiled at her.

* * *

"Wow, this is really great. Thanks for letting me bunk with your squad, Gunny," Katz said as he walked out of Jasmine's room with his duffel bag. "The sheets are clean, I washed them earlier today."

"Thank you for letting us use it," Jasmine said as Frost crutched in. Steele was nearby, holding a box filled with clothes, books, and other items they had taken from Jasmine's office.

"Yes, _thank you,_ Katz," he seethed. "Can't wait to start sharing a room with ya, _matey_."

"Oh, no need. It's your room after all. It'll be awesome," Katz said, responding to Jasmine, "this'll help me with my work so much. I can learn jargon and all of that stuff. It'll add a nice edge to my work."

"I'm so happy for you," Steele said through clenched teeth.

Frost sat down on the bed, doing his best to not to laugh. Jasmine walked in with another box, and Steele set his down. He had to hand to his companion, he was being very courteous. Steele helped Jasmine unpack the two boxes, putting away extra clothes, putting books in order on the shelf, setting up her workspace on the desk across from the bed. At first, he asked her where to put every item she had. Then he started placing things by himself, setting up her desk in a very orderly and rather stylish fashion.

It was a fairly simple room, smaller than he imagined. It had a desk with a few cupboards overhead, a dresser beside it, a secured chair for the desk. A door to the left of the desk led to the bathroom. Across from the bed, pressed up against the wall, was the bed. It was larger than the one in his own quarters but just as soft. It had a white pillow and olive drab blankets. Other than that, there was a bookcase on the wall opposite from the bathroom wall. The door to the room was near the end of the bed.

Once they were settled, and the room appeared halfway decent, Steele and Jasmine looked at their handiwork.

"Thank you, Corporal," she said. "You might have a promising post-war career as an interior designer."

"Pfft. You guys could use a plant," he shrugged, "hell, we could use a plant. Can we get a plant for the barracks?"

"I don't see why not, as long as you can find some way to keep it from flying all over the place during orbital engagements. The last thing I want to see is potted soil all over our bed sheets," Frost said.

"Mhm. Well, I'm off. I've got a date tonight."

"A date? With who?"

"Little thing, name of Srisati. The girl at the pharmacy. Going out for drinks. You think I'm gonna stand her up? I've got more class than that," Steele said with a wave of his hand. Jasmine chuckled.

"Lina Srisati? I'm surprised she gave into your...charms, Corporal," Jasmine said, making Frost snicker. Steele didn't seem to notice.

"Well, I'm a charming guy, Doc. More than this fella right here. Either way, it's just for a couple drinks and...I dunno, we'll see where that goes," Steele said with a playful grin as he walked out the door.

"I left you in charge though!" Frost shouted after him.

"Carris has got it!"

"Lou!"

" _Gooooodbyeeee_ Nate-boy!"

The door shut. Frost sighed and looked at Jasmine.

"So, how is this better? I'm all by myself."

"Not necessarily. My quarters are closer to the medical bay than your own. I insisted that they be when the ship was undergoing its retrofits. Plus, I'm going to bring some equipment in here; give you an IV, give you a monitor that I'll sync with my work data pad. I'm leaving you my personal data pad; if you need anything, don't hesitate to send a message. I'm going to check your vitals every thirty minutes and if I see anything irregular I'm either going to send someone or come straight over. If something starts to happen; a change in heart rate for instance, it'll notify me automatically. It'll be like having somebody here with you. I don't want to see your heartbeat exceeding one hundred forty beats per minute, understand?"

Frost nodded. "Good. I'll bring you all your meals and help you wash. Can you manage going to the bathroom by yourself?"

"I'm pretty sure I can."

"Alright. I'm trusting you."

When Jasmine returned she brought a rolling metal stand with an IV bag attached to it. Skillfully, she placed an IV into his right forearm.

"Do I really need morphine?" Frost asked. "It makes me feel like crap."

"I'd rather you feel like crap than be in pain," Jasmine said with a smile. "Don't worry. I'm giving you a smaller dose and if don't experience much pain, I'll switch you to something that'll make you less groggy first-thing tomorrow. How's that sound?"

"Much better." Jasmine stood up but Frost took her hand. "Thanks for taking care of me. I'm sorry I caused you trouble. Is there anything I can do for you?"

Jasmine smiled sweetly and put a hand on his cheek.

"Just behave, okay? And be honest with me about your pain."

She went over to the bookcase. "Try to sleep but if you get bored, I hope you don't mind some heavy reading. I mostly have medical texts. One of mine is in there. You know, if you...want to take a look," Jasmine blushed a little. Frost smiled as she set them down on the nightstand at the head of the bed.

"I'd love to."

Jasmine went to the door, pushing up her glasses as she did.

"My shift ends in two hours. I'm going to take an hour for shore leave to run a few errands. I'll be back around twenty-one hundred hours. I'm going to ask one of the other doctors on their shift to keep an eye on your vitals. Is that alright with you?"

Frost shrugged.

"Do what you want. I'm not the boss of you."

"Just making sure."

"Jas, you sure you're okay with me staying here?" Frost asked. "I mean, I can't take your bed like this while you sleep in the office."

"Who said I was staying at the office?" Jasmine said with a shy grin. "I would...sleep beside you. If that's alright with you."

Frost found himself blushing.

"If you want," he said with a sheepish smile. "I mean, if you're comfortable, that is."

"I am if you are."

"Sure I am."

"Okay," Jasmine said, "I'll see you soon, I promise."

* * *

It was a little after eight o'clock that night. Steele walked back to the barracks inside the _I'm Alone._ The date had gone a little faster than he had expected. Two drinks for him, one for her, and they had ended up in a rather nice hotel. Neither of them even had to get buzzed. She had left before him, leaving a note saying she had a good time. Of course, he knew what that meant: it was a one time deal. Not the first time he had gotten that kind of note. Nor did he mind. It was less expensive than visiting one of the clandestine whorehouses, which were in plentiful supply. With his trained eye, he had spotted at least three cathouses on his way to the bar with her, and two more on his way back. At least he woken early and hadn't spent all night there.

With a cigarette clenched between his lips, he strolled leisurely through the halls, earning odd looks from seamen and marines alike. Under each arm was an brown-orange pot filled with brown soil, and a single sunflower sticking out from it. The petals were a vibrant yellow at the ends and a deep orange at the base. Hopefully, it would break up the visual monotony of four silver walls. The other was for Frost; he would like something a little color. Steele could still remember when Frost told him all those years ago of his family's ranch house with its extensive flower beds. More so, he hoped Carris would like the sunflower he got for their room. The thought nagged him incessantly as he walked through the corridors of the ship. Did she like sunflowers? Were flowers even her thing? Did she have a preference? He might as well have gotten her a new gas chamber and scope for her modded assault rifle.

Strolling back into the room, he found the squad. They seemed to be in a better state. The little operation yesterday had gotten them back into good spirits. Maddox still wanted nothing to do with him and Carris, which was evident with the disdainful glare he gave when Steele waltzed in. Bishop was gone.

"Evening all," he said, "everybody already grab dinner?"

"You're on your own tonight," Knight answered, disinterestedly.

"You're seriously going to make me eat dinner alone? You know I hate that," Steele said with a mocking smile as he set the sunflower pot for Frost and Jasmine down on the nearest stand. He held the other with both hands.

"I was talking about her," Knight said, nodding towards Carris, who was sitting on Steele's bed with her arms folded across her chest. Steele grimaced.

"Hey love, keeping it warm for me?" _Christ, that was the wrong thing to say to a woman sitting on your bed, Lou._

"You are one of the most un-soldierly men I have ever met," Carris said. "Frost is wounded and leaves you in charge, and you bail to have a one night stand?"

"Hey, you're learning your terminology, love!" Steele said enthusiastically. His attempt at humor only increased her frown. "Er, it wasn't really a one night stand. More like a two hour stand."

"What would he say?"

"Uh..."

"Don't you think he'd be disappointed?"

"He didn't mind when I left earlier."

"Well he should. He's slated you for a promotion to sergeant, putting you in charge of this squad, and you're out drinking and fooling around with officers."

"Well you make it sound like a bad thing," Steele said, "usually one of the guys gives me a high five. And that's not all I was doing," he said, holding up the potted plant. "See? I got us a plant."

"You can't keep this behavior up if you want to be a sergeant," Carris said angrily, rising to her feet.

"But I got us a plant..." Steele said.

"You probably stole it," she said.

"What? No way!" Steele defended. Knight snorted.

"What florist is open at this time of night?"

"One that doesn't lock its doors," Steele muttered. Carris let out an irritated groan. Steele let out an aggravated sigh. "Look, I didn't do that much drinking tonight."

"Then what's this?" Carris said. She reached around him, pulled up the back of his shirt, and retrieved a bottle of whiskey that had been in the back of his pants. She held it in front of him. Steele blinked.

" _That,_ I paid for."

"Really?" Carris asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Well, no."

"Corporal, Frost may allow for such antics but I won't, because-"

"Because I'm better than that. Yeah, yeah, love, you gave me this whole speech before. Have I gone fooling around with whores since then? No, I haven't. So now, apparently, I can't even have a, a, a-"

"Late night triste?" Moser suggested.

"Yeah whatever that is," Steele said. "What do you want me to do, cut my balls off?"

"I want you to start acting like the soldier you really are."

"Ugh, bite me, Carris. You ain't my fuckin' boss. Frost may buy into military mumbo-jumbo like that but I don't. If he wants to make me a sergeant, fine. If he wants to keep me a corporal, fine. I don't even want to be a sergeant. But if I do, I'm not going to become some saluting, marching, 'yes, sir,' NCO. If I want to get laid, then I'm going to get laid. If I want to go drinking, I can go fucking drinking. If I want to get us a fucking plant after business hours, then I'm getting us a fucking plant!" Steele shouted, feeling angry and stupid at the same time. He went over to the stand between his and Carris's cots and set the sunflower pot on it, hard. He whirled around."You're welcome!"

"You're ridiculous," Carris muttered.

"Oh, I'm ridiculous!?" Steele shouted. "Who helped me steal fuckin' morphine from the medical bay today? Who stood by while I bribed, flirted, and fucked my way to get my pal out of the hospital? You seemed okay with it then! How about you remember you took part in a scheme too before you go criticizing me for petty thievery!"

Carris said nothing then. Red in the face, she shoved past him and went out the door. Steele stood there for a moment, before whirling around and sticking his head out the door.

"Hey!" Carris stopped. "You're not my fucking wife, woman! I'm a grown man and I can do whatever the hell I want! If you don't like it, then tough shit! I don't need your sermons!"

Carris, head down, hands balled into fists, slowly walked off. Steele stepped back in the room, straightening his shirt and taking a breath. "Fuckin' nerve, eh lads?"

Everybody looked at him with indifferent expressions. Steele threw up his arms, "Oh, come on. Nobody's going to have my side on this? Pfft, 'you're on your own tonight,' what a crock of shit, Knight. You never have my back."

Knight only shrugged.

"About time somebody started to whip you into shape."

Langley got to her feet, and grabbing her own and Carris's overshirt.

"You're such an asshole," she said as she brushed by him.

"Oh dear Heavens!" Steele yelled, "One naughty word all year! I must really be in trouble."

* * *

Langley jogged up to Carris, who was heading towards the mess hall.

"Hey, put the brakes on, C," she said. Carris stopped and turned to face her.

"Why is he like that? Frost tries to promote him and he just messes about. Why is this all a joke to him?"

Unsure of how to answer, Langley offered her a smile.

"Come on, there's still some night left. Why don't we go out?"

"And do what?"

"Well, I've got some of my back pay. We didn't exactly have a typical Christmas. Let's get everyone something nice. New Year's in a couple days, so why don't we hand them out then?"

Carris didn't say anything for a moment. She seemed uncomfortable. Langley grinned, and gave her a friendly elbow. "We don't have to get Steele anything."

"Alright."

###

After zipping up their overshirts, they headed out into the city. It was a pleasant night. The air was warm and there were people crowding the sidewalks. Langley enjoyed the atmosphere; voices buzzing, laughter, music, lights. To many, seeing so many people after a siege acting like nothing happened would have been strange. Yet she saw it was another victory in itself. Not even war could keep humans from acting like humans. Couples held hands, parents took their children to the movies, friends made toasts in bars. People stopped them every few moments to shake their hands and express their thanks. A few even recognized their faces from the article Katz had written and asked if they could take pictures. Carris was apprehensive at first but after the first few teenagers, she was smiling to the camera like a pro. A pair of young bows came up to them with a flower. Accepting the two little pink flowers, Langley put hers in her hair while Carris tucked hers into the pocket over her overshirt. Langley was glad to see her in a better mood already.

Even a blind person could tell that she and Steele had a close friendship. When Carris had first joined them, her reserved nature had been off-putting to everybody. With the team's talkative disposition, it didn't take too long for her to fit in. Well, she still had _some_ fitting in to do. There were still some unanswered questions Langley was curious about, but she had decided those could wait until another time. Or perhaps she could broach the subject from a different direction. Either way, Steele had been the first to really accept her. Joking with her, getting drunk with her; granted the latter wasn't an option Langley would have personally used to make friends but she had long accepted that Steele was of another sort than her. For Carris, being among so many outside of her unit must have been a culture shock. Steele was her bridge of understand, a pillar of support, there to explain the confusing, ease the stressful matters. In a way, she looked for him for guidance, but she saw something no one else seemed to see. Potential. As harsh as it sounded, Langley didn't particularly see him as leadership material. The others would definitely have more faith, and after what they had been through thus far, she would too in the end. He had gotten them occupied the other night, taking care of Bishop, rather than just sitting there and watching events unfold like a trainwreck. Taking care of a friend was much different from leading troops into battle, however.

Carris, as different as she was, was rigidly military: a vast understatement. Despite her separation from the common troops, the rank and file, there was still pride in her. The confidence in the way she moved, the way she fought, the way she spoke to officers; she could have been a poster-child for the UNSC. No questions asked, no qualms about orders, willing to put her life on the line. If Frost had allowed her to charge the enemy a few days ago, she would have come through unscathed most likely. Instead, the damned fool refused her and carried out the act himself. Would Steele have rushed out there to defend Nebiyev and Sánchez? Honestly, Langley couldn't decide. At the Battle of Camp Havens, Steele had been the first one out of the natural trench, bounding after Frost. Maybe he'd do it for a squad mate, not for others though. Who knew?

The pair found a mall and entered. Langley was rather surprised to see that it wasn't ransacked. Usually, throngs of civilians swarmed centers such as this, taking whatever food, water, medicine, clothing, and other materials they could get their hands on. Reports stated that the initial Covenant orbital bombardments were focused on military positions rather than the city itself. Perhaps that had something to do with the lack of carnage.

Lots of civilians were milling around inside. Langley couldn't remember the last time she had been inside a mall. The bright white lights reminded her of the inside of a starship. Stores line either side. Together, they began visiting each store, trying to pick out gifts. As they passed through a clothing store, Langley had to laugh at Carris as she looked at some of the women's wear.

"If you wore that dress, it'd show off all your muscles. You'd put all of the Marines on board to shame," she said.

Carris lifted the skirt of a yellow sundress and raised an eyebrow. Langley smiled. "Yellow would look good on you. I think it'd go well with your hair."

"My hair is black."

"The contrast would make both colors pop," Langley said. "Do you want it?"

"I don't think it comes in my size."

"We could check."

"That's alright. I don't want anything."

"You sure?"

"Mhm."

Langley kept walking, looking at the different dresses for her own amusement. "I used to hate wearing dresses as a kid. When I got a bit older I didn't mind so much. If you get just the right one, it'll be comfortable, it'll keep you cool in warm weather, and it'll look really friggin' cool when you spin around," Langley said, trying to make Carris laugh. "My brothers used to tease me about wearing them."

"I didn't know you had any brothers."

"Oh, I've got five of'em," Langley said, pretending to be exasperated. "And they all have German names. My mom's German and my dad's English; mom got to name all the boys, and dad got to name all the girls. And there's only one girl, so I'm the only one with an English first name. Oldest to youngest, my brothers are Erich, Gunter, Kilian, Paul, and Tilo; he's named after the saint."

"Must be hard growing up with so many brothers and no sisters."

"Not much different from now actually," Langley said with a laugh, "Instead of living with five boys I'm living with seven. At least I have another girl with me this time."

"You don't count your mom?"

"My mom's my mom. I always wished I had a sister."

Langley missed her family then. Her rough and rowdy brothers-constantly messing with her room, making a ruckus, getting into trouble and trying to blame it on her. At the time it had been truly aggravating. Now, she missed it terribly. Hopefully, they'd all stay at home and finish their education. The last thing she wanted was to get a letter explaining that one of them had dropped out to enlist. That would put her on edge.

She cleared her throat. "Were you close with the others in your unit?"

"We grew up together. We were close but I don't think it was close the way you mean."

"In what way then?"

"Well, we didn't have anyone else. Not much of a choice but band together. Band together, or die."

"Some upbringing..." Langley remarked.

"It was...a hard life. We couldn't break. We kept each other from falling apart. For a while, anyway."

"Did something happen?"

Carris grimaced, and a dark look came over her blue eyes.

"One day, many of my friends died. Some of us survived, others became invalids. It was a...necessary event...that none of us could prepare for."

Langley frowned.

"How can something that claimed children's lives be necessary?"

Carris blinked.

"It made those of us who survived much stronger."

"That's not really what I meant," Langley said with a sigh. Carris shrugged.

"That's the only way I can put it. If they had survived, they'd be stronger too."

"Strength isn't everything, Carris."

Carris was about to speak when something caught her eye.

"Is that Doctor Ebrahimi?"

Langley turned around was surprised to see the doctor in another section of the department store.

"It is. Why don't we go say hi?"

The two walked over as Jasmine mulled through different sized socks. "Hey, Doc." Jasmine turned around, a little jolted, and smile.

"Oh, hello. What are you doing here?"

"Just a little late Christmas shopping," Langley said. "Me and Carris decided to have the night to ourselves. You?"

"Me too," Jasmine said, somewhat shyly. Langley smiled; she knew who she was shopping for.

"Care to join us?"

"Sure."

The three walked through the store, silent at first. Jasmine was the first to break the ice. "I have to get him two presents. One for his birthday, one for Christmas. I'm not even sure what he likes. I've been drifting around here trying to figure something out."

"Well I don't know his dress size," Langley joked. "He's a soldier, Doctor. Soldiers like simple things; like a bar of chocolate or a grenade."

"I think he has plenty of those already," Jasmine chuckled.

"You can never have enough grenades," Carris said with a smirk.

"Does he have a watch?" Jasmine said. "My mom once got my father a watch for his birthday. He wears it every single day."

"Frost has a military watch. Hm. He does enjoy music. His current player is a little old and dinged up. "

Jasmine's eye widened a little. She smiled.

"I've got it. Thank you!" She exclaimed, and hurried off.

Carris and Langley walked out together, both confused but smiling.

"Doc Jasmine always seems so...grown up. It's easy to forget she's just a few years older than I am," Langley said.

"What do you think she's getting for Frost?"

"Dunno," Langley said with a smile. "Come on, we have to remember to get wrapping paper. I'm going to have to teach you how to do it."

"What's the point of wrapping things up in paper if they're just going to tear it up?"

"You just don't want to learn how to, do you?"

"How'd you guess?"

"Because none of my siblings ever wanted to learn either."

* * *

"Well, I just wanted to say I appreciate it."

"Don't worry about it, Nebiyev," Frost said. Sergeant Nebiyev, still recovering from his own wounds, had come to visit Frost in Jasmine's quarters. He was standing respectfully a few feet from the door, his head somewhat bowed. "You should be thanking Sánchez. He's the one who stopped to drag you."

"Yeah. Who knew he had it in him. I thought he'd leave me there after how I treated him. Guess I was wrong. Kid has some balls to stop in the middle of a firefight just to grab my fatass."

Nebiyev, standing on a crutch of his own, let out a heavy sigh. "I treated the boy like shit."

"Might be a good idea to apologize."

"I have, but I dunno if it's enough." Nebiyev said. He had heavy eyes and a large Slavic face. His dark brown beard had become rather raggedy and his coarse hair messy. "You got one of those radio ops too. She seemed to fit in well."

"Nora Langley's tough. She doesn't take any shit. To look at her you'd think she had fought with us for years."

"I remember when she stormed up to us in the mess hall. Looked like she was ready to knock my lights out."

"She was."

Nebiyev smiled a little.

"Yeah, she seems like a good kid. Sánchez too. Hard taking on new people though. I know they mean well, but...God, I just can't stand seeing them get killed. We've lost a lot already."

"Too right."

Nebiyev looked at the wall for a moment with a forlorn look. Frost had seen it many times before in thousands of faces. A survivor's look, pondering the fates of so many lost friends. Everyone in the 89th had lost somebody. There wasn't one man that Frost couldn't consider a friend and he could still see all of their faces and remember their names. To imagine them gone, all gone, some never recovered, never shipped home to their families, hurt him. Dwelling was not something they could do.

"Well, I don't mean to come in and dampen the mood. Spirits are high for the most part. A lot of the guys are a bit worried about you."

"Oh, I'm fine. I've got a five star hotel room," Frost said, holding out his arms. Nebiyev grinned.

"Enlisted men ain't supposed to fraternize with officers like that. You ought to keep your hand holding and...other activities...out of sight."

"Thanks for the advice, Neb," Frost said sarcastically.

"I'll let the guys know you're doing alright. Thanks again for doing what you did." Nebiyev opened the door but stopped. "By the way, we finally got a war name for Sánchez."

"Yeah? What is it?"

"Dirty Sánchez," Nebiyev answered with a cheeky smile, and finally departed, cackling as he did. Frost shook his head and smiled. But before the door closed Steele stormed in, holding a potted sunflower. Fury clouded his face. Steele set it down roughly on the desk.

"Whoa, Lou, what's-"

"I got you a plant. Merry-fuckin'-Christmas," Steele said, wheeling around and marching back out.

Frost sat there for a moment, wide-eyed and confused. He looked over at the plant as the door slid closed. Putting his weight on the crutch, he got up and went over to the desk. For a while, he simply stared at it. A smile tugged at his lips and he felt one of the petals. Closing his eyes, his mind wandered back to the ranch house, the smell of horse hide, hay, and manure on the east wind, beaten off by scents of spices from the open kitchen window, mixing with the sweet aroma of the flower beds around the entire house. Reds, yellows, blues, whites; he could see them all as if they were before. Frost walked in between the flower beds, walking around the whole house, looking at the wisteria on the chimney, and the vines hanging off the trellis on either end of the porch. Home.

The door opened behind him and Frost quickly wiped his eyes. When he turned around, he found Jasmine standing there, holding a bag in either hand. Her hair looked a little windswept and she seemed excited.

"I'm back. I come bearing gifts."

"Gifts?"

"For you!"

"You didn't have to do that," Frost said bashfully. Jasmine set the bags down near the beg and took a moment to take off her shoes.

"I'm sorry nothing's wrapped," she said as she reached into one. "The first one's nothing special. But I got you some normal clothes."

"Normal clothes?" Frost asked, confused. "Fatigues aren't normal?"

"Oh, you know what I mean. Civilian clothes. I doubt you have any that still fit."

"You'd be right."

Jasmine handed him a pair of folded jeans with the tags still on them, a gray t-shirt, along with a brown workman's jacket. "If they don't fit I can always return them. I'm not sure what you like, so I just went with my gut."

Frost looked them over, and felt a little red in the face.

"Thank you. This is really great. I don't know when I'd get to wear them though."

"Well, Vivian wants to stay in port a while longer and we all have extended shore leave. So, if you're up for it, maybe we could walk the town in the next few days. Only if you're up for it, though. I'd feel bad if you exhausted yourself crutching around the city with me."

Frost chuckled and set the clothes on the desk.

"Jas, I've walked on broken feet before. I can manage this," he said, nodding at his leg.

"Good." She rummaged through one of the bags and procured a plastic box with earphones in it. "Here. I thought I'd get you these so you can listen to your music when you're exercising in the armory. I know you like music."

"Really? Wow, thanks," Frost said, taking the box. "That's real sweet of you."

"That's not all," she said, taking out another plastic box with a music player. "I caught a glimpse of what you're currently using. Looks a little old. I got you a new one; this one has better speakers, a headphone jack, and could be hooked up to the radio in any kind of car. Even a Warthog, the cashier said. I think he was joking though."

"Really? Even a Warthog?"

"Won't know unless you try."

Frost laughed.

"Next time we get into the beast we'll give it a whirl. I think the squad would love some badass tunes going into battle."

"It comes with a chip you can use to transfer all the music from you current player on this one."

Frost frowned.

"I didn't get you anything."

"How could you when you're all hooked up with a wounded leg?" Jasmine said sweetly. "Speaking of which, why don't we take that out?"

Frost could only nod. Jasmine removed the IV and put a bandage around his arm. After being forced to brush his teeth, Frost removed his shirt and pants with a little help, and got into bed and went to the far side against the wall. Jasmine cleaned up for a few moments and then went into the bathroom to change again. When she emerged she was wearing a standard issue tank top and shorts. Her tan legs were somewhat slender and her thighs shapely. She went to the desk and cleaned her glasses with a soft white cloth. Frost looked at her back; her skin was a series of faded splotches from the plasma burns from Camp Havens.

"Do they hurt you sometimes?"

"Hm?" Jasmine said as she put her glasses in their case. "Does what hurt me?"

"The burns," Frost said, pointing.

"Oh, not at all. Not for some time. You did a good job."

"Can I tell you something?"

"Sure."

Frost looked up at the ceiling.

"I've never felt more afraid than I did when you got hit. I've seen pals of mine get wounded. Seen them die. It's not really scary. In the back of your mind you know it's going to happen, just not to who. All it does is chip away at you. Seeing you there on the ground, motionless, your coat tattered, your back all burned..." Frost closed his eyes for a moment. "I never expected you to be on the ground, never expected you to get hurt."

Jasmine drew closer, standing in front of him, looking down. He looked at her, smiling sadly. "I don't think I ran so fast in my entire life."

Her smile warmed him. Frost reached over with his left hand, forgetting his missing finger, and brushed her cheek. "You're so small, gentle, kind. I can't imagine something like that happening without hurting inside."

Jasmine took his hand with both of hers. He didn't realize how tiny her hands were compared to his.

"I see hundreds of faces come in my medical bay. Boys; seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty years old. Missing limbs, missing parts of their faces, burned, shot, bleeding, broken, ripped apart. It takes all of my self-control not to collapse. I can almost feel their suffering like its my own. To do what I must, I have to block it, I have to focus. I have to harden my heart, so I can do things like you saw last night. When you came into the field hospital, I could have bawled. I could have collapsed. I let myself feel the pain because it was you. I needed to."

Jasmine squeezed his hand tightly. "Nathaniel, I...I need to know, how you want...I mean, how _we_ should..."

She seemed to lose her words. For a moment, she let go of his hand and planted one of hers on her forehead, thinking. After a moment, she seemed less exasperated and smiled gently. He smiled back. Then she sank down, sitting on his good leg. Her weight was comfortable there. Instinctively, Frost put an arm around her middle. Both of them were blushing. Her slender arm went around his shoulder until her rested on just below the back of his neck. They stared into one another's eyes for some time. She smelled of body odor and antiseptic, but between the two he could smell something sweet, intoxicating. The distance began to close between them, and their eyes began to close.

A message pinged Jasmine's data pad. Like a hound that had caught a scent, her head perked up and she rushed over to her desk. Seconds passed. "Oh, no..." she murmured.

"What's wrong?" Frost asked, propping himself up on his elbows.

"One of the patients just took a turn for the worse. He needs to be operated on immediately," Jasmine explained as she threw her pants, shoes, sweater, and lab coat back on.

"I thought your shift is over," Frost said.

"It is, but I'm the chief medical officer on this ship. If something critical like this happens, I'd rather be the one to do it. I don't know when I'll be back. Just turn off the lights and get some rest."

Jasmine was gone in an instant. Frost felt lonesomeness creep upon him. With a heavy sigh, he turned off the lights, got as comfortable as he could, and pulled the sheets up to his chin. Shutting his eyes, he opened she'd be back soon.

* * *

"Really starting to bug me how Waters keeps choosing Marines over Helljumpers to take on special ops," Holst said, pacing back and forth. De Vos was sitting on the other side of his desk. His office in the security wing lacked homely touches, no holo-pictures or photographs, no memorabilia. Only his medals and ribbons, attached to a small board, hung on the wall, beside a tattered ODST flag.

De Vos shrugged.

"Captain Waters is in command of the entire task force. We've got to follow orders."

"It's been three damned months," Holst said, aggravated.

"The war won't end tomorrow," De Vos said, briefly thinking what wonderful news that would be. What a news report: the Covenant just packed up their gear and jumped home to whatever shithole planets they had spawned from. Humanity would rejoice, albeit there would be a great deal of confusion as to why. It'd almost be hilarious. "We've taken part in some heavy action already, and I'm sure there will be more in the future."

"Not if Jack the Ripper gets his special unit. He'll be leading troops on special ops, racking up his kill count, getting medal after medal. I thought Waters despised the little bastard; with all he's done for her, you'd think he was her prized asset."

"Gunny Frost is a good soldier," De Vos offered, "I've fought with him. His skillset is impressive and he knows how to lead a squad effectively."

"I wouldn't put too much stock in a fuckin' baby killer."

De Vos frowned.

"Frost never killed civilians."

Holst gave her an unimpressed glance.

"I chose you as my XO because you're smart, Nina. You honestly think he didn't kill Innie noncombatants on Skopje? You've heard all the horror stories."

"If I recall, the massacre of noncombatants was committed by Army troops, not Marines."

Holst gave her a dismissive wave.

"The day I let a war criminal have more _gravitas_ on a ship than me, is the day I resign my commission and go live with my rotten family in Amsterdam. You'd never seen such a lazy pack of lowlifes like them. Content to just waste away and not do anything with themselves," Holst shook his head. "Hell, Frost shouldn't have even been promoted to gunnery sergeant. He just got a battlefield promotion to staff sergeant. I'm not sure he's fulfilled all the requirements for those ranks."

"As far as I'm aware, The 89th received extended and unique training; many of the personnel have fulfilled certain requirements. Technically, most if not all are eligible for promotions to higher ranks," De Vos chuckled. "Almost nine years of service in total; three in training, six in combat. The UNSC could promote and spread these men out among other units; they'd make great NCOs and officers. Imagine if they went back and started teaching the new kids."

"Most of them are kids!" Holst exclaimed. "I swear some of them haven't a bit of scruff on their chin. I gotta talk with Waters. We are a distinguished unit as well; the Glorious 12th Shock of the 105th Shock Troops Division. We're certified as a Special Purpose Force too and we deserve to play a larger role in overall operations."

"Sir, with respect-"

"Just say it, Nina."

"We are just one part of thousands of personnel under her command. ODSTs are shock troops, this is well established. But look at how Waters has used us before; we've dealt killing blows to the enemy. Think of the Marines as a harpoon, and the ODSTs as a lance. The harpoon is used to deal damage, weaken, tire. The lance is used for killing."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, this isn't some 19th Century whaling ship."

"Just a metaphor, sir."

Holst sighed and planted both hands on the back of his chair.

"We have a real chance to make a name for ourselves again. I don't want to fade away."

"After what we've been through," De Vos sighed, "fading away doesn't sound too awful, does it?"

She smiled a little. Holst didn't register any emotion. Finally, he stood up straight.

"I've got some paperwork to do. After action reports, casualty lists, death letters, the usual. Want me to put you in for a commendation? That was a fine drop you pulled the other day. You could make a sport out of drop pod formations. Never seen such a perfect ring," he grinned.

De Vos shook her head, annoyed with the condescending tone in his voice.

"No, sir."

"Suit yourself."

"I think I'll go check on the men."

De Vos stood up, saluted, and turned to leave. She heard him snap his fingers.

"That's what we'll do."

"Sir?"

"Frost is going to be putting a raider unit together. Unofficial, but unofficial or not, there needs to be an officer in charge. Waters and Hayes know that. I think I'll have a chat with the Dread Pirate Waters and point that out. If I have my way, you'll be put in charge of the raiders unit and this'll become ODST business."

De Vos said nothing. All she did was nod, and leave.

* * *

Jasmine slipped back into the room. It was dark and late. She hadn't looked at the time and didn't care. All she knew was that she was exhausted, and the operation had almost failed. Success, nonetheless, had been achieved. Another life saved. Still, it didn't feel like much had been accomplished. As she quietly stepped in, she peered at Frost. He was lying on his back, the sheets pushed down a little. He was sweating a little, and his mouth was slightly open. Without his mustache, he looked a bit more like his actual age. Beards made the many young men on board look so much older. She pondered what he would look with his facial hair completely shaved off. Even if his whiskers were gone, the scars and wear on his face would still make him look several years older than he was.

His light brown hair was already growing back. It was messy and matted on his forehead. Maybe he had been dreaming. Carefully, she brushed it back. He did not stir. Jasmine decided to shower first before getting into bed. After getting into the bathroom without making a sound, she turned on the light and started running the water. Undressing, she stepped under the water as steam rose around her. The water was soothing and she sighed, feeling days of stress melt away. After standing under the hot water for what seemed to be an hour, she stepped out, dried off, and threw her tank top back on and as well as a fresh pair of underwear. The room was messy with discarded clothes but she didn't mind; it was a mess to be dealt with tomorrow. When she turned to get into bed, Frost's eyes were open. Since her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, she could see him quite clearly.

Jasmine got under the sheets and was beside him. She felt a bit nervous; it was the first time she had ever been in a bed with a man. Frost must have been too, as his eyes darted from her's nervously. Nothing was said between the two for some time. Darkness surrounded them, though for once it was not unpleasant. More so, it was shield against the world outside the door. Staring at him made her want to stay there, and not have to get back up tomorrow. Something sorrowful and lonesome gripped her despite his presence, so much so that she wanted to let herself cry. Mixed with those wretched feelings was a certain relief; perhaps the solitude she felt for years was just magnified then, now that she was not alone.

Eventually, her right side began to ache. By force of habit, she rolled onto her left, turning her back to him. Her eyelids grew heavy. Then, she felt his hand on her upper arm, tentative and gentle. Then his whole arm around came around her. His other arm came around as well; she lifted her head and rested her head on it like it was a pillow. His embrace was sweet and snug. He pressed his face into the back of her head, nestling his nose in her wet dark hair. Jasmine smiled as she felt his warm breath on the back of her neck; it made the hair there stand up.

"I don't like being alone at night," he whispered. "It makes me feel like I'm in a dark tunnel again."

With four sisters, he probably hadn't gotten a room to himself growing up. Military life didn't allow for privacy either. Constant company, something that many would eventually tire, was something he had grown accustomed to. An attachment that had started in his youth, carried into the bondship of soldiers. Jasmine didn't need him to say it. She understood.

Frost inhaled slightly. "You were going to say something earlier. It seemed important to you."

"It can keep until morning," Jasmine whispered to him. "I want you to sleep."

Nothing more was said, and soon he was asleep. Feeling an immense warmth in her chest, Jasmine settled in his arms and drifted off into sleep.

* * *

" _Uh...heh, it was the first time I had ever broken any rules. At least, I'm pretty sure it was."_

-Carris, UNSCN

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Too bad it didn't line up as GTFO. Wouldn't that have been great? This was a fun but difficult chapter to write, I have to admit. It's nice to play around with the characters a bit and show different sides of them. Frost's inner child fears, Jasmine's desire for human connection, Langley's inner "girly-ness" if you want to call it that, Steele's acting out as he prepares for more responsibility, Moser's steadfast devotion giving way to apprehension. While I try to balance what sides we see of our characters, it's relieving to me as the writer to sometimes just focus on one side, especially more emotional, confrontational, romantic sides. Hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading.**


	38. Chapter 38: Knee Socks, Part Two

Chapter 38: Knee Socks, Part Two

* * *

When Jasmine woke up, she found that Frost was absent from her bed. His crutch was leaning against the wall beside the stand. Black boots sat side by side at the desk chair, and his shirt was draped over the back. Water was running in the bathroom. As she swung her slender legs out and sat up, the door opened and Frost limped out. He wore only his camouflage pants; his light brown hair was still wet from the shower and was messy. It grew so fast. His dog tags jingled with each step he took, the two metal discs nestled in the sheen of hair on his semi-broad chest. A trail of hair ran down from his chest, all the way down to his belt buckle. All over his torso were black lines-the stitches from where the shrapnel had penetrated. Beside them were older scars, some very faded. Jasmine winced; she could feel a miniature wave of pain wash over each tiny spot she saw. A few moments of hushed, deep breathing and focus brought her back.

Frost flashed her a very pleasant smile, far different from the usual curl his lips too, and held his toothbrush in the air for a moment.

"Morning," he garbled.

"Morning," Jasmine yawned, averting her eyes, hoping to conceal her blush. "What time is it?"

"Oh-nine-thirty," he mumbled. He limped back into the bathroom, spit, rinsed, and began filling the sink with hot water. Steam began to rise as it grew fuller. He splashed some on his neck and upper lip. After turning off the faucet, he applied shaving cream to his neck, to the same spots. The rest of his beard, which only descended slightly onto his neck, remained untouched. Slowly, he brought the razor down his lip in short, vertical swipes, and once it was bare, he doused the razor in the water. Then, he began scraping it down his neck. It was quiet in the room and Jasmine could hear the dull scratch of the metal on his skin. Some of the shaving cream had been lathered quite thick, and some dripped from the razor into his chest hair. Some water from his neck had been seeping down, so a few, solitary white streams traveled down his chest and stomach. Jasmine watched. And watched. "When's your shift at the med bay start?" he asked. He didn't seem to notice her staring.

"Administrative duty for me today. No surgery, unless there's an emergency," Jasmine said, finally looking away. "Where are all your bandages?"

"Took'em off," he answered. Having finished, he drained the sink, splashed cold water on his lip and neck, then splashed the stream into the sink to wash the little hairs down. When he was done, he took a spare towel and wiped his face, chest, and stomach. He had shaved his beard so that it was hugging his jawline a little more closely. It still maintained a jagged shape, not an even strap.

"Nathaniel..."

"What? The stitches are holding up just fine. The hot water didn't bother me at all. Those meds you gave me are much better than the morphine, I don't feel like crud."

"Is it too much to ask that you continue resting?"

"Holed up in here?" Frost frowned. "By myself?"

"I can work from here. I have a terminal right there," Jasmine said, waving a hand towards her desk.

"I need to get up and move around, Jas. I have to draw up my list of candidates for the Raiders and go speak to them. I can't sit around doing nothing at all."

"Why don't I come with you then and help? I can do most of my work from my data pad in between interviews. I can take notes and help keep track of who we need next."

Frost smiled.

"I'd like that."

Jasmine smiled back. His smile, which always possessed a certain sadness, seemed so much warmer. Maybe it was the lack of a mustache, she joked to herself.

"I'll go freshen up, we'll grab some chow, and then we'll start seeing who's raider material," Jasmine said enthusiastically. Frost chuckled as she went into the bathroom.

Last night had been one of the best in a long time. She hadn't slept so soundly in all her life. All her life she had never felt afraid when she had closed her eyes and pulled the sheets up. Monsters under the bed or in the closet were never imaginings that never bothered her. Darkness never made her wary either. Shadows or dark corners lacked the menacing facade many others feared. Yet in his arms she had felt a certain safety she had never known before. Already, she yearned for it again. Quite frankly, she hadn't wanted either of them to get out of bed. But being able to spend an entire day together was a fine idea to her. In the eyes of many, she and Frost were inseparable. Despite such rumors, it wasn't as it seemed. In the few months they had known one another, they had many occasions to share each other's company. Those moments had often been fleeting, no matter the depth their conversations reached. Convicted as ever, Jasmine still believed that time well spent was more important than how much time was spent together. Even so, she was excited to be by his side for the day. She hoped he was too.

* * *

Frost was sitting at the edge of the bed with a pad of paper and a pencil beside him. While Jasmine had showered, he had figured out what kind of specialists he would need for the unit and the best men for the jobs.

He slipped on a t-shirt and then his overshirt. It was form-fitting and comfortable, although he kept the zipper unzipped. It only went to around his sternum and only reveal the shirt underneath. Taking a few moments to change the bulge of white bandages wrapped around his middle finger-or rather what was left of it-he found it to be quite grisly. Already, he could hear some smart-ass remarks from fellow Marines as he walked through the hall. Hopefully, none would be too embarrassing.

Walking the ship with Jasmine would be refreshing. It had been some time since they had walked its seemingly ever stretching halls and corridors. Going over and getting his boots, he plopped back down on the edge of the bed and slipped both on. Just then, Jasmine appeared from the bathroom. She was wearing a fresh tank top and nothing below the waist except for a pair of underwear. Her dog tags disappeared beneath her tank top, and her dark hair, which was starting to grow back a little, was messy. Staring was impolite, he had been taught. But he couldn't help it. Jasmine didn't quite have an hourglass shape. Her upper body and middle appeared to be, but her hips were wider than they appeared when she was dressed, giving her a slightly more pear shape. A birthmark, just a tiny splotch of light brown, marked the upper part of her right thigh.

When she looked over at him, Frost wasn't quick enough to look away. If she had noticed, she was too good natured to say anything. She pointed at his untied boot.

"No, let me tie them. I don't want you to put weight on your leg by bending over."

"Huh? Oh, my boots. It's alright, I've-"

Jasmine wouldn't hear it. She crouched down on one knee and began lacing them up. Frost couldn't help but look down and felt embarrassed and intrusive. Her tank top wasn't that tight, and much of her breasts were exposed. He remembered seeing them bare when he patched her up during the Battle of Camp Havens. Even then, he had been thoroughly bashful. He looked only for a few moments before staring at the wall, red and embarrassed.

"I don't mind."

"Hm?"

"I don't mind that you look," Jasmine said sweetly as she finished and stood up. Frost didn't know what to say, so he stood up awkwardly, stuffing the pad of paper into his pocket, tucking the pencil behind his ear, grabbed his crutch, and was out the door.

"I'll give you some privacy while you change," he blurted.

Jasmine didn't take long. She popped her head out, dressed in her usual attire save for the lab coat.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" she asked with a smile. Frost shrugged. She motioned for him to come back in. When the door shut, she handed him his NCO soft cover. Frost held the hat in his hands for a moment, turning it around a few times. "Something wrong?"

"Always hoped I wouldn't have to put one of these on."

"Don't you want to be in command of the unit?"

"Well, at first I had pictured that one of the officers from my company could do it. Lieutenant Conroy has been my commander since we left Earth, and he's never steered us the wrong way. I thought he could be in charge and I'd be his second in command. That was fine by me. Leading a squad is enough pressure. Now I'll have fifteen, twenty soldiers-friends-to take care of. I don't know what to make of it."

Jasmine smile softly.

"Tell me, why do you want this unit?"

"It's complicated," Frost answered after a moment's hesitation. "I'm a soldier. When I'm given a mission, I do my best to carry it out. I believe a raider unit can not only further complete our objectives but save lives."

"Save lives?"

"By hitting the Covenant's forward infrastructure from orbit _and_ on the ground, we'll make them a less effective fighting force. Which means we can get the upperhand. And..." he stopped himself. "...this may sound crazy, but..."

He shifted on his feet uncomfortably, his eyes darting away. Jasmine put a hand on his arm.

"Go on."

"Well, I want to engage the Covenant on _my_ terms. I think the more we can fight on our terms, eliminate variables, constrict their agency, the better our chances at success and survival. I know keeping my people on the offense will put'em at risk, I know that, but I think if we keep fighting, we'll stay sharp, stay focused, and that'll make us more effective. That's sort of how the entire 89th operates; we remain aggressive and engaged. We're not afraid to go toe-to-toe with the Covvies. In a strange way, our aggressiveness is our shield."

Frost ran a hand through his hair. "I just worry that this strategy will get them killed all the same."

Jasmine thought for a moment.

"When I watch the Marines board the Pelicans, watch the pilots lift off, I get a sinking feeling in my gut. I know some of our people are going to die. Others will come back, wounded. I fear for them, and I hope that everyone will come back in one piece. But I know that's wishful thinking. So I make myself accept reality: that casualties are _inevitable._ After a battle, when I walk into the medical bay, I sometimes wonder how I can help all of the wounded. All the screaming, all the blood. And the looks on their faces: hollowed, terrified, pained. When they see me, they don't say anything. But their eyes show it; they're begging me to save them. Stop the pain, bind their wounds. How can I save everybody?" She shrugged a little. "And then I do what I can. That's all we really can do in the end. You have to get over that nagging question and just do anything and everything you possibly can. If you can manage that, you can do it again. And again. A thousand times over, until you don't have to anymore."

As she spoke, with that tender smile of hers, those rich eyes seeing something else altogether, Frost couldn't have found her more beautiful. Every word resounded with him and struck him in a way that made him want to reach out and embrace her. She had the right of it, and as he looked down at the hat in his hands, it suddenly didn't seem so daunting anymore.

Fixing the cap, he slowly put it on, adjusting it.

"How do I look?" he asked. Jasmine smiled.

"Very handsome."

###

Sergeant Borko, or as Frost had labeled him in so many ways, 'that damnable scrawny goulah-sucking Croat,' was the first name on their list. Frost explained that while he needed someone for demolitions, he also needed someone for basic engineering. Maddox served as an in between, but having all three would make the unit more flexible. It wasn't so much as a vetting process as letting the young engineer know he was going to be a Raider.

Jasmine had heard the name Borko back during the battle but hadn't paid too much attention to him. He was a slim, short man with hair the color of wet sand and stubble coating his cheeks. He had a big smile and warm brown eyes.

"Jacky Ripper!" he greeted as they approached him in the Weaponsmith. "You cheat death once more!"

Borko embraced Frost warmly, then reached over and held up his left hand. "Oh, brudda, they took the hole-fuckin' finger."

"Yeah, the whole finger," Frost chuckled.

"No, no, the _hole_ fucking finger," Borko repeated, grinning from ear to ear as he made a circle with his thumb and index finger, and slid his other middle finger in and out of it. Realization, indignation, and agitation flashed across Frost's face. He gave him a rough shove with one hand, enough to make Borko stumble back several steps as he howled with laughter.

"Very funny..."

"Ah, I been waitin' to try that," he looked at Jasmine, then at Frost, then back to Jasmine. "I'd make more but then I think you'd hit me real hard. Maybe even kill poor me, you syrup-slurping, tree-hugging, frozen bastard."

"Listen you beachcombing, tripe-munching little runt," Frost said, putting his right arm around Borko's shoulder, grinning like a wolf. Jasmine was surprised to hear such an insult but Borko only tittered. "I'm putting together a special unit. Marine Raiders, light infantry who deploy fast, cause a lot of damage, steal some Covenant goodies, and exfil just as quickly. I'm in need of a good engineer, someone who can get us through tough obstacles, whether it be a Covenant roadblock or a shield wall."

"Raiders, eh? Sounds like fun. Been brushing up with Covenant tech since we captured all that material. Got to see what makes those Phantoms tick."

"Good. We'll need that knowledge going on these raids. So you're in?"

"I am. Does this mean I room with you now?"

"Uh, no. The way I'd like to see it is that we can form whenever necessary for raiding or other operations. If the unit isn't needed, we'll still bunk and fight conventionally with our original units within the 89th during a general battle. That is unless of course they legitimize and re-introduce the unit. Then we'll bunk together."

Borko shrugged.

"You smell anyways. Like women's shampoo. I wonder why that is," Borko tapped his chin, pretending to think. Frost gave him a bit of a shove.

"Alright, make yourself scarce. I don't want your fishy breath in my face any longer. And when the time comes for a raid, you better get your ass over to the hanger, pronto."

"Forever at your service, Jacky Ripper," Borko said, hopping up on a nearby crate and taking a sweeping bow. Frost rolled his eyes and walked off. Jasmine checked a box beside the name in a special document she had made on her data pad.

"He's quite the character," she remarked, walking beside him.

"You'll get sick of him soon enough," Frost muttered, "he thought it was a funny prank to roll training grenades across the floor of our barracks back during basic. He's been promoted and demoted so many times they ought to just put a zipper on his stripes."

"You're rather mean to him. Have you got something against Croatians?"

"Of course not. We've always talked like that."

"You Marines are strange," Jasmine murmured after a beat. That made Frost chuckle.

"Comes with the job!"

"Oh, Jacky!" Borko leaped from the crate and slid up to them. "You need a demolitions expert, yes?"

"Yes."

"I know which one you need, come."

Frost and Jasmine followed an eager Borko into another part of the Weaponsmith. They passed the 'smiths,' tinkering with rifles, rocket launchers, pistols, shotguns, and more. Others operated on explosives. Jasmine had never really taken the time to explore the facilities within the armory. Weapon grease, oily metal, spray paint, and other smells bombarded her nostrils. Men spoke with vulgar language and about crude topics. A few pinups and cut outs from dirty magazines had been hung on the walls. Men walked around without shirts or in tank tops, smoking cigarettes around high explosives. If Frost hadn't ushered her on, she would plucked each one from their lips and disposed of them...somewhere. Where did all of the cigarette butts these men smoked go, she wondered.

As they approached one group, Frost made an approving sound.

"We'll be talking to Gabe now," he said.

"Gabe?"

"He's one of our best demo experts in the 89th," Frost explained. "I should have thought of him."

Gabe was from Andorra, one of the smallest countries in Europe, between northeastern Spain and southwestern France. Although, as Jasmine found out, he had emigrated to Mexico with his parents when he was very young. He had jet black hair that was trimmed close to his scalp and a clean shaven, full face. He was of average height and possessed a medium build. His dark eyes were warm and friendly, and he had a reserved smile.

Frost and Gabe gave each other a one-armed hug.

"How are you, Gunny?" he asked.

"Holding up just fine. Doc Ebrahimi put me back together again."

"With the way you fight, she's gonna be patching you back together on a regular basis. You'll be a regular Frankenstein, won't you? Stitches and all." Gabe said, poking him in the chest. He turned to Jasmine. "This man has gotten into some of the worst firefights we've ever seen. Used every weapon he's had at his disposal, right down to those fangs of his."

Jasmine blinked, finding the thought of Frost getting wounded as well as him using his teeth in combat to be equally disturbing. Frost cleared his throat and explained his intentions with the unit. Time seemed interested, nodding, arms akimbo.

He tapped his foot a bit. "High risk, don't you think?"

"Our entire unit has been on high risk operations before, Gabe. Nothing more aggressive than usual, really."

"Lotta opportunity to hit Covvie infrastructure. Wouldn't take more than a few charges of C12 in the right spots to blow up a factory or destroy a ring of defenses. I'm up for it."

The two men shook hands. Jasmine wrote his name down and then checked him off. They were moving right along.

###

Jasmine kept pace with Frost easily despite how fast he walked with the crutch. He seemed to be in a good mood, actually happier than she had ever seen him. Perhaps the activity, the change, was exciting for him. Maybe he was just relieved to be out of bed and eager to move around. When he wasn't wounded, he was usually training; out of the day, he probably only spent a few hours awake in his barracks. Jasmine made a mental note to remind him, once he was off his crutch, to take it easy once he started training again. Any good doctor would have forced him into physical therapy, but it didn't look like he needed any. Even for his hand, but Frost seemed ambidextrous enough. Despite how uncomfortable it made her to cut corners, she understood that constraining the mind and emotions could be just as debilitating as a plasma wound.

The next pair of potential Raiders were the Orlov brothers of Russia. One was named Konstantin and the other Nikodim. To her, those seemed to be profound names. Numerous kings and emperors throughout history had been named Constantine and anyone who was familiar with the Gospel of John knew the name Nicodemus. Frost confirmed her suspicions, although he warned her that she wouldn't find that two of the kingly sort.

Indeed, he was right. Konstantin was a slim man with pale skin and hair the color of hay. His features were very fine and handsome, and he had gentle green eyes and a thin lips that appeared to always be smiling. Nikodim was not as thin, his frame a bit more toned than his brother. His face was broader and he had a very strong jaw, and was missing the very tip of his nose. All the same, he was handsome though not as much as his brother, with cornsilk colored hair and olive eyes.

The two brothers were in one of the far medical bays, entertaining some of the wounded troops. Konstantin was playing an old acoustic guitar while Nikodim sang. Jasmine couldn't understand the words though the tune combined with Nikodim was, as Frost said, characteristically Russian. Both guitar and voice were slow and mournful; Frost explained it was an old soldier's song. One might have guessed that such a song would not have been appropriate to raise the spirits of wounded men. Yet all of the men, confined to their cots, bandaged, broken, torn, listened and watched, a strange sort of contentment evident on their faces. Their eyes were not hollow like many soldiers recovering from wounds. Instead they seemed to glisten and twinkle, as if the song spoke to them. She doubted any of them knew the words but Jasmine realized, as she listened, she didn't need to. Somber words struck her and brought about a feeling that she couldn't name. Instinctively, as the song went on, she reached out and put a hand on Frost's free arm. Instead of letting her hand rest there, Frost took her arm around his, as if he were an old movie star taking a starlet out for dinner. He smiled at her.

"The song's about a soldier who hates what he does, but war always calls him back, and he always answers the call."

Jasmine could tell Frost liked the song.

When it was over, the wounded men around them clapped. Frost stepped forward; Jasmine slipped her arm from his before anyone noticed. It felt silly to be shy about it, like two teenagers who had just started dating in high school. Or at least that's what she imagined looking at all the couples back then, who ended up breaking up a few months later, causing controversy and awe in the student body for about three days. Konstantin stood up and Jasmine realized he was the guitar player that Frost had spoken to in Russian the day he left for the long range mission with Adley.

"Nataniyel'!" he exclaimed, setting his guitar aside. The two embraced. "You look well, _soldat_."

"I feel well," Frost said. "How're you holding up? How'd you fare in the fighting?"

"Not badly," Nikodim answered, as he clapped a heavy hand on Frost's shoulder. "We stormed a grav-tower and set up our M247 there. When the Covenant retreated, it was like a shooting gallery."

"Stacking'em up?"

" _Da._ "

"I have a proposition for you two," Frost began. He explained the idea of the unit and their activities, then went on to say, "I need a machine gun team. I've already got a heavy weapons specialist, a sniper, a pointman, two combat engineers, a demolitions expert, one radio op, mostly from my squad. Having you two on the M247, being able to cover assaults, guard flanks, and hold strategic points. Generally, you'd add a lot of flexibility and firepower in the field."

The two brothers exchanged glances.

"Should we rock, paper, scissors for who gets to carry the gun?" said Nikodim

"You say it like it's a bad thing. Whoever gets to carry it gets to shoot. I like to shoot," Konstantin said back.

"Which is heavier, the gun, or all the ammunition?"

"It's almost eleven kilos without the tripod, twenty with it."

"Each box has a hundred rounds. We'll need to carry a full rucksack with it all if we want to stay in the fight longer than five minutes..."

"Maybe we oughtn't use boxes. Belts might work better; one of us shoots, the other feeds."

Frost rolled his eyes but he didn't look annoyed with the pair of brothers. Jasmine raised her hand a little.

"Why don't you just switch off every mission?"

The two brothers looked at her, but before they could utter a single word Frost nodded his head."Good. That's settles it." The brothers made dismissive sounds and waved him off, but it all seemed in good fun. Jasmine, smiling, checked their names of the list.

Frost departed with Jasmine, leaving the excited brothers behind to sing and play guitar. This time it was a happier tuned that made the wounded troopers smile and laugh. The sound followed them down the hallway.

"I thought siblings weren't allowed to join the same unit," Jasmine said.

"I know. Hayes somehow bypassed those rules. He has a way of doing that. Maybe it's because of his service record. Prove yourself and the brass gives you a break. I shouldn't be in charge of a unit of this size but Hayes willed it and now, here I am, recruiting Raiders. What Hayes wants, he gets."

"Except your field commission."

"Ha! He'll have to kill me."

Frost now wore a determined grin on his face and his pace quickened. Jasmine was glad to see him happy. His head was high, his cap was on squarely and firmly, and despite his crutch he walked confidently.

* * *

Langley waited in the hallway as Sánchez stepped out from his barracks. He was clad in his fatigues and seemed to be in a good mood. Sánchez was a bit taller than her, with a standard crew cut and a clean shaven face. His cheeks were a bit on the fuller side, which made him look a bit younger. Whenever he smiled, he revealed the tiny gap between his two front teeth.

"Hey, Nora," he greeted, "what's up?"

Inside his barracks she could hear joking and laughter. She quirked her eyebrow. Sánchez chuckled. "Just a little celebrating. They say I'm a real Marine now." He smelled like cigar smoke and she could smell a hint of alcohol on his breath. It was a soldier's way of celebration, she told herself with a little smile.

"Gunny Frost sent me over to talk with you." Langley briefly detailed the purpose of the unofficial raider unit and its planned activities. Aggressiveness, high-risk, quick-deployments; these were the phrases that Frost had told her to use. Sánchez didn't seem entirely thrilled with the idea. Langley expected the veterans Frost was talking to would be more inclined. They had been trained to be hard hitters. Unlike them, she and Sánchez were trained to be riflemen as well as radio operators. Going on commando raids hadn't been a part of their job description. "He wants to have two radio operators; one to coordinate with the fleet and the other to call in close air support."

Of course, the third part of the role was to take the other's place in case one of them was greased during an operation. Whether or not Sánchez understood that by the reluctant expression in her eyes, she wasn't sure.

The pair walked down the hallway for a bit. Sánchez's hands were jammed into his pockets.

"My girlfriend told me before I shipped out not to do anything dangerous," he said with a weak smile. "Dangerous. I'm heading off to war and she tells me not to do anything dangerous? When did people start thinking that war is safe? But the more I thought about it, the more I realized she was just telling me not to stick my neck out. Of course, that makes you seem like a coward among the company we keep."

"I think it had more to do with us being new to the unit. New blood is never welcomed," Langley said.

"Your squad didn't seem to give you much trouble. You went in and asserted yourself. I've never been able to be like that. I let Nebiyev and the others walk all over me. You didn't see the worst of it. They pissed on my toothbrush, went through my footlocker, filled my boots with... _something's_ shit. And you don't even want to know what they did to the photo of my girlfriend," he grimaced. "And if it wasn't crap like that, they made me do extra...everything during training. Extra target practice, extra PT, extra hand-to-hand training. They wore me out every chance they got because they saw me as a liability. I thought it'd all change after our first battle together, but all they did was get meaner and more distant. Once in awhile they'd give me a smoke or a ration, but that was it. It wasn't until now that they actually smiled at me. Things are finally looking up."

"So you don't want to join? Your technical scores are great, I know that. You'd be great for the unit."

"These ops sound like they could get pretty hairy. My squad finally has my back, for real this time. I know it seems selfish, to focus on my own-"

"Self-preservation isn't selfish," Langley cut him off. "And I assure you, everyone in this unit will have your back, no matter what. And it's not a permanent change. We won't be deployed in a conventional battle unless there's some kind of special op. So, during normal battles, we'll be with our original units, but we'll form up when it's time to go raiding."

Sánchez sighed.

"You sure the people in the unit will have my back?"  
"I guarantee it."

The young radio operator looked at his boots for a moment, then looked back up.

"I'll join, but only because of you did for me that day in the mess hall. You stood up for me, and I won't forget that. I'm doing this for you, okay?"

Langley nodded and they shook hands. Then they heard someone clear their throat. Both turned and sat Nebiyev, leaning on his crutch, standing behind them.

"You two, with me, _now._ "

* * *

In the hanger of the _I'm Alone_ , Jasmine and Frost stood at the rear of the Pelican dubbed 'Triple Seven.' Jasper, the South African pilot, sat on the edge of the blood tray, his hands under his thighs, swinging his legs forward and backwards.

"So, you want my Pelican to be a part of your Raiders? Fly you in and out of the hot zones, hm?" he said, his usual smirk absent and his eyes on the floor.

"I don't want to have a different Pelican crew dropping my team off or picking us up every op. I want somebody I know. We've been through plenty of drops already. And you saved our lives from getting nuked on Ambition. Any crew willing to do that for me and my squad is more than dependable."

Jasper shrugged.

"You're not the only one with people to look after. Isha's got a wife and two kids. And although it might not seem like it, Pajari wants to marry me after the war."

The red-haired Finnish girl, sitting up in the cockpit, leaned into sight with an infuriated expression on her face.

"Only a woman with half a brain and half a heart would marry you, you sleezy son of a bitch. You're as toxic as an oil slick!" With that, she disappeared from sight. Jasper only laughed.

"See? Head over heels in love with me." His chuckle softened. "The three of us have been in this war as long as you have. We've been shot down more than once and seen lots of Pelicans get hit. We have high casualty rates, you know. Seven years, Jack the Ripper, _seven_ years. Going from this hanger down to the surface of a colony is already dangerous enough. Banshees, Seraphs, AA guns, some Grunt with a fuel rod cannon; all of these can knock us out easily. Going on raids, without escorts, puts my crew at an even greater risk. I'm not going to allow the three of us to become another statistic."

He jumped off the edge of the Pelican's blood tray and sighed. "Look, Nate, I appreciate that you think we're the best fit for the job. I just can't say yes."

"Well, I say yes."

All turned; Isha, the crew chief, was standing nearby. "Have you forgotten, Jasper, that this was the man who led the rescue team to find Alvarez?"

"I haven't forgotten," Jasper said quietly.

"This man almost died for her," Isha said, walking over to Frost and putting a hand on his shoulder. He looked at him sincerely. "You may not have known, but Alvarez meant a lot to everyone here in the hanger. Even us Pelican jockeys. She was brave and she cared about us. At her previous posting, Alvarez would always divert from combat to protect transports under attack from Covenant aircraft. Sometimes she was all that stood between them and us."

"You served together previously?"

"We did," Isha said, "our posting before this was on the same ship as her. She was a war hero. Alvarez might not be with us anymore, but you and your squad did everything they could to save her. The least we can do is be there for you. So I say yes."

"So do I," Pajari said, who had come from the cockpit and now stood in the rear hatch of the Pelican. "Anything to help bring the fight to the Covenant. Our auto-cannon and rockets can cause a lot of damage."

"We're not a gunship," Jasper said, glaring at her over her shoulder. "I suppose if it's two against one, I'm out-voted."

Shaking his head, he looked at the floor briefly, arms akimbo. After mumbling something to himself, he looked back up at Frost. "You make me a promise, Jack the Ripper. Promise that you won't play with our lives out there."

"I promise. You have my word."

Jasper spit into the palm of his hand and extended his hand. Frost didn't miss a beat, spitting into his own, and shook hands with the pilot.

Jasmine didn't ever think she'd seen two grown men spit shake in her life. She had thought displays of trust like that appeared only in television shows and films. Sometimes, the opposite branches of the UNSC were alien to her. Respect, hate, love, and admiration flourished between them all. What a strange life, they led.

When they parted ways with the Pelican crew, they found themselves being approached by Borko and a very tall chap.

"Hey Jacky, I was thinkin' who else might be worth putting into the Raiders. Macintosh here might be useful."

Macintosh stood at six and a half feet tall, clad in Hellbringer armor, complete with the orange-visored helm. All that was missing was the NA4 and the oxide fuel tank backpack. Hellbringers were a rare sight and Jasmine hadn't known that any were aboard. More than likely, the complement within the 89th had made themselves scarce. Such troops were regarded with a mixture of awe and fear, anyhow.

"Macintosh, good to see you."

"Jack the Ripper," he grunted.

"Interested in joining the Raiders?"

"Yes."

"Right. You're in."

"Hold on a second," Jasmine interrupted. Everyone turned their attention to her. "He wasn't on the list. Furthermore, how effective is a Hellbringer going to be?"

"What would you know about Hellbringers, lieutenant commander Jasmine Cloe Ebrahimi, age twenty-two, height five feet seven inches, weight one hundred-forty-three pounds, boot size seven, glasses for moderate bilateral astigmatism of the eyes, author of several medical textbooks, trained in over a dozen fields of surgery?"

Jasmine blinked. Frost cleared his throat, aggravated.

"That's enough, Macintosh ."

"Wait, how does he know-"

"I can tell," Macintosh grunted.

"He just can," Frost said quietly, "he's done that to me before. It got weird."

"Hellbringers good for clearing out entrenched foes," Borko chimed in, "make good assault troops. He'd be useful in a raid, would he not?"

"He would. You're in Macintosh ."

"Good," the Hellbringer said, and stomped off. Borko leaned over to Jasmine.

"Don't worry, he's actually friendly."

"Borko, seeing as how you want to make yourself useful, go fetch my next couple of candidates: Parker, Mōri, Boulos, Emery, Christianson, and Tholane. Bring them here."

Borko jogged off, happy to be given a task. Frost and Jasmine sat down at a pair of nearby crates. Still overcoming the oddity that was Macintosh , she scrolled through the list, striking the names off. No words were exchanged between the pair. When she looked up at Frost, he was sitting with his legs stretched out, both hands on the crutch, which stood perfectly vertical in between his legs. He seemed a little tired.

She cleared her throat as she began reading down the list.

"Parker...grenadier. Tholane...tech expert. Christianson...tracker. Mōri...designated marksman. Emery...driver. Boulos...corpsman. Hm."

Jasmine remembered when the 89th had finally settled onto the ships she had taken stock of how many had received medical training beyond basic first aid. The UNSCMC still did not supply its own field medics, but the course of the war had made some gears shift. Combat lifesaver courses, an Army device, were now being taught in the Marine Corps. From her study, a few hundred men had completed the course. While not a full-fledged medic or corpsman, Marine combat lifesavers had saved plenty of lives over the past decade.

Looking over the roster of current and selected members of the Raiders unit, she noted that Moser had taken a combat lifesaver course. That was was a definite boon. Langley had received PJ training though had not finished the final specialist course. In her CSV, the only note was an ominous 'training accident,' followed by a demotion and a transfer to communications. Frost had told her that the radio operator was medically knowledgeable but was reluctant to utilize her skills. If push came to shove, Jasmine was confident that Langley would put those skills to use. Still, she wasn't confident in anyone who hadn't finished the entirety of their training.

After reading a bit more, she said, "Do you know Boulos well?"

"Sure do. When the 89th and the other units were created, the Navy participated in the program by selecting members to join the Navy as corpsman who were expected to go green. As a result, we've always had a ready contingent of corpsmen who don't need to be rotated."

"I take it that was another of Hayes' desires?"

"Yes. Trust me, he's a Marine, through and through, but when he designed the Youth Programs he drew on a lot of training and organization from other branches, mostly the Army. I think when in the concept stages for the units he wanted to add a new unit to UNSC Special Forces, to serve along side Force Recon, the ODSTs, and all the Army units under SPECWARCOM. I guess somewhere along the line we were just folded into the Marines." He shrugged. "Now the old man's got his wish-now that we're a part of the Vivian's Pirates, we're a part of NAVSPECWAR."

"Considering your diverse and enhanced training, I would say you're spec ops material," Jasmine said. Frost held his head up a bit higher and smiled, trying not to look prideful. "All the same, you should have at least two corpsmen. One PJ-dropout, a combat lifesaver, and a single corpsman just aren't enough to my liking. What if the corpsman is wounded or killed during a raid, and somebody else suffers a grievous wound the others aren't capable of handling? You'll need another to remain flexible. Please, be realistic about this."

Frost frowned.

"Alright, let me think. Pachis might be-"

"What if I went with you on raids?" Jasmine blurted. Frost's eyes popped and he looked at her, exasperated.

"What!? No way. I can't bring the chief medical officer on a raid. Are you kidding? That's more dangerous than operating a frontline field hospital."

"I've fought with you on the ground before."

" _Once_ ," Frost said through gritted teeth. He stood up, putting his weight on the crutch. He pointed at her with his free hand. "What's going to happen if you get wasted on a raid? Hm? How many people are going to die because you aren't around to patch them up?"

Jasmine stood up quickly, her eyes fixated in a seething glare.

"Don't try to pull that on me. You're a squad leader and you constantly throw yourself into the line of fire; if you get killed, how many men will die because you aren't around to lead them?"

Frost's arm dropped and he brought it close to his side, almost defensively. He looked away. Jasmine took a few steps towards him. "You know you have a greater responsibility to your squad, and with the Raiders, you have even more responsibility _now_ than ever before. Why do you go out alone? Why are you so reckless when you have people depending on you? Don't you care?"

"Of course I care!" Frost snapped. "Sometimes all you can do is throw yourself into the line of fire to gain control of the situation. I'm willing to do that, to make that difference, so nobody else has to."

Jasmine and Frost stared hard at one another. Eventually, Jasmine pushed her glasses up her nose and folded her arms across her chest.

"I don't believe you."

Frost quirked an eyebrow. Jasmine shrugged. "That's not the whole story. You fought like a man possessed. Tell me the whole of it."

He said nothing. Jasmine did her best to soften her gaze. "Are you afraid I won't understand? Are you ashamed to tell me?"

"I don't know how to put it into words."

"Try."

"I'm a soldier. I have to fight. I'm good at it. Sometimes when I'm in the thick of it, I just get this weird feeling inside that tells me to keep going." He shrugged. "That's the best way I can describe it. Maybe it's adrenaline." At this, he looked away. "Just makes keep pushing."

It was all he was willing to say, Jasmine thought. She could see it in his eyes. Something more to say, but he couldn't, or wouldn't; she saw something defensive, shameful. Maybe he didn't fully understand himself. Jasmine understood Vivian's frustration then, though she still felt sorry for the man in front of her. Man; he had just turned twenty-two. Hardly a man at all.

Frost put a hand on her shoulder. "I know I go solo sometimes. I can be reckless. But I do it so somebody else won't. If I hesitant, one of my friends will jump up and pull the stunts that-"

"You make a habit of," Jasmine said, unamused. Frost shrugged sheepishly.

"Yeah, I know." He straightened up. "If they do what I do, they'll die."

"How are you certain?"

Frost smiled, flashing his missing tooth.

"Because they're not as good as me."

His voice was cloaked with cold, cold confidence. In that moment he was a different man altogether; his gray eyes darkened, he seemed to tower over her, and his features were almost wolfish. Thankfully, it was gone almost as soon as it arrived. Frost smiled as he always did, boyishly, sadly. "Like I said, I want to have control on the battlefield. By being the first one forward, I'll always have control."

"You need to have control of yourself first before you attempt to control a battle," Jasmine reminded him.

"I am in control when I go out there, even if it is reckless."

"Are you?"

He pursed his lips, eyes darting away briefly.

"Of course." Frost's expression softened. "Do you remember when I sat you down during Havens? I put you there so you didn't have to fight, so you could have a chance if the line broke. I fought-"

"So I didn't have to," Jasmine said, remembering, smiling.

"And you couldn't sit there anymore and joined the line," Frost reminded her. "That's what it's like for me. You can't sit around contented with what little agency you have. You- _I_ have to _act._ I have to. I'd rather it be me than somebody else. Do you see what I mean?"

Jasmine nodded reluctantly. "So you understand me now?"

"Yes, I do. But promise me you won't do things like that anymore. For the sake of your teammates and yourself. You have greater responsibility now, people are depending on you. They'll be there for you, so you need to be there for them. Control yourself."

"I will," he said, and Jasmine believe him. She could hear it in his voice. "I'll do better."

"Thank you."

Frost smiled.

"You're still not coming."

"But-"

"No but's."

"Afraid Vivian will lop your head off if you take me?" Jasmine smirked.

"Pah, she's not strong enough to wield the headsman's axe," Frost boasted. "No, it's not about Waters."

He reached over and gave her shoulder a squeeze. "I meant what I said the other day. I need you. For this. To kick me in the ass, keep me on the right track."

Jasmine blushed.

"I'd still like to go."

"How about we leave it at 'I'll think about it,' alright?"

* * *

Langley and Sánchez tailed behind Nebiyev as they entered the hanger. Word had passed along that he was gathering the last of the Raider recruits there. Nebiyev's pace was hampered by his crutch, so they had slowed themselves further to remain behind. Hands in pockets, shoulders stooped, and heads down, Langley could have found their appearance laughable-like a pair of school children behind led to the principal's office for out of hand roughhousing during recess.

She looked at the square shouldered NCO ahead of her. Seeing him, smug and comfortable with his mistreatment of poor Sánchez from two months ago was still with her. Letting go was not one of her strong suits. However, she did not maintain too much ill-will towards him. At least his attitude had changed and he was treating her fellow radio operator like a proper soldier. Pretty soon Sánchez's mild, gentle demeanour would shift and he'd become a whiskey slugging, cuss-slinging jarhead. Well, she wasn't that much different now. Thank goodness normal rotation didn't apply to special units like the 89th; she couldn't imagine traveling with a different band of Marines than the nut jobs she currently resided with.

Frost and Jasmine were by a pile of crates with Boroko and eight other men. The trio stopped and listened.

"Hey Parker, how are you?"

"Just fine. How're you holding up?"

Parker was a tall man from the Midwestern United States. He had dark skin, a crew cut, shining brown eyes, and pronounced cheekbones, hollow cheeks, and a strong chin and jaw. His left earlobe was missing and his overall frame was very slouched. His head seemed to lean to his right.

"Tholane, good to see you."

"You as well." Tholane was a Zulu of South Africa, with a barrel chest and strong arms and legs. He kept his head shaved but wore a thick beard. He had an imposing stance but his face was very kind. Looking at such a strong fellow without knowing him, it would have been a shock to anyone to hear that his speciality resided with computers and other kinds of tech.

"Mōri, what's up?"

"Your second ain't gonna mind an extra shooter, is he?"

"Lotta difference between a sniper and a DM."

"Suppose there is." Mōri hailed from the Hiroshima Prefecture of Japan. He was a slim but fit man, with black hair that was combed very flat although it came up slightly at the front. He had dark brown eyes and fine features. He had a burn scar on the right side of his neck and had his blood type-B positive-tattooed above his right eyebrow. Overall, his demeanour seemed cool and reserved, though his eyes did a great deal of searching.

"Emery, you old redneck piece of white trash. You doing alright?"

"Always nice to see you, you stupid Canuck," Emery answered. Emery was a red-haired tanker of middle height and scrawny shape. He was slouching a bit, though he differed from Parker's demeanour; Parker's stemmed from a innate reserved quality, while the tanker was more laid-back. Emery possessed a shock of red hair, a scraggly red beard, and acne scars on his cheeks.

"My two corpsmen!" Frost said jovially. "Boulos and Pachis the Hoplite!" Boulos was from Saudi Arabia. He had a scar running down his left eye, a thick beard, and trim black hair. Despite the scar he had a very friendly look in his smokey dark eyes and big smile. Among the majority of Marines present, he seemed a few years older than the others. He was of an average height and weight, but his left hand had been replaced with a robotic prosthetic. Beside him was the stern-faced Pachis. Unlike all the rest, he was standing at attention. He was clean shaven, had dark hazel eyes that seemed mean, and a muscular physique. While he was no taller than Frost he was certainly more imposing. His black hair was short and his face lacked emotion.

"The Hoplite?" Jasmine asked, standing behind Frost. Boulos laughed.

"This man here," he said, clapping a hand on Pachis' back, "once fought an Elite one-on-one, using a dead one's energy sword. Lost my hand trying to help him, ha!"

"You defeated an Elite in a sword fight?" Jasmine asked. "That's impressive."

Pachis said nothing. Jasmine seemed to frown.

"I thought hoplites were spearmen. Have I got my history wrong?"

"Hoplites used swords as well, Doctor," Pachis corrected rigidly.

"And last but not least, Christianson. Our tracker."

Christianson was a tall and dark skinned, with tight features, a clear complexion, and a confident expression is brown eyes. His black hair was a bit curly and he had a closely cropped beard. Tall, fit, and rigid in the body. Frost had explained he needed someone like Christianson on the team, someone who was knowledgeable of multiple types of terrain and lead troops along paths seldom used. Having someone with that skillset would give them an advantage on the long march.

The two bumped fists.

"Looking forward to working together, boss," he said, "haven't been able to do some really trackin' and pathfinding since Skopje. Those were the days, huh?"

"Some days indeed," Frost said. "Gonna need those eyes of yours for sure.

Frost, satisfied, took a step back and explained the core idea of the Raiders unit to the assembled party. Langley noticed that his demeanour had changed, his wounded leg and crutch notwithstanding. He was standing a bit taller, projecting his voice father. A new cloak of authority surrounded him. Just guessing, Langley assumed that the small, smiling doctor standing just behind him had something to do with the change. Whatever she had said must have stuck. The radio operator wasn't going to complain. She trusted Frost with her life and now, seeing the unit forming before him, made her confidence soar.

All of the men accepted and Frost, quite contented, let them go. He turned around and whispered something into Jasmine's ear, which made her giggle.

Nebiyev, with a quick motion of his hand, led Langley and Sánchez forward. Frost was surprised to see them.

"Frost, I hear that you want my man Sánchez for your Raiders unit. What makes you think you think you can just take one of my men away whenever you fancy?"

"It's up to him. He's his own man, just like the rest of the 89th."

"I told you Sarge, I want to do this," Sánchez said, quite meekly. Nebiyev turned around.

"Say it like you mean it, kid!"

"I want to be a Raider, Sergeant!" Sánchez answered, loudly.

"That's better." Nebiyev turned around. "Listen to me, Frost. Sánchez ain't like the others around here. You and I, we're stone-cold killers, we've pulled ops like this before. He hasn't and he needs one member of his squad with him to show him the ropes. If he's going, I'm going too."

"Sarge-"

"Shut up."

Frost looked at Jasmine, who scrolled down her data pad.

"Well, you do need another NCO for command purposes."

"Fine then, you're a Raider," Frost said. "I'm not sure when our first op will be. I'll have to determine that with Captain Waters. Once you're able, take Sánchez to the armory and give him the basics." He turned his attention to the radio operator. "It's all about moving fast, being aggressive, and working with your team. You'll pick it up real fast."

Frost glanced at Langley. "I think you'll be just fine, Nora."

Langley could only grin.

* * *

Happily, Jasmine and Frost decided to head to the mess hall. With the roster completed and it was only after midday, they could now take the rest of the day for themselves. Or so they thought, until Frost stopped in the middle of the hallway. Jasmine stopped and looked at him for a moment.

"Nate? Are you alright?"

Despite his high spirits, she could tell he was already becoming fatigued. A noticeable sheen of sweat was developing on his forehead, his gait had begun to slow. More of his weight was being placed upon the crutch. Everyone knew he was a strong man. But even a man who had received so many wounds, no matter how many he had sustained in his life, tired easily while his body attempted to heal.

"I was just thinking. We've got Tholane to tackle any human tech we come across. Borko's got some experience with Covenant equipment. But we don't have anybody who knows how to work with Covenant technology as a whole. Someone who knows their equipment better than us. We know how to use some of their weapons, the ones we can lift, that is. We've got enough training to run a Ghost. But hacking into a console? Reading their language? None of us are qualified. Without an expert, we could miss out on valuable information or get stalled by some of their equipment."

He scratched the back of his neck. "But we don't have anybody like that on board, do we?"

Jasmine thought for a moment.

"Let's go to the bridge."

###

Jasmine led Frost onto the bridge, where Vivian and her staff were working. Decatur was standing upon his pedestal, turned to face them.

"Ah, Captain Waters. Lieutenant Commander Ebrahimi and Gunnery Sergeant Frost have decided to pay us a visit."

Vivian looked over her shoulder, then stood up. She smiled at Jasmine, who saluted along with Frost.

"No need for that, Jas," she said. Her shining emerald eyes glanced to Frost. "Can I help either of you?"

"We've been putting together the Raiders unit the past few hours. We're all done but we've encountered a roadblock." Jasmine explained the situation. Vivian thought about it for a moment.

"We have a science team on board. Reclusive bunch. I haven't had the occasion to really speak with them. I would imagine they'll have some acquainted with Covenant technology. Commander Solak, the bridge is yours."

Vivian walked out, along with Jasmine and Frost in tow. It was only when the trio entered the elevator that Jasmine was aware of the two individual on either side of her. Slowly, she looked to her left. Frost was leaning on his crutch, breathing through his nose a bit heavily, eyes straight ahead. On her right, Vivian was looking down at her data pad, gazing at system readings, diagnostics, maintenance reports, troop numbers, and other various going-ons. Always the professional, with her dirty blonde hair tied into a smart little bun, her posture perfect. But the dark bags under her eyes were telling. What was giving her sleepless nights? Perhaps the man on her side. Stresses of command? Both, most likely.

It seemed as though the elevator's descent would never end. Normally calm and kept, Jasmine felt her eyes darting between the two incessantly. Both officer and Marines stared straight ahead, never breaking their gaze from the silver-plated elevator wall. She thought about saying something, maybe engaging one of them in conversation. How awkward would that be? Caring for wounded men and being shot at seemed much easier to deal with than _this_. What would have happened if she hadn't been in between them? Another quarrel? A fistfight perhaps? Everyone knew who would when-Frost was the premiere hand-to-hand combat specialist in the entire battle group. Though, everybody knew Vivian to be adaptable, quick to learn, and entertain unorthodox ideas. Granted, experience and mastery would defeat adaptability on any day of the week.

As the elevator landed and the doors opened, Jasmine breathed a sigh of relief as the trio disembarked. Passing hordes of engineers and technicians in different colored uniforms, Vivian led them to an isolated lab in the cavernous engineering room. Many machines, labs, terminals, catwalks, and other facilities filled the compartment of the ship.

The door was oddly locked and the wide, horizontal rectangular windows on the square shaped lab were closed. Not matter how many times Vivian tried, the sensors on the door glowed red and denied her access.

"Why is the captain of the ship being barred from entrance?" Frost mused. Vivian glared at him over her shoulder, and not wishing to be party to a vicious argument, poked him with her elbow.

"Mr. Decatur?"

"Yes, ma'am?" came the voice of Decatur through the ship's intercom system.

"Override Lab Fifteen's lock."

"Right away, ma'am."

It took only three seconds for the lights to flash and the door to slide open. Vivian, Jasmine, and Frost entered the pristine white lab to see a data pad go flying across the room.

"Shut your mouth, Vickers!" cried a brown-haired woman clad in a white lab coat. "If you'll take one moment to read my hypothesis, you'll see that _I_ am right!"

"Oh really?" mocked the so-called Vickers, wearing the same uniform. He was bald and had a goatee. "Maybe if you jumped off your high horse and read my hypothesis, you'll see that _I_ am right!"

"Well maybe we should run an actual test then, hm!?" the female scientist fumed.

"Whether or not either of you is more 'right' than the other..." said a third scientist, with deeply tan skin and thick black hair. "...you've got no way to test these hypotheses at this point in-"

"Shut your mouth Tane!" the other two shouted in unison.

Tane lowered his head and began tending to his work, as did about seven other scientists. Just as the female science officer and Vickers stormed towards each other in the center of the white room filled with computers and large screens mounted on the walls, they paused and look at the three baffled individuals before them.

"How did you get in here? This is a restricted area!" Vickers stated huffily.

Vivian quirked an eyebrow.

"Um, I'm the captain. Nowhere is off limits to me."

"Oh," Vickers said, turning red in the face. He cleared his throat. "My apologies, ma'am."

"You've all made yourself scarce," Vivian said to them now that they had all turned around. "You're punctual with your reports of the ship's experimental systems. But what tests are you talking about?"

"Oh well," said the female officer, "we were just-"

"What's your name?"

"Dr. Mia Evans, ma'am. We were just testing voicing some hypotheses about reverse engineering Covenant shield technology for our own ships. Of course, we've never been able to capture an enemy spacecraft and take a look at its internal mechanisms. Downed Seraph fighters are the closest we've come to seeing their shield technology but it's slow going working with damaged equipment. But I don't mean to trouble you with our ideas; what brings you down to our humble laboratory?"

"Gunnery Sergeant Frost here," Vivian said, her voice firm as his name passed her lips, "is organizing a raiding unit to work simultaneously with our attacks on forward Covenant infrastructure. While he does have a pair of competent engineers familiar with Covenant technology, he's in need of expert in case they meet with an obstacle beyond their capabilities."

The scientists had all turned to face them, and their faces paled slightly. Jasmine noticed a slight grimace creep onto Vivian's face. "Who here has the most experience with Covenant technology?"

All eyes and hands went to Tane. He pursed his lips and looked at his compatriots with a scathing look, as if he had been betrayed.

"Yes, I do. I've worked in multiple environments collecting, documenting, and testing Covenant technology, from firearms and captured vehicles to data storage containers, hand-held shield tech, and more since 2530."

Frost stepped forward.

"You work with UNSC ground teams before?"

"Well, yes, I suppose."

"Good. Have you done much killing? Any fighting?"

Tane's head lowered sheepishly. He seemed a timid fellow, scrawny in the body while his face was full and strong.

"Well, not any. I usually work in research teams with military escorts in the aftermath of a battle. ONI ensures we receive self-defense courses and weapons training, but it's rather limited."

Frost frowned.

"Any other qualifications or experience I should know about?"

"I have a doctorate in xenobiology and another in engineering."

"Were you expecting a stone-cold, dead-eye killer, like yourself?" Vivian mused to Frost. The gunnery sergeant ignored her, turning to Jasmine.

"Maybe it'd be best not to bring someone like him. Babysitting a noncombatant will add more variables to a raid that we can't afford."

"Train him up, then," Vivian said with a commanding tone. "You need a science officer with you. A crash course in small unit tactics, advanced weapons training, and some physical conditioning should turn our bookworm here into a fighting machine. How's that sound, doctor?" Vivian asked, smiling. Tane was already turning green. Frost was agitated.

"I don't need a lecture on how to do my job, Ahab."

"Watch your tone with me, Gunnery Sergeant Frost," Vivian snapped. "You asked for my help and you're getting it. Be grateful that I'm allowing this _unofficial_ , highly irregular unit exist. There's a reason the Marine Raiders aren't around anymore."

With that, she departed. Frost looked angry. Jasmine sighed; word would get out about that tense exchange. Whether it was in front of a few science officers or the whole ship, such confrontations would be bad for morale.

Frost walked over to Tane and poked him in the shoulder.

"Listen to me, Doc."

"It's Tane."

"Doc Tane, where are your barracks?"

"Well, are located in the naval officer's corden but we usually just stay here."

"Tomorrow at oh-five-hundred you shall be roused from your lab by two fine you gentlemen by the name of Moser and Grant. And until seventeen hundred hours, you'll be training." This he said with a nearly sinister grin. Jasmine and Frost went to the door, but just before they crossed the threshold, he stopped and turned. "Oh, and they'll come for you at the same time every following morning until our first raid."

Jasmine and Frost exited the lab, the door sliding shut behind them. She closed the file on her data pad.

"All done," she said, "that was fun. Want to grab something to eat? Evening mess is starting in less than an hour."

"I'm actually very tired," Frost said, "I think we should head back to your quarters. I need a break."

* * *

Frost was tired as they approached the door to Jasmine's quarters. He knew he had pushed himself too much. All the walking and pushing he did was now making his body ache all over. While it wasn't anything he hadn't experienced before, it was draining his energy. What he wanted more than anything else right then was a shower. His quick pace had worked up quite a sweat.

Hobbling in, he went straight to the bathroom. Closing the door behind him, he took five minutes just to sit on the toilet, catch his breath, and stabilize. He felt overheated and a few of the deeper wounds in his torso were aggravated. Not a throbbing, nor was there bleeding, but all the same, they were causing him more pain than earlier. Hindsight was twenty-twenty, he thought; he should have listened to Jasmine and taken it easy. One more day was all he needed to be back in shape. Or at least something more manageable. How he hated being in such a state. It wasn't the actual act of being shot or blown up that made him angry. Having to recuperate and deal with the fuss of medicine and tubes and all such nonsense was tedious. And waiting! The waiting was awful. Boredom was to be expected in a military life but being laid up in the infirmary was a death sentence to activity. Some chumps in other Marine or Army units liked to joke that going to the hospital was better than going on leave. You had an excuse to just lay in bed and do nothing, they all said. Not once had he found such jokes funny. Pretty nurses to wash you, hot food to eat, and being from the menial and backbreaking duties of soldiering. Frost found them to be poor soldiers and poor men.

After taking the quick break, he stood up and looked into the mirror over the sin. His skin seemed clammy and a sheen of sweat clung to his brow. A certain amount of sickening green had crept into his cheeks, and what wasn't green was pale. Skipping lunch might have been a bad idea. Poor Jasmine hadn't said a word when he kept on pressing for the next candidate. Already he felt bad for dragging her along with him on his escapades to round up old friends. She had wanted to, he told himself, but a more polite thing to have done was to refuse her all the same. Jasmine was the ship's chief doctor and had other duties to attend to. That didn't mean he hadn't appreciated her company; in fact the day had been more bearable because of her presence. He had to thank her; when he was able, maybe he could run into the city, what it's name was he did not know, and buy her a gift for Christmas. The New Year was approaching and he couldn't let the holidays pass without giving her something. She had, after all, operated on him and pull dozens of Brute shot fragments from his torso.

He reached up trace the scar going across his face. It was scabbing well enough and it was immensely itchy. Scars always looked their ugliest just as they began to heal. The yellowish scabs and the blackness of the stitches made for a gruesome sight. Carefully, he removed his shirt. It made his aches worse to lift his arms and he groaned through gritted teeth. Once it was off, he sat back down and removed his boots and socks. Standing back up-which just made his sore frame ache even worse-he took off his pants, leaning against the sink as he tried not to fall over. While the two wounds on his left leg were healing nicely, it was still stiff, practically feeble at this point. His pants got caught around his ankle; not wishing to reach down and remove them, he tried to kick it off. Half a dozen quick quicks later and still he couldn't free his foot. Swearing under his breath, he tried thrice more before sucking it up, reaching down, and removing it with his hand. A wave of pain shot up his entire upper body, stopping only at his neck. Hissing, Frost brought his fist down on the edge of the sink. Not from the pain; from the hassle. He hated being lame like this, he hated how the most simple tasks became difficult, how much it hurt to make even the most minute, smallest movements. It was like going from an able-bodied man to an elderly prune shuffling alone.

The door to the bathroom suddenly opened. Jasmine was standing there, holding two short stools, neither more than a foot and a half high. Frost, clad on his undershirt and underwear, stood there for a moment, staring at her. Jasmine had removed her lab coat, leaving on her turtleneck with the logo of the UNSC on the back and small sigil of the same logo on the left side of her chest. Walking in without a word, she drew the plain beige curtain of the shower back and placed one of the stools in the square space of about four feet by four feet, and another just outside the edge of stall. She came up to Frost, standing directly in front of him, hardly an inch in between them. Frost stared at her, and she at him. Eventually, she reached over and carefully helped him remove his shirt. She turned him around and removed his underwear. Frost was red in the face, hoping his body odor didn't offend her. But he knew that look; it was her doctor look. The same one he had seen when he had his first physical with her, when he was trying not to seem embarrassed to be naked in front of her in the cold examination room of a UNSC warship.

Jasmine went over to the shower and turned it on. Rolling up her sleeve, she held her hand under the water for a moment until it was warm. Then she pointed to the stood in the shower. Frost limped over and sat down with her back to her. Instantly, he sighed as the water rolled over him, soaking his hair and easing his muscles. He let his head hang low and his hair fall over his eyes for some time. He listened to Jasmine move about behind him; pushing his hair back up and running a hand over his eyes, he looked over his shoulder. Now clad in an olive drab tank top and matching shorts-she must have stepped out of the room-Jasmine pushed her glasses up so they were resting on the top of her forehead. Grabbing the standard issue soap, she walked over with a sponge, a kind he had seen from the infirmary, and sat down on the other stool.

Frost lowered his gaze once more. Her slender arm reached around him, wetting the sponge in the falling water. A moment later he felt the rough sponge, slick with soap, running up and down his back. She was slow and gentle, almost massaging him. Eventually, she reached up with both hands and pressed her thumbs into the back of his neck. Ever so gently, she rubbed her thumbs in small circles. Relief spread throughout his neck; he hadn't realized how tense he actually was. Her hands traveled down his back, resting on his old scars for a few moments, then massaging, them stopping to trace another. For a moment, Frost felt sad, as he knew she was feeling his pain. She was allowing herself to. He felt compelled to turn and take her hand, tell her that she didn't have to do it. But he couldn't bring himself to.

Time passed. How much he did not know. Nor did he care. His eyes were shut, his mind and body at ease, as soft fingertips danced over his back. He couldn't hear anything accept the running water and he was glad for it. So many years had passed with firearms barking, artillery thundering, and explosives detonating in his eardrums. Quiet was something soldiers on the front didn't experience, and when they did find themselves immersed in a cloak of silence, it was treated with loathing and suspicion. Here, with her, there was a balance to it all.

Her hand came around again, holding out the sponge, covered in foaming white soap that ran over her hand. Frost took it and began to scrub his front, being especially gentle over the wounds. Jasmine's hands remained on his back. Finally, she spoke.

"You've got a couple of clogged pores on your back. I told you to wash your back better during your physical."

"I don't remember that," Frost said. Jasmine picked at one of them. This made him chuckle. "My older sisters would pick and poke and paw at my back whenever we went swimming. They were obsessed with popping pimples and all that stuff."

"They say all girls are."

"That's just a silly joke." Frost said, even as Jasmine began to scratch at another. "Doesn't help that my sisters fit the bill entirely."

"Four sisters is a lot to manage, I would imagine. Tell me about them."

"Oh, well. I've got two in front and two in back. Adelaide is the oldest. She was always looking out for me, keeping me up when I was down. She has that oldest sibling authority, you know? Real leadership material. She'd make one hell of an NCO. And then Sadie was the second oldest and we were really close. Inseparable. We did everything together. Ride horses, read books, tend to the garden, play games, go to town." He frowned in a sad sort of way. "She got into a lot of fights with our parents as she got older and I was sort of the voice of reason for them when I was around eleven."

"That's a lot to expect from an eleven year old."

"Something just changed in Sadie. She became more independent, more headstrong, but still stayed close to me. It was like an overnight changed; she just grew up. And I grew up with her I guess. Ade once said I was her shield or something." He scratched the side of his face. "Sadie took my enlistment the hardest of all my sisters. Hardly talked to me those last few days before shipping out."

"She was losing the closest person in her life. Undoubtedly she was going to take it hard."

"I knew. Seeing her face in those last days together, it made me want to give up on the whole thing. But I stuck it out."

He cleared his throat. "But my other sisters-right after me was Karen. She's very sharp, kind of reserved, soft spoken. She got hooked on the music my Sadie, dad, and I liked. And finally there's Danielle. She's very pretty and is into all kinds of sports and...art. No, Sadie is into art. Dani was born right after Karen, so they're both still in high school. I think."

"You think?"

"I haven't really had words with my family these past six years. I spoke to Ade some time ago but it was...difficult."

"Why's that?"

"My family's just been far from my mind. I don't know what to say to them anymore. I read all their mail but I can't bring myself to write back." Frost paused momentarily, picturing his sisters' faces again. He was having trouble piecing them together. All he could see were their faces when he left; how much had they changed? It wasn't as through each letter they sent contained a photograph. "Sadie's never wrote me."

"That much be difficult."

"Yeah."

"Well, we'll be docked for a few more days. I heard the local garrison has a communications bank that supports video transmissions. Maybe you can give one of your sisters a call."

Frost shrugged.

"Maybe." He smirked. "The first thing they'll ask about is my face. How'd you get that scar-stick your face where it didn't belong? Oh, I can hear the jokes already."

"All the same, you should call them. I'm sure they miss you very much."

"I'll think about it."

Some time passed. Frost looked over his shoulder slightly. "What was it like growing up without any brothers or sisters?"

"Lonely," Jasmine answered as she took a breath, making her voice seem a tad lighter. "We moved around a lot. Inner Colonies, Outer Colonies, Inner Colonies again. One planet after another. I didn't spend more than six or seven months in one place. Made it impossible to make friends. Without siblings I didn't have anybody except for my mom and dad."

"They seem like busy folks," Frost said sympathetically.

"Sure. I mean, they made time for me whenever they could. It's not like they neglected me. But sometimes it just felt like I was just a note on their agenda, worked in between dozens of other activities."

"Any cousins?"

"I've got a few, but they all live on Earth, mostly in Spain. I have an aunt there that I've only ever seen through video transmissions. Hopefully, one day, I'll be able to meet her in person."

"Mm, I can't imagine having family you've never met face to face."

"Being a kid leaving an empty apartment for school, and coming back to that same empty apartment was hard. Reheating food for dinner, sitting alone in the table, doing my homework in utter silence, and going to bed just to hear my parents try and creep into the apartment after midnight. The most they would do is crack the door open and take a look at me, before going to bed."

"Do you resent them for it?"

"Not really. I wish they were around more, sure, but I don't hate them for it. I just wish I had some more company. I never got to have friends over, never had slumber parties, never went on a date, nothing that teenagers ought to experience." She sighed. "Not having friends or someone special was tough. It's why I was jealous of Vivian when we first met."

"Really?"

"Well, yeah. We just ended up in the same room and she seemed so...perfect. Very smart, very brave, good natured, strong, tenacious even. She just seemed to know what to do all the time and had no trouble doing what she needed or wanted. I felt so meek and shy next to her. But she accepted me, encouraged me. I'm not much different now than I was a few years ago, at least it feels that way sometimes, but Vivian helped me grow stronger. I finally had a friend. She's my best friend. The closest thing to a sister, even if we disagree so much."

"Siblings disagree all the time, let me tell you," Frost chuckled.

"Just to have any kind of connection is new to me," Jasmine said. "Just books and books and books to keep me company. Books don't make good companions. Even in school I felt lonely; no friends, no relationships, no one to get through the day with. I'm thankful for Vivian. And for you."

Frost felt her hand rest on his back, remaining still for some time. Slowly it slid up his back until it rested on his shoulder. "I wanted to ask you last night about..."

Her voice faltered somewhat. Not in a way like she was frustrated or saddened, but Frost could feel an apprehensiveness in her voice. He reached up and craned his hand around to rest on top of hers. After a moment he gently held all her fingers, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. That made her draw a breath and start again. "I'm a lieutenant commander of the UNSC Navy, and you're a noncommissioned officer of the Corps. Being together like this is breaking so many fraternization regs but I don't care. We both knew what we were getting into when we joined the military. We know that either of us, both of us, could die at any moment."

"Yes," Frost said gravely.

"Knowing all of that, knowing our duties, knowing how we feel, I need to know how fast you want to go."

"Fast?"

"I, just, I care about you immensely."

"And I you. I don't care how short a time it's been."

"Nate, I just want to know what you think our pace should be. Do you want to take things slow, or go fast?"

Frost thought for a moment.

"I mean, well, I'm not sure. I've never been with anybody like this, never had feelings for somebody other than you. I don't know what to do."

"Neither do I," Jasmine chuckled nervously. She was silent for a time. "Are you finished washing?"

"Yep."

Jasmine stood, shut the water off, and handed him a towel. Staying seated, he ran it over his head, ran it up and down his face a few times, and then began drying his chest. His dog tags, having been nestled in his chest hair, began to tinkle as the towel bumped against them. But Frost froze as he felt Jasmine's arms wrap around him and her body press against his back. The side of her cheek, warm, laid against the back of his neck. "You're going to get wet," he said, bemused, red in the face, glad she couldn't see his blush.

"Maybe we should just... _go_ ," she said then.

"What do you mean?" Frost asked, confused. "Like...desertion?"

"No! I mean, we just do what comes natural. I want us to be together, I just don't want it to get in the way of our duties, or our duties to get in the way of us."

"Jas I don't think we can have anything resembling a normal relationship on a ship of war," Frost said.

"I know, that's sort of my point. We just, do what feels right for us. Is that alright with you?"

Frost nodded.

"Yeah. We just, you know, stay open and honest and all that. I think everything'll be fine."

Her arms were still locked around him, her tank top wet against his back. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. Let me fetch you some spare fatigues."

"Just pants and a t-shirt is fine right now," Frost said as she exited the bathroom. He stood up and wrapped the towel around his waist, and limped to the doorway. Jasmine was already walking back, the camouflage pants and shirt draped over her left forearm. Yet when she held her arm, he didn't taken them. He just stared at her, and she at him.

As he stood there, dripping wet, she stock still, the front of her tank top wet and clinging, he wanted to say something, though he didn't know what. Something meaningful, profound, loving. Those words were beyond him. Where were his aged poetry skills that had earned him so much distinction in school? His chest, his heart, were swelling with feelings he had never felt before and no matter how badly he wanted to he knew there was no chance of eloquently soliloquizing those words into something special for her. What kind of man couldn't drum up a few emotional words for the woman he cared about?

The clothing slid from her arm as she reached up and placed her hands on his cheeks. Instinctively, Frost put a hand on her side, while the other gripped his towel. For a moment, just for a moment, they stood there, staring into one another's eyes. What he saw in her eyes, Frost couldn't place a name too, but he could feel it all within himself. His hand went to her back, and he brought her closer, until she was pressed up against him. She brought his face down, pulling him into a kiss, slow and loving. And another, quicker. And another, and another, and another, until their lips wouldn't part. Heart racing, fingers tightening, hot in the face, Frost's hands traveled up her slender frame. In their contained flurry, they fell upon the bed, with he on his back and Jasmine on top of him. With a gasp she parted her lips from his.

"Is your leg okay?" she asked then. Frost nodded, reached up, and pulled her down. Jasmine hands dug into his chest and her dog tags dangled from her neck, brushing against his skin. Eventually she broke their kiss, sitting straight up. She took his hands and placed them on her breasts. With eyes locked, she began to grind against him, and Frost propped himself up slight, hands still gripping her.

Going for another kiss, they were paused by a knock on the door. Frost and Jasmine both jumped slightly, not expecting anyone to come calling. Panting, they looked at one another. Jasmine pushed a lock of her dark hair back and cleared her throat.

"Who is it?"

"It's Private Grant, ma'am."

"Grant, what's up?"

"I gotta talk to you. It's about Bishop."

Frost exchanged a glance with Jasmine. She smiled and shrugged, and he blushed, looking away, embarrassed. Eventually, they both chuckled.

"How's that for _going_?" he joked.

"Get dressed," she said, blushing as well, that same pink dusting settling on her cheeks that he found so endearing.

Once he was back in his fatigues, sweat stains notwithstanding, Frost answered the door. Grant was revealed to him, looking nervous.

"Is something wrong?"

"Bishop went out drinking early. He was royally pissed and even shouted at Nora when she tried to keep him around. I think he's getting worse. Steele volunteered to go out and talk to him but that was three hours ago. He probably went out just to get away from Carris. They got into a fight too."

Frost pursed his lips. He had tasked Steele with keeping an eye on things and for the second time he was now off the ship instead of being with the squad. Whatever happened with Carris explained his huffy behavior the other night. It couldn't stand any longer. He had to wrangle his squad back together.

"Do you know where Bishop's been going to drink?"

"Some of the swabbies mentioned a bar that's pretty popular. It's called Bulgy's. Lots of Marines have been going there too. Starting there might be a good idea."

Frost nodded and was about to speak to Jasmine when he paused, thinking. He looked at Grant curiously.

"Why're you bringing this to my attention and not one of the others?"

"Nobody else wanted to bother you while you're recuperating. Nora said you looked kinda beat. But I think with the way things are going Bishop, Maddox, Steele, and Carris need you right now."

Frost smiled.

"Thanks for being honest, Grant. I ought to put you in for lance corporal."

"Ah, that's alright."

"Go back to the squad and tell Carris to look after things, and you back her up, alright?"

"Roger."

Grant left for the barracks and Frost came back into the room, grabbing his identification and other essentials.

"I know what we were about to do wasn't strictly speaking R&R..." Jasmine said, pretending to sound coy, "...but I really think you ought to stay here and rest."

"Trust me, I want nothing more than to stay here with you," Frost said after he had gathered up his things. He crutched over to her and wrapped his arm around her. "My squad needs me." He kissed her tenderly. "I'll be back soon."

###

Frost found Bulgy's with relative ease. Large crowds of Naval and Marine personnel were exiting. They all made a grand show of it; shouting, laughing, singing. Looking down at the white paper bag he was holding by the handles, Frost-not particularly prone to social anxiety-hoped nobody would tease him for carrying a bag from a well-known jewelry store. He hoped jewelry wouldn't make for a lackluster gift for Jasmine. Hopefully, it would mean something.

Taking a breath and taking his weight off the crutch, he hobbled into the bar. Some Marines he knew greeted him warmly as he passed through the entrance. Despite their drunken stupor they made sure he got in without having to push or shove by the civilians also infesting the establishment. Inside was what one would expect walking into a large bar; many tables with at least three or more occupants, a cloud of smoke hanging above their heads, swearing, singing, screaming, crude jokes followed by laughter. Fighting men happy to be alive, waitresses trying to avoid being groped, prostitues enjoying drinks and smokes before inevitably taking a man or two to the apartments across the street, civilians being mocked and slurring at the military personnel, a few sober civvie dates, watching in abject terror as their Marine accompanent got drunker and drunker. A band in back was playing some contemporary music-a genre that Frost himself could not define but found trashy all the same. Glasses of various liquors fell and shattered, fries, burgers, and pizzas were mauled by soldiers. The place itself was set up like an old timey bar; wooden floor, an ornate oak bar with designs carved into the front, simple wooden columns. One would have expected such a place to exist in old Western movies.

Looking around, Frost wished he was back on the _I'm Alone._ He wasn't entirely sure if his heart hadn't stopped racing. Nothing like that had swept over him before. There had hardly been anytime to think. Had she been planning that? Had it just happened? Most likely it was the latter. Frost shut his eyes for a moment. As much as he hated to admit it, that would have to wait until he returned to the ship. Right now, he had a job to do.

Scanning the bar proper, he saw a familiar figure at the furthest corner, not bothering anyone else. Bishop. The pointman didn't look drunk but he looked absolutely wretched; his beard was thick, hair unkempt, and his eyes distant. Between his fingers he was clutching a cigarette. A thin stream of gray smoke spiraled upwards into the dense cloud that hung just below the ceiling.

Preparing for the worst, Frost went over to him. It was slow going. Once he got to the bar, he slowed his pace further. He knew Bishop could see him out of the corner of his eye; that's what he wanted. To give him a little time, just a little time, to prepare. Even in his state, Bishop was no fool. He knew why Frost had come.

Just as he was going to close the distance, somebody stumbled into Frost. Pain shot up through his leg as he locked it to keep himself from falling. Groaning in pain, he dropped his crutch and braced himself against the bar. Some drunken lout, a civilian, regained his balance.

"Fuck outta my way, jarhead" the scraggly civilian slurred. "Think you're something special because-"

A fist collided with the man's face, and he fell to the floor, out cold. Bishop stood over him for a moment before returning to his stool. A pair of other civilians, friends of the knocked out drunkard, knelt beside him. Unconcerned with them, Frost picked up his crutch and finally stood next to Bishop.

"Thanks," he said.

Bishop merely grunted. Frost looked at him. "Do you mind if I have a drink with you?" Once more, he received only a grunt. Setting the bag in front of the stood besides Bishop's and setting the crutch against the bar, Frost sat down and waved the bartender over. "A bottle of whiskey...any kind, doesn't matter. Two clean glasses too, please," he said, sliding over quite a few credits.

A glass and a bottle were slid across to him. Frost unscrewed the cap, filled both glasses a quarter of the way up, and placed one before Bishop. He took his own and downed it.

"Should you be drinking while on meds?" Bishop asked.

"I'm not on anything heavy."

Bishop nodded. Frost stared him, his brow furrowed in concern. Rather than looking lost, the bulky Scotsman just seemed sad now. It broke his heart. "Say Frank, what's say I don't leave until you do. What'll you think will happen?"

"Both of us are probably going to get raving drunk."

"Fine with me," Frost said with a shrug, filling his glass halfway up, then stopping to light a cigarette.

Bishop drank from his glass and Frost from his. He filled both halfway up again, despite the burn in his throat and chest-it was worth the warm feeling in his gut.

As the other patrons jeered and cursed and hollered and fought and fell and ate, the pair sat in silence. In their corner of the bar, no one bothered them. Just two men, cigarettes dangling from their lips, whiskey-filled glasses in their hands, leaning on the old wooden bar, staring straight ahead at the shelves populated with an army of different colored bottles.

"Suppose this is where you tell me to shape up and act like a Marine," Bishop finally said.

Frost considered.

"I could. I could say that you're a weak link in our team and that if you're not up to snuff, you're going to get someone killed. But," he shook his head slowly as he took a drag on the cigarette. "I don't believe that one bit. You're hardest son of a bitch. If somebody can lose his folks and step into their shoes, knowing the risk, by my book that means you can move mountains."

"Then I suppose you want me to open up. Spill my guts about what happened in the blockhouse."

"Of course I would, but that's not what I want either Frank. I don't think talking to me-or anyone in the squad-will help."

"Just say what you're here to say then," he said, aggravated.

"You do need to talk. Go see Jasmine for counseling and say what you need to say there. She's a professional and she'll help you."

"Fuck off, Nate," Bishop scoffed, sliding his empty glass over to him. "I'm not some nutcase."

"No one's saying you are," Frost said firmly, "but guzzling booze, getting drunk on the ship, yelling at your teammates-that's not dealing with the problem either. Jasmine can help sort out what's troubling you better than anyone."

"How can talking to someone change things?"

"What else can you do but speak? None of us have been through what you have."

"Yeah?" Bishop said, turning on the stool and facing Frost. He pointed at him, "But you have. Those tunnels in Skopje. Same exact thing."

Frost remembered all too well and a chill ran throughout him. What Steele had said before his op, it was all too true. Trapped in the tunnels, in darkness, blades in hand, getting shot and stabbed, killing everything that moved, soaked in blood: howling, howling, howling like an animal. Thinking like one, acting like one, moving like one, just to stay alive. Fear, how it tore through him. Anger, how it pushed him onward. Each splash of blood, his own or another's, thrilling. Distant-he could feel himself becoming distant. Detached, like in the Skopje days. Those dim lights, hanging on the walls, hanging on the ceiling, illuminating dirt and beams, flashing, flashing by, as he stormed ever forward, killing. Frost shut his eyes; he was in a bar on some shithole colony world, drinking and smoking with Bishop. "How did you come back from that?" Bishop asked. "How did you shake it off? Because for me it, it, fuckin' hurts to think about. Like, like, like a drill going right through my head." He pressed his finger to the center of his forehead. "I can't make sense of it, of how I made it, of what I had to do. I felt like a goddamn animal. Isn't that how it felt?"

All Frost could was nod. Bishop, almost pleading, leaned closer. "Then how'd you get back?"

Frost faced forward, away from his friend, thinking. Eventually his gaze dropped, looking at the half-filled glass in front of him, the burning cigarette in his right hand, his left had opening and unopening.

"Truth?" he asked.

"Truth," Bishop answered.

"I'm not all that sure I have come back from that, Frank."

Bishop leaned back finally, disheartened. He swiveled around, facing forward. Frost continued. "I go back there, sometimes. I have to pull myself back, remember where I am. Sometimes, it just doesn't work. I'll thank any God out there for letting that happen on the battlefield and not around someone I care about."

"I don't want to go back there," Bishop murmured. "The blockhouse was dark, cramped. And they just kept coming. Literal monsters coming at me in the dark, shrieking like the most awful things you ever heard. It was like being beside myself, watching me do things I didn't know I was capable. I felt like I wasn't a person anymore. I feel that way right now."

Frost reached over and squeezed his shoulder.

"Hey, all I see right here is one of the best _men_ I have ever known. And you need help. Go see Jasmine, get the smoke out of your head, get it all out of your chest. She'll know what to do, what to say."

Bishop continued to looking forward. Glancing over, ever so slightly, eyes brimming with tears, he nodded. Frost put his arm around him. "Thank you, Frank. I need you back; we've many battles ahead of us and we need to patch the team up."

"I know it," Bishop said. "I've been such a bastard to them. Been to lost up here-" he motioned ot his head, "-that didn't see they were just trying to help."

"Don't beat yourself up over it. Everyone will understand. They'll be happy to have you back."

Frost began to stand up, but Bishop reached over, putting a hand on his arm.

"Thanks, Nate."

"I'm sorry that I didn't talk to you sooner. I thought you needed space. It was stupid of me to make that kind of decision for you."

"No, I appreciate that. Won't you stay a little longer? Have another drink, like when you turned nineteen?"

Frost chuckled, as did Bishop. "What? Can't remember that night?"

"I think you should lay off the booze."

"Come on, I'm already about to go over the brink. Besides, when's the last time you and I had a drink? Just the two of us. One more."

"Bishop..."

"One more."

"...one more?"

"One more."

"One more?"

"One more!"

"Alright, one more."

* * *

" _Well you cured my January blues,_

 _Yeah you made it out all alright,_

 _I got a feeling I might have lit the very fuse,_

 _That you were trying not to light,"_

-Knee Socks, the Arctic Monkey's

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Alright, alright, simmer down folks. So as you can see, this chapter has no tone whatsoever. But so what? Life doesn't have any tone either. Actually this chapter is more mechanical for the most part: the gathering up of recruits is sort of a facade for a slice of character study. It's actually more about Jasmine and Frost, than anything. Not anything super fancy or special. Anyways, thanks for reading you magnificent beautiful people.**


	39. Chapter 39: Plans

Chapter 38: Plans

* * *

Steele stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray sitting on the nightstand. His mind felt hazy. Continental fatigue. Pleasant aches in his joints. A descending heart rate. Heat from head to toe. Some whiskey swilling in his belly. The ceiling fan cooled his bare skin.

How many nights had he spent in this state? Dozens? Hundreds? Keeping a tally was a waste of time. None of it mattered anyways. All he had to do was pay and leave. At the end of the bed was another attractive girl. Most likely, she had a few years on him. He wasn't complaining; he didn't mind being serviced by the older prostitutes. Many Marines he knew would fuck just about anything wearing a skirt and possessed a vaguely womanly shape.

What was her name? Did she ever say? Probably wouldn't have been her real name anyways. She was a blonde, like him. Curvy, busty in the right places. Couldn't complain. Well worth the credits. When he handed her the extra thousand or two thousand he gave to every girl, her eyes lit up. Nothing ever topped that expression. And he gave his usual spiel; use it to get out of this dive, make some ends meet, cover some expenses, the usual good act that fooled him into thinking he was a good person.

She left first. Dressing, he mused over his companion. Frost was the one had to play tricks on himself; make himself think he was doing something right. All of them had to do that on Skopje. Later, when they had woken up, had left that base in ashes, and buried bodies upon bodies in mass graves, did they finally feel that shame. Shame to admit it, shame to have participated. Necessary evil was what they all said; do evil so that some good may come. Wasn't that what that man-made bullshit story Hayes liked to quote said? Their crusade began with those girls they found on the snowy hillside, and ended when they started butchering the Rebs. Everyone had gotten a taste for blood. Not everyone had lost it. Frost hadn't, as much as he denied it.

Needless to say, Steele was worried about his friend. Zipping up his jacket, possessing the same light green digital camouflage pattern of his fatigues, he exited the apartment. Going down the hallway, he heard all the usual sounds of the typical whorehouse; giggling, grunting, moaning, clinking glasses, occasionally an orgasmic scream, and more often fake ones. Lighting another cigarette, he continued down the dim, red halls, almost in a trance. A grin crossed his face; a man didn't need to drink or dope to get a high. All he needed was a warm woman and to fill his head with all his worries and ponderings.

The cool night air snapped him back. Gone were the philosophical evaluations of the past. Glancing, he looked at the cathouse. If it weren't in the red light district of the city, somebody would have mistaken it for a normal apartment building. He would have loved to see some poor sucker walk in looking for a room, frown at the price, and end up having a scantily clad woman stride into his room. Out loud, he laughed. It was surprising that such large whorehouses could run so overtly, especially when the local government on edge. Police and military crackdowns didn't look good in the papers after a successful siege. And soldiers who had survived a battle and were waiting to ship out made some of the best customers to the bars and brothels. City underbellies like these started overflowing with cash. Maybe there was some manner of agreement between the pimps and other agents of nefarious conveniences had an agreement with the mayor, maybe even the governor of the colony. Did they receive a cut? Or did the colonial officials offer leniency if the some of the cash ended up fueling rebuilding projects? If that was the case, then maybe all that trite, emotional garbage the propaganda machine spewed about humanity coming together as one was true after all.

He walked, walked, walked, for how long and in what direction he did not know or care. Steele was happy to be out of the _I'm Alone's_ belly. City air, as putrid and polluted as it was, cleared his head and freshened his mood. Green cities indeed; if this was green, he wondered what cities a few centuries ago were like. As he walked out of the red light district into the center of the city, seeing many monuments of men, women, and atrocious sculptures depicting first landings, legal agreements, and other such nonsense that Steele had never paid any attention to in his years of schooling.

Crowds grew larger here. Many had military men and women swarming in and out. Many restaurants and bars lined this road; it was close to the docks and from what he had heard it was quite popular. Seeing so many NCO's around him, it made him aware of his own promotion. Sergeant Steele. It made him gag. So many developments. Too much change. Frost's recent string of battlefield promotions, the formation of this Raider unit, both he and Bishop's close-calls with the Reaper, Maddox's wounding. And of course, his own damned promotion. Steele's mood soured; he was bitter. Following orders if they came from Frost wasn't a problem for him, most of the time anyways. In the heat of battle, he'd bellow a command or two, make them aware of a development. But commanding a full section of Marines? Delegating tasks, troop placement, issuing orders. Not his cup of tea. Already before a meeting had been called between the raiders, he was dreading his new authority. Once those stripes arrived from almighty Hayes, he'd have mess on his hands he didn't want any part of. Carris was taking it way too seriously for his liking. Why was she so damned invested in everything he did? If anyone else got the promotion she would have offered a warm congratulations. But him? No; he got a lecture and a scolding. If she didn't like it, tough shit-or at least it made him feel better to say that. Was he that un-soldiery? Well, yes. Frost didn't seem to mind too much of his behavior before. If he saw as a problem, fine then, he'd shape up when the situation called for it. Just because Carris had something to say about didn't mean he was going to just stop doing what he enjoyed.

Although, he thought, why did it cut so much when she brought it up? Whenever Hayes told him he was a rotten Marine, all Steele did was laugh. If a squad mate brought it up, he dismissed the subject with a subtle jab of humor or a curse-filled verbal discourse. But her? Mustering anything above a pathetic protest was beyond him. Her blank face would change; those brows of her would furrow, her lips would purse, and her eyes would glare. She seemed angered by his lack of soldierly qualities. Why did she want to whip him into shape so badly? Was it because of the current situation or did she have some kind of mission in life to morph him into a proper soldier? Without an answer, all Steele could do was seethe and dread returning to the ship.

Passing by a packed bar, he entertained the idea of getting a drink. As the thought left him, he swore he heard a pair of familiar voices, singing louder than all the rest. His curiosity peaked, he pushed his way inside, witnessing so many flailing drunks and wild patrons. Above the uproar, he could still hear those voices:

" _We're up all night 'til the sun,_

 _We're up all night to get some,_

 _We're up all night for good fun,_

 _We're up all night to get lucky!"_

Standing at the threshold of the entrance, he peered around and finally saw two men in fatigues, one with a crutch, the other a bulky man, at the far end of the bar. Amused, he headed over, smirking, relieved that the two looked like their older selves.

He clapped a hand on each of their back.

"Smoking and drinking, my two favorite activities!"

"Besides wanking, eh?" Bishop joked. ALl three laugh. Steele put his arm around Bishop's neck.

"How are ya, ya big lug? Feeling better?"

"Oh yeah, yeah, Nate-boy here's helpin' me see sense."

"Ah you're helping yourself more than I am Frankie-boy," Frost said. Both Marines were slurring. Steele chuckled, curious.

"So just a snap of the fingers and you're all better, Bishop?"

"Just havin' a little fun before I get my act together, you know? When's the last time this fuck here's let his hair down?" Bishop reached over and smacked Frost's shoulder, making Frost spill his drink slightly.

"Won't you join us Louie?" Frost asked. He leaned over the counter somewhat. "Hey, another glass for my friend here! And another bottle of whiskey."

Steele hopped onto the stood on the other side of Frost. He didn't seem the harm in any of it. It was just so damned good to see them having fun, rather than wearing their oh-so-serious looks they carried with them.

* * *

It was getting late. Vivian was sitting in her chair on the bridge. All of the staff were at their terminals, writing reports, running diagnostics, checking the _I'm Alone's_ systems. The work might not have seemed necessary while in drydock but her officers were constantly checking all the same. She hadn't even left standing orders to run such procedures. Her officers carried out these tasks under their own volition. Individual initiative and independence such as that were entities that Vivian appreciated and hoped to see throughout the task force. Mindless drones who couldn't do anything without receiving an order first were going to be of no use to her. Even Decatur was busy running his routines.

The only one who didn't seem to be working at the moment was Tsang. He had arrived late, if late could be applied to off-duty work, with a letter in hand. His usual laid back attitude seemed replaced with something more anxious and excited. It was rare to see him smile.

Her curiosity peaked, Vivian leaned a little forward.

"What's that you've got there, Lieutenant Tsang?" she asked, smiling. Tsang stood up and turned around.

"I've got a letter from my wife, Captain. We haven't gotten to speak much the past year or so."

"Well, why don't you take a moment for yourself and open it up."

"It can wait until my shift is over, Captain."

"I insist, Lieutenant."

Tsang, looking even happier, sat back down and tore it open. Vivian couldn't help but continue smiling as she looked at the data pad. Morale was rising every day. Victory over Covenant ships and ground forces didn't come easily or frequently. Men and women who had been fighting for years now had inflicted several defeats for the Covenant. What would they be like after five more victories? Ten? None of their ships had even taken serious damage. Luck may have been involved, but seeing her crew in action, Vivian knew it was their skill and experience alone that had seen them through.

Standing up, she went to the window and gazed out over the drydock, the garrison, and the city. Thousands of lights dotted the ominous mass of buildings. Staring out, she pondered; what was morale like for the people? Like the civilians on the previous planet, these colonists were singing their praises. Men and women had flooded the streets as victorious, exhausted soldiers marched back to the city-based military docks. Flowers were thrown in the thousands, people sobbed and handed every soldier parcels of food and drink. Without terrible damage to the city, many of the stores, restaurants, shopping centers and more had opened for business right after the battle ended. Normalcy had returned in the blink of an eye. To see all of their faces lining the streets, cheering her men, acting like they had in peacetime, was the greatest reward Vivian could ever receive. The brass could pin a hundred medals on her tunic, give her millions of credits, but nothing would ever beat the joy she saw in people. That was all she wanted: peace for humanity. A lofty, unimaginable goal, she thought, but one that could be attainable all the same.

Her mind receded, glossing over the words of one the instructors. _You need to think in the short term. That's all you can control. Long term thinking will drive you mad._

Mad, indeed, Vivian thought to herself. Short term? They were still in drydock, resupplying, repairing, cycling the wounded back to their proper units. She started to realize how frequently they were docking. Twice they had been pulled back to Reach, and like after what happened during the last two times, they were sitting and waiting. Travers had envisioned a task force that could remain in the stars for months at a time, without the need to return to port as often as other battle groups. Being constantly called to lift sieges was detrimental to that goal. She was just beginning to realize how unrealistic that objective was. So far, Vivian's Pirates had been able to avoid taking damage to their ships. Emergency thrusters were wonderful tools though not infinite in their number of uses. Before long, they were going to run out, and the maneuvers she had been practicing weren't going to succeed without them. Furthermore, repairs made out in space after an engagement weren't extensive enough to hold for long periods of time. Returning to drydock was vital if the battle group was to operate at full capacity. How could stay out in enemy controlled space if they constantly how to come back for repairs? Furthermore, how could they respond as a quick-reaction force if they were deep in enemy territory? If they were going to operate in both capacities, they'd need a port in the storm, somewhere hidden, protected, and with the proper facilities, manpower, and materials to make quick, proper repairs. Its position had to be able to springboard them into Covenant controlled territory, but also loop them back to frontline systems to protect them. But where was such a planet in Covenant space that was left habitable? Even if such a place existed, how could she find it? She would have to call a war council, perhaps. Or maybe one of the other captains in the battle group had an idea. It had been some time since she had spoken to Captain Kelly face to face, maybe it was time to pay him a-

"What the fuck?" Tsang murmured. Vivian turned around. The officer slowly rose to his feet. "What he fuck?" he said again, louder. Everyone paused in their work to look over.

"Lieutenant?"

"My wife's fucking leaving me!" he cried. "She's selling our house, taking the girls, the cats, and moving away. She hasn't even told me where!" He balled up the letter and threw it across the room, tears flowing down his cheeks. Vivian immediately went over to it, picking up the ball and unwrinkling it. She didn't look at it, however. Tsang continued. "I'm out here risking my life for her and she's fucking divorcing me!? She can't take my kids away!"

Bassot was the first one over, and the big Frenchman took the crying officer into his arms. "Lemme go, lemme go!" Bassot wouldn't, though. Koroma was over next, hugging him from behind. All of the officers on the bridge were wide, shocked, and saddened. No one typed at their terminals or talked in hushed tones. All were silent, save for the wracking sobs of Tsang.

He clutched Bassot like he was going to fall, and Bassot had a hand on Tsang's head.

"Get it out, _le_ _frère_ ," Bassot whispered to him repeatedly. After some time, Tsang's trembling form grew smaller and still.

Vivian stood up.

"Commander Solak, the bridge is yours. Everyone, return to your stations."

She went over to Tsang as Bassot parted from him. The operations officer stood there, head hanging, shoulders sagging, tears falling down his cheeks, nose running, the letter balled up in one fist. Vivian put an arm around him.

"Come on, Lieutenant. Let's go."

Tsang nodded and they began heading for the door at the rear of the bridge. As they approached, Major Holst appeared.

"Ah, Captain Waters," he said, snapping off a salute. "I was wondering if I could have a word, ma'am."

"It'll have to wait, Major. I have to take care of one of my men."

Holst eyed Tsang with an unsympathetic look.

"It'll only take a few minutes. It's important."

"No, it's not," Vivian said over her shoulder. She felt Holst's aggravated stare following her. She didn't give a damn.

###

Vivian slid a cup of tea over to Lieutenant Tsang. It was his favorite; formosa gunpowder. When she had taken command, Vivian ensured that a variety of food and beverages were brought on board by the mess officers. While she preferred her coffee, tea was always a pleasant alternative. The chief mess officer, who also enjoyed tea, was so thrilled with the idea he had paid out of his own pocket to get all the ingredients for different blends and scented teas. Travers had found the idea to be a waste of UNSC time and funding, considering tea wasn't a universal standard in UNSC mess hall stores, but had allowed it due to the task force's autonomy. Anything to make the personnel happy over the long hauls in between ports couldn't go to waste.

She sighed and patted the top of Tsang's hand. He was slouched over the table, one hand on his forehead, the other outstretched.

"Drink it, that's an order," she said with a smile. Tsang obeyed silently. Vivian sipped her own, an Irish breakfast blend. Her father was of Irish descent and after returning from military service had made it for her every morning.

Others were at the evening mess. Hayes was at one of the tables reserved for Marine officers, a big smile on his bearded face as he told another old war story to his cadre. Undoubtedly, they must have heard the stores a thousand times before, and some of the older ones had probably partaken in those battles. Still, they all laughed and jested and told tales of their own. Did they do it just to humor him, or because they actually enjoyed the old stories? His grim-faced pack of veterans made her uneasy. What had happened to Lompar was not far from her mind. Frost and Jasmine were eating with his squad. Chief Burgie had roused himself from the engine room, eating with a few of the enlisted men. All of them wore tan and green workman's jumpsuits instead of their usual uniforms; their clothing was covered with stains of varying splotches and dark colors. Whatever they had been working on, Vivian knew it was dirty work. De Vos was sitting with some of her men, clad in their black t-shirts with the letters of their unit printed on the front in bold white letters. Even without those shirts, it was easy to spot that they were ODSTs. All Helljumpers had a rough and tumble look about them despite their calm demeanours. Nervous gestures could never be spotted among their ranks; no bouncing legs or wiggling fingers. Calm, cool, collected, yet able to explode with energy and fury in a moment's notice. Of course, Frost's squad was there, socializing with the newly recruited Raiders; Jasmine had sent her the list of names just earlier just as a formality. It was Hayes who decided if the list was suitable. Jasmine was actually standing by the mess, talking to them. She seemed concerned and was holding a slim package under her arm.

Coffee and tea, fresh meat, cooked vegetables, fragrant soups-the smells filled the mess hall. Chatter was plentiful but at a reasonable noise level. Not too loud, though not too quiet. The mess hall and the adjacent recreation area, filled with lounge furniture bolted to the floor, monitors with gaming systems hooked up to them, a small library, and more. Could have been a luxury liner, she had heard one her crewmen say once. If there was a real heart to the _I'm Alone_ , it was here-a complete juxtaposition to the vessel's name.

"I didn't even know she was unhappy," Tsang muttered. "Before we left Mars, I was on shore leave. She's moved to Earth, you see, to be back with family in China even though we grew up in the Inner Colonies. I asked her- _I,_ _asked, her_ -if she wanted me to stay with her. If she didn't want me to leave again, all she had to do was say so and I'd apply for discharge. Honorable, dishonorable, I didn't care. I told her if she wanted me to stay, I would. And do you know what she said? I remember it clearly, 'No, Kun. You can go. I'm _proud_ of what you do. You're keeping us safe.' Word for word, I swear, that's what she said. And then she goes and pulls this? Gotta be fucking kidding me."

He ran both hands through his jet black hair. "I mean, did she just change her mind? Was she trying to get me to go away so she could leave and not have to deal with me face to face? That was probably it. She's probably been seeing someone else anyways."

"You can't do that, Kun," Vivian said, tracing the rim of her mug with her index finger. "You'll just torture yourself in the long run."

"You don't understand it, Captain," Tsang said with a shake of his head. "You're not married. Our families were close; we grew up together, we were best friends growing up. We dropped out of school so we could get married and have a life together. We had three beautiful. God, I can't imagine how they're taking it. I know they haven't seen me for a while, but I was there for them when I wasn't in the service. When I was on leave, I'd help with their schoolwork, take them out to eat, play games with them, take them to the theatre! Was it ever enough? Do they hate me just as much as my wife does?"

"No. You're a good officer Tsang, and a good man. I don't doubt that you're a good father."

Vivian did her best to sound convincing. She truly believed he was, but she remembered when she was young and her parents were away fighting the Covenant. Having been born in 2521 to unmarried parents, both residents of Skopje who had enlisted together, meant that she had been cared for by her great-grandparents until around the age of nine. Both had received too many wounds to be considered fit for military service. Even as a child, Vivian had resented them for being away. Once or twice a year they managed to come back from their unit to visit, but they had been but strangers to her. When they finally returned for good, they had gotten married, taking jobs at the shipyard. It was only then that Vivian got to see them on a regular basis, or at least something that could be considered regular. Both her parents took double shifts at the shipyard when they their strength allowed for it. When they came home, both usually went right to sleep. Only when they got on a bit more in years did they stop taking so many extra shifts. Vivian had by that point had come to terms with their years of absence, but a part of that little girl remained, angry at being forgotten and left behind. Surely, Tsang's daughters had to be feeling the same. But pointing that out wouldn't help the man sitting across from her.

"I'll have to write them, see what they say." He shook his head and threw up one hand. "How can I write them if she won't give me an address? She's taking my daughters away from me. They're all I've got. My parents and my aunts and uncles, they don't count. Those girls are a part of me." He ran his hands down his face. "I gotta go back."

"Go back?" Vivian repeated. "On emergency leave?"

"Please, Captain, I have to catch up with them before they leave for good."

Vivian winced.

"Lieutenant, can I see the letter?"

Tsang handed it over. Vivian, respectfully, did not read anything but the date. She sighed. "Kun, the mail got backed up because of slipspace travel time and the siege. You've also got to take into account that it takes time to get hard-copy letters up to the front anyways. This is from two and half weeks ago. I'm afraid that if she was planning on leaving, she's already done it."

"My folks or her folks must know where she went. Maybe to Japan. She always talked about moving there. She liked the old castles."

"Kun..." Vivian reached over and put a hand on his wrist. "...what if you go back and you can't find her? Even if you manage to, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I just wish she'd tell me why she let me go only to leave me."

"We need you here. And your emergency leave probably won't last long enough to find her. You'll be making a bigger difference _here_." At this, she tapped the table with her index finger.

"Monitoring ship systems? Other vessels in the group? Ground units? I sit at a station and watch things bounce around on a map and occasionally say something about it. Some service I'm doing for humanity. I'd rather have my family back."

"You have a family here," Vivian assured him, "Bassot, Koroma, Sosa-what will they do without you? Delaney, Solak, and Decatur too. You're _essential_."

Tsang looked at the table for some time. Vivian waited. Eventually, she lowered her gaze, sighed, and relented. "If you want to go back, I'll consent. I'll turn this entire battle group around and take you home. I'll even make sure you get your back pay."

"You'd do that for me?"

"I would, and I don't give a damn if HIGHCOM wants my commission for it. I won't let one of my men suffer like this. I want you to stay, I _need_ you to stay. But if you truly must got, then I won't stop you."

Tsang folded his arms and brought them closed to his chest, as if he were cold. Breaking her gaze, he looked off into the mess hall. All of the faces that were familiar to Vivian were familiar to him as well. His face was drawn in somber concentration, and Vivian felt sorry for him. Guilt clung her as well. Making people choose was something she hated. It didn't seem right or fair. Even when it came to Frost, she had done her best not to make Jasmine choose between her affection for him or their friendship of several years. The truce, if it could be called that, was the culmination of her unwillingness to make her closest friend choose. Now here she sat with a loyal officer and a good man, forcing him to choose. How much would the battle group's efficiency decrease without his presence? He didn't just coordinate operations for the _I'm Alone_ ; he did it for the _entire_ fleet. _I'm Alone_ was a capital warship, designed for command and control as well as combat. An experience operations officer was required to be on the flagship. If she really crunched the numbers, it wouldn't stop the fleet from doing what they had to, losing an experience, skilled officer like him. But a replacement of unequal experience would cause enough disruption in operations to notice. She needed him and she hated herself for it.

She got up, walked around to his side of the table, sat down and pressed her shoulder against his. A moment later, she put an arm around his shoulders. No more words could be said, nothing that could remedy the ailment, nothing that could provide answer to his questions. Together, they looked around. Friends and fellows surrounded them. This choice she was forcing on him, he had to make in this instant. It wasn't something he could dwell on. What a conundrum, she thought; try to wrangle his family back together, or remain with his comrades. Only someone who had a spouse and children of their own could understand him now. All the same, her mind withdrew to her past once more. Drawing a line in the sand and refusing to join her companions on their defection to the Insurrection had been more difficult than she had ever realized. They had meant everything to her. It was they who had carried her through the hardships of military childhood, the social difficulties of school, the neglect of parents, the ever-clinging hellishness of being alone. All five had wanted to leave, singing the same song, each trying to convince her to come along. And why not? Vivian had been friends with them since birth. What one had done, the others did as well. Everything had been challenged and overcome _together._ To turn her back on them, as they turned their back on society, had been a hard choice, overshadowed only by their deaths and the lie she lived afterward.

"I joined the Navy because of my family. I thought the best way to protect them was to go out there and fight the Covenant. I had the chance to leave once after doing four years."

"You stayed. Why?"

Tsang smiled and nodded ahead of them.

"People like them." Vivian peered up. Standing at the threshold of the mess hall was Bassot, Koroma, Delaney, and even Sosa. Concern shifted to embarrassed smiles, and Vivian couldn't help but smile herself.

"I'll stay," he said. "Can't have you waste valuable resources shipping me back to Earth. Though I wouldn't mind the parade."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. I'd like you to take the rest of the day to yourself-like you all should be doing anyways-and keep good company." She waved them over, and the officers approached. Vivian got up as they all took a seat around him. Bassot threw a big arm around Tsang and gave him a hard shake. Koroma sat on his other side, and Sosa sat across from him. Delaney was going to sit but Vivian took his arm.

"I have a job for you," she said quietly, "I want to you put together a list of fallen colonies that had naval facilities, preferably ones that are in Covenant controlled space but still close to our frontlines. Narrow the search by planets that haven't been glassed, or heavily damaged. Do that for me, send the list to my data pad, and rejoin your friends. And for his sake, don't smother him; just _be_ there for him," she said, motioning towards Tsang.

"Yes, ma'am," Delaney said, and headed back to the bridge. Vivian turned to the four officers at the table.

"All four of you take the rest of tonight and tomorrow to yourselves."

"Thank you, Captain," Lieutenant Tsang said. The others thanked her as well before they took Tsang over to the recreational area and sat him down. Vivian nodded and followed after Delaney.

* * *

Part of her training had been to be completely aware of her surroundings. As such, Carris was aware of everything in the mess hall. Even as Jasmine spoke, she kept a trained eye on Captain Waters as she departed. The bridge officers, save one, were railled around Lieutenant Tsang, joking and jeering with him. While he smiled, he seem absolutely depressed.

Carris found after joining Frost's squad, she was becoming better at reading people's faces. Of course, not all faces were hard to read; a smile usually meant someone was happy, a frown showed frustration, a furrowed brow marked focus, and fallen eyes complemented sadness. But each expression had such minute differences one could miss them in the blink of an eye. And what a person was feeling was not signified just by their expression; tone of voice, the moment of the eyes, body language; she was becoming aware of everything.

Doctor Ebrahimi was certainly concerned and she seemed disappointed. Always, she appeared professional among them. Not particularly prim, but definitely proper. Her hair was growing back, coming just down past her neck now, and seemed somewhat unkempt. She seemed tired, but not in the body.

"He said he'd be back soon, but it's been three hours. Do you think he's hurt himself?"

"Could still be looking for Bishop," Moser suggested, "that bar might be popular but he could have gone elsewhere."

"What about Steele?" Grant asked. "Do you think they bumped into each other?"

"My bet is he decided to taste one of the local poon houses," Knight muttered. He glanced at Carris, who looked down at her tray. She hadn't touched her food all that much-she wasn't that hungry. "What's that package for?"

"That curious fellow, Borko, came by. Mail's showed up and there was a package for Frost; it's from his sister."

"Really? Which one?'

"The oldest."

"Mm. Well, I'm sure they'll be back soon, Doc. I wouldn't worry about it."

Jasmine departed, head hung low, and the squad decided to dump their trays and head back to the barracks. Carris felt bad for sending the doctor away empty-handed. She sympathized; not knowing where Steele or Bishop was made her worry, and she never considered herself the worrying type. Everyone else seemed calm-outwardly she did as well-but the lack of endearing motions between them or typical conversation left the air tense. With one or more of the squad out of the barracks for a few days now, the team felt a little detached.

When they reached their barracks, everyone began filing in. Many Marines were turning from the mess hall and were heading into their own quarters. Knight was in front of her and Grant in back. But everyone stopped when they heard singing down the hall.

Everyone in the hall stopped and peered down at the end. The singing grew louder. Around the corner came Frost, Bishop, and Steele, side by side respectively, arms around each other's shoulders, shambling and stumbling forward in a drunken mass. Frost still on his crutch and Steele was waving a whiskey bottle in his free hand. All watched, awed, as they sang at the top of their lungs and lumbered on.

" _And now you know I can't smile without you!_

 _I can't smile without you!_

 _I can't laugh and I can't sing!_

 _I'm findin' it hard to do anything!  
You see I feel sad when you're sad!_

 _I feel glad when you're glad!_

 _If you only knew what I'm going through!_

 _I just can't smileeeeee!"_

The trio teetered up to the door and stopped right in front of Knight and Carris. They were red in the cheeks, smiling from ear to ear, and blinking very much. Anyone within a ten foot radius could smell the whiskey on their breath.

"What in the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" Knight asked angrily. He was fuming.

"Oh don't mind us, good-sir-knight, we're just a couple of red-blooded American soldjas!" Steele said in a comedic American accent.

"None of us are American," Bishop slurred.

"How the hell did you get that bottle past the gate and onto the ship?" Knight asked, pointing at it. Steele looked confused for a moment, followed Knight's finger, and seemed surprised.

"Oh this sumbitch right here? I hid it under me coat."

"Do you really think this is the proper behavior for Marines on a ship of war?" Knight asked, arms akimbo.

"Ah fuck off ya square," Frost said, pointing at him with his crutch, nearly falling.

"Quit being such a pain in the ass, you tosser," Steele added, "we're just havin' a good time. Got Bishy-boy back didn't we? Didn't we bruvva?"

"Sure did bruvva," Frost muttered.

Knight snatched the bottle from Steele's hand.

"Hey!" he slurred. Knight handed it to Grant and motioned for him to take it inside.

"You bloody oafs...you have any idea how disrespectful this to everyone?" He asked. The trifecta of drunkenness stared back in confusion. "You!" he said, bellowing at Steele. "You go off thieving, drinking, and whoring just because this here lass wants to see you rise to your promotion. And you!" He nodded at Bishop. "Nora saves your life, cleans you up, and tries to keep you out of trouble and you yell in her face and then come back _drunk_? And you," this he did not shout, and he turned slowly to Frost. "You go out to get him back, get liquored up, and expect to go back to the girl who not only slaved away all day helping you put together your unit, not only worked for over two hours removing every shard of shrapnel from your body, who has shown you kindness at every turn, drunk like some teen at a house party?"

All eyes went back to the three drunkards, whose eyes were wide and shameful blushes on their cheeks now. Knight rubbed his forehead before saying, quite loudly, "What the fuck is wrong with you!? You have three girls here who have done nothing but care about you, and disrespect them like this? You call yourselves _Marines_? Call yourselves _men_? If you can't act appropriately around the people who have taken care of you, you don't deserve-"

"Knight," Carris said, cutting him off. "I think the message has been received." The trio seemed to be sagging. "Or they're about to fall."

"Bloody hell," Knight muttered. Looking into the room, he said, "Two of you fetch water and coffee. The rest of you, get them into the shower. Run it cold."

"Hell boys, time to make our escape!" Steele shouted.

"Hold fast," Frost groaned, "Knight's right. We've fucked up."

"Yes, you have," Knight said as the squad manhandled them into the barracks. Carris stood idly by as they did. It was a great shuffle of grunting and pushing and pulling. Knight was beside her still once the storm had entered the cramped bathroom and the crowd in the hallway had dispersed. He ran a hand through his faded blonde hair and shook his head. Then, he glanced at her sideways and offered a friendly smile. "One time I decided to go to the pub with some old pals while my wife and I were setting affairs for our marriage. Already moved in together." He paused and scratched his beard. "Some blokes get real happy when they drink, others get sad, others gain a brief moment of mental clarity. Me? I discovered that night I'm a mean fuckin' drunk."

Carris was surprised.

"You seem like you have an even temperament."

"I was a whirlwind of emotions back then. My life was changing real fast and I didn't feel like I was in control." He made a brief dissatisfied face. "Nothing's worse than that, dear. Nothing worse. Came back and trashed our living room. Scared her to death, I did. Imagine if I had hit her? What kind of man would I be if I did that? What would have happened to our baby boy, still inside her belly?" He shook his head. "Since then, I'll drink, sure, but I'll never get pissed like that again. Not in a million years, not for a billion credits. Because I have to be better than that, for my family, for the people I love."

He tapped his foot, chewing on his lower lip. His eyes met hers. "Understand what I mean there?"

Carris nodded. He reached up and placed a hand on her shoulder. "The thing is with family, though, no matter how much they frustrate ya, make ya angry, make ya want to throw'em out by the scruff of their neck, you can't do that. Can't do that. Know why? Because that's giving up on'em. And you never give up on family, no matter what." He paused. "Understand me?"

"Yes."

"Alright." He squeezed her shoulder. "Why don't you run down and tell Doc J that we found her man and we'll keep him for the night."

* * *

Next morning, Vivian sent word ahead to _Batavia_ and boarded a Pelican that was ferrying supplies up the carrier. The large vessel was still in orbit, rather than staying in drydock like the other vessels. During the quiet ride up to the carrier, she had imagined if she had been married with children, away on duty, and she had received such a letter. The man she loved, who had asked for her hand, fathered their children-taking them away from her and not saying where? Just the thought was heartbreaking. Who wouldn't collapse from that kind of shock? She knew it occurred all too often. Letters from sweethearts and spouses reached the men and women of the UNSC all the time, ending whatever relationship they had. Earthborn had it the worst. The planet was cloaked in so much censorship that most of the population had no clue what the war was really like. It was just another tour of duty for those in the service, and for some who were still planetside, it was one tour too many. Statistics showed that those from the Inner Colonies had lowered divorces rates, and Outer Colonies had even less. Those civilians had witnessed the destruction firsthand; they knew time was precious. Loved ones were kept closer than ever before, and if they had someone out there fighting, they did what they could to support them. Those poor souls seemed like the only ones who understood the burdens that UNSC soldiers were now carrying. Strange how so many of the colonists who had despised the UNSC had a change of heart. Most of them, anyway. Out there, plenty of Insurrectionist bastions remained, hidden on small barren moons or bypassed planets.

As an Inner Colonists herself, a combative side of Vivian viewed the Earthborn civilians in contempt. They were all so willing to sit out the war in comfort, far away from it. If the Outer Colonies fell, the Inner Colonies were next. One day, it might be Skopje on the frontline. The very thought made her shudder.

After they touched down in the belly of the _Batavia,_ Vivian made a quick inspection. The production facilities on board weren't extensive as _Phoenix_ -class colony ships, but with the upgrades they had installed, she came close enough. With the addition of several extra on-board 'factories,' as the crewmen called them, the ship could produce weapons, ammunition, and vehicles on a regular basis, with the necessary materials of course. A few audacious designers had even added a greenhouse of sorts, as well as numerous cold frames. With artificial sunlight, irrigation, heating, and ventilation systems, half of all the vegetables in the battlegroup's food stores were grown here.

 _Batavia_ was a noisy, busy ship. Besides the hustle and bustle of the factories, the hanger was monstrous. Darters and Albatrosses sat beside Pelicans, Shortswords, Longswords, and numerous drones. Mechanics, engineers, pilots, crew chiefs, and other personnel swarmed around their aircraft, making repairs, adding upgrades, rearming.

When she finished her inspection, she headed to the bridge. Much like the _I'm Alone's_ , _Batavia_ had an enormous bridge with large-scale operations screens and monitors. Many officers were at their posts, and Captain Kelly stood in the center.

"Captain Waters," he greeted coolly. All of the personnel on the bridge stood at attention and saluted, as did their commanding officer. Vivian saluted.

"As you were," she ordered.

She hadn't seen the Austrailian officer in person since the day she had him promoted. He still had the same smooth, combed blonde hair, dark blue eyes, rigid frame, and sharp facial features. All that was different was his paling skin and the beginnings of a blondish beard. She shook Kelly's hand and smiled.

"Good to see you, Captain," she said to him.

"Likewise, ma'am," he said, cool as ever. "Got your message; how's your man holding up?"

"Well enough, I suppose. His friends have been with him since last night."

"I understand," Kelly said grimly. "I was engaged once, you know."

"Really?"

"Mhm. After I finished high school, I went into OCS. I asked my girlfriend, before I shipped out, to marry me. That was five years ago. Six months in, she sends me one of those letters. Even sent the ring along with it."

Kelly reached into his tunic and pulled out his dog tags. On the chain was a simple silver ring, with a medium-sized round diamond in the center and a smaller round one on either side. "She said I could give it to somebody else. Ended up marrying Lee Pontiere."

"Lee Pontiere?" Vivian repeated slowly. Kelly handed the bridge over to his XO and led Vivian into the hall.

"He was a yobbo on the track team with me. Came in last place all the time. Nice enough, I guess. She could have done worse."

"You don't seem too burned up over it," Vivian said.

"Well, I've had time to deal with it," he said with a minor shrug. "It's just something you've got to get over. Your lieutenant will make his peace with it, as hard as it is. Just stay busy, stay focused, and stick with your buddies; that's all he needs.

"You make it sound so easy."

"When you've got lives depending on you and enemy ships to your twelve o'clock, winging takes a backseat real quick," he said with a smirk. "Lieutenant Tsang'll realize that soon enough. He'll numb to the past."

"I don't want my crew to become numb," Vivian said apprehensively.

"Numb is all you can be, sometimes."

The pair walked and talked for some time until they ended up in his office. He offered her a seat in a rather gentlemanly manner and sat across from her. His office was much like hers; neat, orderly, devoid of personal touches.

"I had to spend a good three hours cleaning this place up," Kelly said with a sigh, leaning back in his chair. "Captain Hugh didn't keep a clean ship. Even left a bottle of whiskey."

Reaching into the bottom drawer on the right side of the desk, he pulled out the bottle which was three quarters of the way full. "Said I could have it, but I don't drink all that much."

"Really?"

"Really. Gotta stay sharp. Won't be of any good if I'm up here, blasted," he said, shaking his head. He slid it across. "My chief instructor at OCS said that a good captain always has a bottle of booze in his desk. You can have it if you want."

Vivian laughed.

"Rear Admiral Travers said something similar to me, I think. He gave me a bottle of scotch as a present for my promotion."

"Based on his uniform, I wouldn't be surprised if he had a cooler in his office," Kelly remarked. They both chuckled. After a few moments, he rapped his knuckle against the edge of the desk. "I take it you're not just here for good conversation, ma'am."

"No, I'm not." She explained the observations she had made earlier, how their original operating procedure would be hampered by constant quick reaction missions and the need for repairs. Attacking Covenant infrastructure, forward operating bases, and shipping wouldn't be possible without a base of their own.

Kelly nodded, his expression serious.

"I gave some thought to that myself. We've lifted three sieges but only have one raid under our belt."

"I've had my intelligence officer scouring all of our databases to find planets with any kind of naval facilities that may have fallen to the Covenant. The way I see it, if we can find ourselves a habitable planet, maybe with some surviving facilities, we can set up shop to support our lines and hit the enemy. We can repair it and bring it back up to speed. Leave an Army garrison, maybe ships to defend it, and keep it well stocked with material. That way we can steam out of port, fully stocked, wreak havoc, and return to resupply. Makes more sense than going deep into Covenant space and then retreating all the way back to a friendly planet."

Kelly bit his upper lip. Vivian raised an eyebrow. "Speak freely, Kelly."

"Well, ma'am, I agree with you. It's a good plan. But our base will be there without support. If it's discovered and attacked when we're not there, it could fall easily. And more than likely, if we find a planet like that to make our base, there will probably be Covenant there. Even if we stop them from making a distress call, they'll eventually send someone to investigate."

Vivian stroked her chin and lean forward.

"The Covenant don't always construct emplacements and bases on every planet they conquer. Most of the time they just glass them and leave. If they do, there's got to be something strategic about the planet. If we can find whatever that strategic asset is, we can render the planet useless to their operations, and taking it won't be an objective anymore."

"Yes, but any planet with a human garrison on it is enough reason for them to storm in and glass the place," Kelly said.

"Look at Harvest. We took Harvest back. We left forces on there for some time but the Covenant never returned after Cole and Cutter finished their business there. Ultimately, we abandoned it. Have they been back? No. Is it because we held them off, or is it because the strategic value was lost to them? I'm confident if we find what their assets are and eliminate them, the Covenant will see our base as an insignificant target."

"Maybe," Kelly thought for a moment. "If there's an enemy fleet there, we can lure them away. If we destroy their fleet in another system, maybe their hierarchy won't bother sending reinforcements."

"Exactly."

Kelly leaned forward, holding his hands on his desk.

"I have an old friend in ONI. Part of the Prowler Corps; has a _Sahara_ -class prowler called the _River Styx._ If your intel officer can find a planet that could meet our needs, I can contact him and he can discreetly observe the planet and send us a report. We can form a battle plan and take it. His name's Rikard Rundstrom. Cocky Swedish bastard, but he's a good at what he does."

"The last prowler we had any interaction with was obliterated," Vivian muttered.

"Rundstrom isn't arrogant like some of these ONI ponces. He'll get under your skin, the swarmy prick, but he's shrewd, calculating, and knows not to leave himself exposed."

Vivian nodded.

"A prowler would make a good addition to the battle group, don't you think?"

"Having a pair of eyes and ears ahead of us would definitely help us in the long run. Discover potential targets, warn us of enemy movements. I'll mention it to him; if he's interested, you'll have to talk to Rear Admiral Travers and have him start the transfer process."

"ONI doesn't like it when the rest of the Navy likes to use their toys," Vivian chuckled and stood up. "Send word to Rundstrom. I'll head back over to the _I'm Alone_ and see what my boys have scrounged up."

They saluted and shook hands. Their hands didn't part for a moment. Vivian smiled. "This was very productive."

"Aye, it was," Kelly said, "you ought to visit more often, Captain. I think the other captains would appreciate that."

"Soon enough. Once we have all the proper intelligence, I'll be calling for a war council."

* * *

Jasmine sat at her desk, typing at her terminal. Many of the Army personnel that had been evacuated to the _I'm Alone_ due to a shortage of planetside space were being transferred. Civilian and military hospitals were being freed up on the colony and their care could continue there. With the rest leaving tomorrow and having been resupplied, the battle group would soon be heading out. What was their next destination? Another colony in distress, perhaps. Or maybe they'd finally embark on a mission that suited the parameters of their goals: maximum aggressiveness against targets within Covenant controlled space.

Yet she kept pausing to think. Carris had come by last night, not long after she had parted from the squad while they had dined. She seemed somber. Frost had returned with Bishop and Steele; all three had been quite drunk.

Now, Jasmine was the sort of person to expect certain things of people, depending on their station. From her medical staff, she expected compassion, diligence, and professionalism. From her friends-well, friend-she expected her to fulfill her duties as an officer and to maintain her morality. And from Marines? Well, certainly that was different. Who was she to demand a particular brand of behavior from Marines? Those were the men who descended to planet after planet, dug their heels into the mud, and crossed swords with the Covenant. Day after day, month after month, year after year, they fought. When they returned to the safety of the _I'm Alone_ embrace, they were bloody, wounded, scarred, exhausted, edgy from the fear, high on adrenaline. Every position in the military came with a modicum of deep stress; line Marines, the most engaged infantrymen of the UNSC, the roughest, toughest rabble humanity had assembled, stress was a kind word. They had it the worst. Boots on the ground always did. Most Navy men and women didn't have to go down there; Jasmine did by choice. For their service, they at least deserved to go out into the cities they saved for a drink. Jasmine didn't even mind that they got drunk; it was their choice, and it blurred their minds from the horrors they witnessed day in and day out.

She wasn't angry at Frost for being drunk. She wasn't planning on telling him how to act, how to live. They were together, yes, but it didn't feel right to be that way. So, she did not feel anger. Instead, she felt disappointed. Drunkenness was beyond him as a man; he was too decent, too kept, too level-headed to descend to such a point. Furthermore, no NCO should be drunk among his squad or fellow soldiers unless on proper leave. What kind of example did that set?

The knock on the door was slow. She knew who it was. Jasmine got up and opened the door. Frost stood there, quite sheepishly, with dark bags under his eyes, his crutch in his left hand and the handles of a small bag in his right.

"Hi, Jasmine..." he said, clearing his throat. "I'm..." he sighed, "I'm...sorry."

"I'm not mad, Nate," she said, calmly. "But you know better than that."

"I do."

"As long as you don't bring it here, and don't do it among other soldiers, I don't have a problem."

"I understand. I usually don't drink that much. Bishop agreed to seek counseling with you, and I think he just wanted some company after all, like old times."

Jasmine let him in and shut the door.

"I can understand that, Nate. I was just hoping you'd come back, because last night could have become...really special."

She couldn't help but look away, clasping her hands in front of her, blushing. Frost smiled tenderly, came over and put an arm around her.

"I know. I'm very sorry." Jasmine pressed into him slightly, putting a hand on his chest. She closed her eyes and let his arm tighten around her middle. Last night when she had been atop him, she was in autopilot. Her body had just started to act; her hands wandering and feeling, her body writing against, grinding. The heat was new and incredible, the beating of her heart and the anxiety in her belly, intoxicating. As Frost nuzzled her neck, she could feel it all coming back.

He parted slightly. "Before I went to get Bishop, I got you a couple presents, for a belated Christmas and the New Year."

He held up the bag. Jasmine smiled as she took. Frost was blushing quite vividly, and his tired face notwithstanding, he looked very handsome and bashful.

"You didn't have to do that."

"Of course I did! After all you've done for me, how could I not?" Taking a seat at her desk, turning so that he could watch, he said, "Open the small one first."

Jasmine reached in and pull out a small white box. When she opened it, she found a silver torque bangle. It was a simple thing; it had simple ball on each end and the design made it look like a twisting rope. She held it up before looking at Frost; now she was blushing.

He chuckled. "I know we're not supposed to wear jewelry, and you don't seem like a jewelry gal, and I wanted to get you something, you know, nice. Wasn't sure what though. All of my sisters wear bracelets like that, with the twist design. Not that I think of you as a sister! Far from it. You're special to me and, well, I ain't so good at gift-giving."

Frost stood and came over without his crutch. Jasmine was still looking at it. "Do you like it?"

Jasmine stood on her toes and kissed him.

"I love it. Nobody's ever gotten me anything like this. Growing up, I was just given book after book after book. Nothing like this. Thank you."

"I'm glad you like it. The next one is kind of a gag."

Jasmine placed the bracelet back into the box and set it down on the desk. She reached into the back and pulled out a pair of olive drab knee socks. Jasmine looked at them for a moment, then chuckled.

"Like the song you sang that night at my parent's house, because of the photo."

Frost shrugged, smiling.

"Don't tell anyone that I'm sentimental."

"Well, thank you very much. They're great." Jasmine bounced an eyebrow. "Do you think I should try them on?"

"Well, if you'd like," Frost said, rocking on his feet and looking away, pretending he didn't know what she was hinting at.

As much as Jasmine wanted, she saw the package for Frost sitting on her desk. It was more important that he saw its contents, she thought in that moment.

"I have something for you too."

"Hm? You already me a present."

"No, Borko left some mail for you."

"I have mail?"

"It's from your eldest sister, Adelaide."

Frost took the package and sat down. Tearing it open, he pulled out a black leather notebook. Jasmine leaned on the back of the chair, peering over his shoulder. Turning it over in his hands several times, he seemed almost baffled by what he held. No markings of any kind distinguished the cover of the journal. Two ridges at the top of the spin and two at the bottom, with about half a inch in between each ridge, were its only two physical peculiarities. Opening it up, the lined pages were entirely blank. An envelope, as well as a slip of paper, fell out, however. On the front was just one word: Jack. Taking it in hand, he gently tore the top open and pulled out a piece of paper. He began reading aloud.

"Dear Jack, I hope this letter finds you well and on time for Christmas. Everyone's here at the ranch for the holidays. I know this is going on your sixth year since we last so you, but it's still not the same without you here. Nobody sits in your chair, and Mom always makes enough food for nine people, but with the baby here it's still only eight. We all miss you and worry about you. Your good pal, Louis, still writes us very regularly. He's very funny; I think Karen might have a crush on him. It'd be very nice to get something from you, but I understand it's difficult for you. Do you think the next time you send something along you can send some snaps? All of our photos of you are from before you shipped out for the war. That glimpse at the awards ceremony wasn't enough for Mom.

Way back when you called, everyone was so excited. Even Sadie; she was happier than anybody. But I told them you'd write and you haven't. I remember what you said, how tough it is out there, so I let them know. They took it as well as you'd expect. Sadie's angrier than ever. All she's done is sulk and snap at folks. I think if you wrote her a letter it would do her some good. And you know I'm close to my computer around this time of year, so if you want to send me a message or have a video chat, I'm up for it.

I hope you like your gift. I hope you still write a few verses from time to time. Dad framed some of your poems. I read them from time to time. Hopefully you can jot a few lines in that book. Be safe Jack, and come home soon. We'll go riding again, just like we used to. Love Ade, Owen, and Addison."

Frost folded the piece of paper and slid it back in the envelope. Then he picked up the smaller piece of paper. He held it up so Jasmine could read with him. It was a poem.

 _Far and away,_

 _Far and away,_

 _I wish to go._

 _Where nights are days,_

 _Where beasts lay,_

 _I wish to go._

 _Where men can grow,_

 _Like they did long ago,_

 _To be molded like clay._

Setting he down, he rubbed his eyes as if he had a headache. Jasmine placed her hands on his shoulders, bringing them closer to his neck.

"Are you okay?" she asked quietly. Frost didn't say anything. His eyes remained fixated on the wall. Jasmine leaned down a little. "Did you write that?"

"It was the first poem I ever wrote. Terrible, isn't it?"

"I think it's lovely."

"You're biased."

"Do you want to write something? A letter? A poem, maybe?"

All he did was shake his head. Jasmine stepped around him and knelt. "Why?" Frost's eyes were turning red, glistening with tears. Clearing his throat, his eyes darting between her and the book, he seemed almost ashamed.

"I don't know how to anymore."

"Poetry isn't easy. Learned that the hard way," Jasmine said, pushing her glasses back up her nose. Painful memories of awkward English classes came flooding back. "Want to try writing an old fashion letter then?"

Frost shook his head. "Let's try together. What do you want to say to her?"

"I don't know Jasmine. I call her some time ago and I hardly managed to say a thing. I feel far away from them, like I'm connected to them only by name and blood. Sure, blood's thicker than water but I've haven't been with them. I don't know what they're doing. I don't know what's changed. All I know is that Sadie's getting worse and people miss me." He scoffed. "We miss you? We...miss you? What does she expect me to say to her? I miss you too? Of course I miss them, why wouldn't I, they're my family. Just rubbing salt in the wounds now."

He ran a hand down his face. "This is why I don't write. I just don't get them, and they don't get me. They're not _out_ here like we are. They don't see _this_ -" he extended his arms, motioning to the walls. "How we live, in cramped rooms of titanium and steel. Marines like me might as well be beans in frying pan during a space battle. Planetside we live with our faces in the dirt, plasma over our heads, and the dead and dying on our sides. How can I tell them that? How can I even talk to them?"

"I think there's another way."

* * *

Vivian was sitting at her station on the bridge, hands folded together as if she were praying, the sides of her fingers pressed up against her chin. Her bridge felt vacant without her four officers; they had whisked Tsang planetside. Destination: a bar. Where else would friends go? Hopefully, the foursome wouldn't return plastered like Frost and his two companions had. Conduct unbefitting of a soldier entirely, but when she brought it to Hayes attention all he did was laugh. When she threatened to talk disciplinarian action herself he rebuked her still. Taking any kind of action was futile, she had decided. Hayes would circumvent whatever call she made, wipe his CSV clean of any wrongdoing, and pretend that it had never happened. Frost's ability to remain untouchable infuriated her to no end. Distraction, like for Tsang, was all she had.

"Talk to me Delaney. Tell me what you've gathered."

"I've narrowed down our options based on the specifications you gave me and I have about a dozen candidates that you can choose from, ma'am."

"What do you think, Lieutenant?"

"Ma'am?"

Vivian stood up and came over to his station by one of the oversized operation screens.

"I trust your judgement, Delaney."

The officer didn't betray any emotions. He stood up with a data pad and began scrolling through. After a moment, he brought the planet up on screen. On the screen, the planet looked as though somebody had drawn a line right along the diameter of the planet, and erased the left side, while the right still had characteristics of a habitable planet; green grass, gray, snowy mountains, and blue bodies of water. A half-dead planet.

"Bartholomew X, part of the Uxbridge 15 System. Bartholomew is about a third smaller than Earth and was still under development when the planet was besieged, glassed, and abandoned by the UNSC in 2540. As you can see, the more developed side, which I've dubbed Section A, of the planet was wiped out and consists of a barren wasteland. Section B, the undamaged sector, is made up primarily by temperate grasslands and forests, with some mountains regions to the southeast and a large body of water to the northeast. While development there never really got under way besides a few communications relays and supply outposts, I'd like to draw your attention to Ridge L."

A few images came upon the screen. "These are pre-siege holographs of the ridge. As you can see, the ridge is more of a sheer, rocky rise. The longer section runs north to south for about two miles, parallel with the dividing line, and the base runs west to east, for a mile."

"And why is this relevant?"

"Originally, this was thought to be a prime real estate for mining. Instead, the UNSC decided to turn into a port."

"A port?"

"Yes. The planet's garrison was to be located here; it was going to be a major base of operations; shipbuilding, replenishment, and even production were planned here." More images flooded onto the screen. "As you can see, the base got underway very quickly. The ridge forms a natural barrier to the west and south, and once the foundations were laid, concrete walls reinforced with titanium plating were added to the exposed areas. A command center was constructed as well as a mess hall, barracks, hangers, motor pools, and an air traffic control tower. Digging into the ridge itself began as well, with the hopes of install MAC generators and creating an intricate automated defense network of turrets and long range guns on the ridge. However, digging ceased."

"I would imagine all construction halted when the planet was besieged."

"No ma'am, it stopped beforehand. However, the record doesn't state why. It's classified."

"Interesting."

"Of course, the Covenant arrived and put the planet to the torch. The database was wiped clean, as per the Cole protocol and much of the material was evacuated when the UNSC's position became untenable due to the glassing. But, the UNSC forces decided not to destroy the base."

"Do we have confirmation that it's still there?"

"No ma'am, but the prowler Captain Kelly mentioned can. I believe if this base is still there, we can restart the building project and build the base we need."

"What about the system itself?"

"Most of Uxbridge 15 is made up of uninhabitable planets or developing colonies that were glassed. In terms of relation to other systems it's close, figuratively speaking, to Groombridge-1830. It's a short jump away, so short that if we have a normal slipspace jump, it could take only half a week.

Vivian had heard it. Over a decade ago, it had been invaded by the Covenant. Answering the call was the famous Admiral Preston Cole, who led his fleet in to stop them. Seventeen UNSC warships engaged three aggressing Covenant vessels over Great Bear. Victory had been achieved at a high price. Since then, Groombridge-1830 had become a byword for a fortified system. Out of the colonies that remained, they survivors gathered on Great Bear and began digging in. Now the planet had rings of fortresses in favorable terrain, dominating any potential landing sites, with land and orbital based MAC guns, a reserve fleet of frigates and destroyers, and nearly five full Army divisions, complemented with armored, air, and even sea-based naval support. Great Bear, like many other well-defended colonies, was surpassed only by Reach and Earth. Several subsequent attacks had been repelled, almost with ease. Like every other advancing military under the sun, the Covenant flowed around hardpoints like Groombridge-1830 as they probed for weaker systems. Admiral Cole had learned there the most crucial piece of information humanity had gleaned over the their ceaseless foe; that the Covenant did not know where the colonies were. For all their sophistication, technology, and military prowess, they were but a blind beast, pawing in the darkness for something to sink their claws into. Cole created his titular protocol from this very fact.

"That's good. We're close enough for support in case we're attacked, and it provides the perfect springboard for slipspace travel. We can use it as a jump-off into other systems that require assistance. What does Groombridge-1830 have in terms of production?"

"Plenty, ma'am," Delaney answered, pulling up some records. "Groombridge is almost entirely self-sustaining; they really only need to import manpower. They have highly fertile, intact farmlands, plenty of wildlife, medical stores, and factories that can produce anything from knee pads to missiles." Delaney offered a rare smile. "So we have a short, protected, _guaranteed_ supply route."

"That we do," Vivian said, absorbing his enthusiasm.

"Uxbridge's position is within Covenant-conquered space, however. Which means we can forage into their territory for raids until we expend our resources or take a few bad hits, and can quickly return to to base to rearm and repair. And, like you said, we're close enough to our frontline colonies. Our dual-springboard, so to speak. If they follow, we'll be dug in and have support from Groombridge. We have the potential to lure enemy fleets into our territory and engage them on our terms."

"That we do, Mr. Delaney, that we do." Vivian stood beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Of course, it's all riding on that base being there, isn't it?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Surely there are other suitable planets in favorable positions, similar to Bartholomew."

"A few. Like I said, I narrowed it down. But none of them are in Uxbridge or have the springboard effect that we require. We can still construct a base on Bartholomew even if it's a ruin."

"That will take an inordinate amount of time, Delaney."

"The position would be worth it, Captain Waters. And my gut tells me that the shell of the base is still standing. That ridge gives us the perfect base for orbital and ground defense, plenty of space to build drydocks for our ships, store materials, ammunition, food, medical supplies. We could turn that base into a citadel."

Delaney was staring at the screen, eyes fixated on the images of the base. He had a determination about him, something that the reserved intelligence officer exhibited rarely. A a glint in his eye, the soft curl of his fingers into a fist. Such resoluteness emboldened Vivian.

"Decatur?"

"Madam?" The blue hologram flashe dup on his pedestal, hands folded, head respectively and briefly bowed _._

"Dispatch a message to Captain Kelly. Have him contact this ONI captain, give him the coordinates to planet Bartholomew, Uxbridge 15. Attach to the message the data Lieutenant Delaney has collected; Kelly will give our man the rest of the details."

"Straight away, madam!" And he flickered away. Vivian bumped her fist against Delaney's shoulder.

"Whether or not the base stands, we're taking that planet back. And we're going to turn into the next UNSC powerhouse. Good work, Delaney."

Delaney offered a curt nod before returning to his station. Vivian proceeded to go back to her chair, but instead found herself drawn to the edge of the bridge. With her hands folded behind her back, she stood in front of the window. From the _I'm Alone's_ berth in drydock, she could see other ships-her ships. _Lion's Den_ and _Determined Guardian_ sat, receiving extra armor playing. Above, patrolling, she could see the faint shapes of _Batavia_ and _Best of the Best_ ; the former, a hulking mass of metal, the latter, a razor-sharp design. Both equally impressive, devastating machines of war. Inhabiting the docklands, Marines and Army troops drilled side by side. Scorpions and Warthogs rolled by. Falcons fluttered, Hornets hovered, Pelicans passed by. She had a plan. A new mission. It was frightening just as it was thrilling. Smiling, she wondered if this is how Admiral Cole felt after his victory at Great Bear. Did his revelation lead to an increase in his resolve? Had his hands trembled like hers did upon influencing the war? Perhaps he maintained that same, grim, hardened stare and locked jaw that every single one of his press release photographs showed.

Standing there, peering, pondering, she wondered if the unstoppable Admiral Cole had heard of her exploits? Several engagements with no ships lost, several colony worlds saved, a successful raid on Covenant infrastructure, and the seizure of enemy airships and equipment. A short career thus far but certainly packed with triumphs. What would he make of her plan? Would he approve of its audacity, its payoff resulting in a boost in morale, a new hardpoint in humanity's defense, and an opportunity to _strike back_. To attack, rather than sit and wait for the inevitable. Risky, yes. But what wasn't nowadays? Vivian mused over this with a smirk. If a single man could march all night long, infiltrate a Covenant base, and call in an artillery barrage essentially on himself, then they could do anything.

Thinking of Frost made her smile disappear. Cole's approval would never reach her nor did it matter. She had to wait for Rundstrom to complete his reconnaissance then bring his findings to the leading officers and involved units. Ngouabi, as the _de facto_ airman of the battle group. Hayes, as the Marine commander. Holst, leader of the ODSTs and his XO, De Vos. Jasmine, the chief medical officer-not a necessity but having her input would be valuable. Chief Burgie wouldn't go amiss either. And, according to the plan she was already formulating in her head, Frost would need to be present as well. With the go ahead, his Raiders would be making their debut on Bartholomew.

"Ma'am, I need to run to the intelligence officer to deliver a report."

"Go ahead, Mr. Delany."

He was gone a moment later. The rest of the bridge staff were on shore leave and would return later. Vivian stood alone on the bridge. Usually, it was bustling with officers, and not just the regular staff. Accompanying them would be Ngouabi, as well as officer from the Marines and and another from the ODSTs, to help coordinate operations between orbital and ground units. Chief Burgie or one of his top men would be present to provide a direct link to the engine room. Here she stood, now, looking at the unfilled stations, blank screens, and empty chairs. She stepped away from the window, walking among the the stations, her head falling low, hands folded behind her back, shoulders just beginning to hunch. This bridge was her battleground. She would never come face to face with the enemy. In a way, she felt oddly guilty. Her infantrymen descended to surface to fight tooth and nail, while she stood high above. To ask them of that seemed unfair. Ask? No, she did no such thing. Her orders sent them planetward, and they had signed up for it. She had no love for them, but they were still people. Men with families.

Frost. What was his family like? Were they all perfect specimens of humanity like him, she scoffed? Living, breathing messiahs, so sagely and in touch with life, spewing cryptic bullshit wherever they went. He didn't seem to need a family, though. Mail was the sole tether to the normal life men and women at war had given up for military service. When the mailbags were tossed on deck, he was never there with the olive drab horde, waving hands, calling out names, digging through envelopes. Who would miss when if he fell? Jasmine, of course. Sending him on another tough mission made Vivian worry that Jasmine would grow angry. But Jasmine was a fine officer and a good friend; when the rage wasn't in her, Vivian knew Jasmine's urgings to forget vengeance was because she cared. She wanted to see the best in her. Vivian couldn't hold that against her. It seemed there was little she could do for Jasmine. All she could do was take away from her. Take her advice, her care, and the man she cared for.

If he died, Vivian would be there for her grieving friend. But would she feel guilt? Most likely, no. When she saw him, heard him, all that came to mind were her friends. Forget? Forgive? Neither could be entertained. An armistice was as close as they were getting. Until a resolution came about-either in the form of a cell or a body bag-she was contented to send him out to fight. From him, she felt no regret. It was Jasmine's worry that made her guilty. Was it better to ask him if he wanted in on this next operation, or Jasmine, she mused.

* * *

Frost sat at a table in a small room within the communications bank. The building itself was a part of the garrison, used partially for planetwide communication, but also for connecting audio and video transmissions to loved ones on other planets. In front of him was a fairly larger monitor with a camera on top. Jasmine was already there; everything was prepared she said. Nervous, he smoothed out his shirt even though there were no wrinkles. Strategically, he placed the crutch out of view. Taking a deep breath, he watched three little dots bounce on the screen as the call connected. Jasmine gave him a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder before leaving the room.

Suddenly, the screen changed. He could see part of an old brown desk, one that he hadn't see in a long time. The rest of the room was dark. And right in the center was Adelaide. There she was. Right there. His eldest sister was wearing a plain gray t-shirt and jeans, and had a blanket drawn of her shoulders. Her brown hair was in a loose ponytail, and her green eyes were wide with happiness. Her features were still very fine, very beautiful, her complexion clear, her smile big and full. Nothing had changed.

"Hi Jack!" she said, then immediately frowned. "It's so great to see you, how...oh...oh Jack, your face..."

Frost nodded, struggling to find words. He motioned towards it. Tears welled up in her eyes; he could see it even as the imaging adjusted.

"Hi, Ade," he said, stiffly, his voice sounding a little rough. He was trying to keep himself composed.

"What...happened to your face?" she asked slowly, wiping her eyes with a tissue.

"Never mind that Ade. How are you?"

"I'm, I'm, you know, I'm okay. Still bringing up horses. Owen's not here right now, he's in the barn taking care of a sick pony. Living at the ranch full time is hard, but, you know, it's good, honest work. Beats the city, right?"

"Halifax wears you down after a while, yeah," Frost said, scratching the back of his head. Adelaide was still staring at him, concern dominating her gaze. "I was hit. By shrapnel."

"My God..."

"It's not bad, honest. Doesn't even hurt anymore. I have to be careful when I shower though," he said, forcing a chuckle. She didn't laugh. Without thinking, he said, "not the first scar I picked up."

"You've been wounded before?"

"Well, once or twice."

"Once or twice?" she repeated slowly. "You say that so...casually. It's, very weird, Jack."

Frost shrugged.

"I live an odd life. We all do, out here."

"Out where?"

"I don't think I can tell you," Frost said, looking at a sheet hung up the wall of unacceptable conversation topics, one of which stated that locations could not be disclosed. "...yeah, can't say."

"Well, that's alright." Ade said, smiling sadly. She wiped her eyes with a tissue. "It's really great to see you after so many years. My goodness, that beard. You've become quite handsome. Have you been eating enough? You were thin as a twig comin' up. I see those dark bags under your eyes-not sleeping? And don't think I haven't noticed you're missing a tooth!"

"Easy, sis."

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to hammer you with question. I'm just," she inhaled sharply, chuckling, tears on her cheeks, "I'm just really glad to see you."

"I'm glad to see you too," Frost said, smiling, nodding. "I eat plenty. Good food, believe it or not. Um, I sleep alright I guess. Last night was uh...well, I got drunk last night."

" _Drunk_!?" Adelaide gasped. "Seriously?"

"We all have shore leave and I went out with a couple buddies and got, pretty loaded. One of our other buddies gave us a ration of shit and stuff all three of us into our tiny shower stall and made us stand in the cold water for ten minutes before making us down like five fuckin' bottles of water and a couple cops of gross-ass fuckin' black coffee."

"You swear more now."

"I'd say blame the Marines but my..." he chuckled, "...Anglo companions are quite colorful and liberal in their cursing. Hard not to pick up their habits."

"I see." A moment of silence passed between them. "So, tell me about this girl."

"Girl? What girl?"

"The girl you were holding hands with at that televised awards ceremony. I take it she's the same one who keeping peeking around the corner of the door behind you."

Frost quickly glanced over her shoulder to see a the curtail of Jasmine's white lab coat flashing behind the corner.

"Jasmine," he said.

"Sorry, I'll go," came her voice, around the corner. Frost turned red as he turned back to the screen. Adelaide was giggling.

"Go on, tell me."

"Jasmine and I are...well, you know...seeing each other."

"Really?" Adelaide said, dragging the word out. "I knew the girls would like you when you grew up. Tell me about her." Adelaide rested her arms together on the desk and rested her chin on them. "I want _juicy_ details."

"Juicy?"

"Like talkin' to a brick wall...have you lost your virginity or what?"

Frost turned even redder, especially when he could hear a certain someone's giggling outside the door still.

"No, I haven't."

"Loser."

Frost laughed. Adelaide continued to smile. "What's she like?"

"Smart. Way smart. And compassionate. I think she's the first person I've met out here who understands how hard it is for us Marines, without actually being one herself. She listens. And understands."

"Will I get to meet her one day?"

"I hope so." She seemed more serious then. "Be honest with me. What is it really like? We get all these stories about the front but it all seems so grandized."

Frost bit his bottom lip and glanced once more at the chart. The fall of colonies, the death of hundreds of thousands of troops, millions of civilians, were strictly prohibited. In capital letters of the notice were the words: YOUR COMMUNICATIONS WILL BE MONITORED. What an archaic system, Frost thought then. When the enemy didn't have spies lurking in the shadows like in the old wars. The Covenant had a few tricks up their sleeves, sure, but an Elite going incognito in a trench coat and sunglasses would still be easy to spot. But it wasn't just that, he thought, pushing his own humor aside. How could he tell her about combat without scaring her? Well, there was no avoiding that anyways. All the screaming, shooting, killing, bleeding, dying-how could he fit it all into words?

"Most of the time, I get to a battle that's been going on for a while. We get there in Pelican dropships and in the passenger compartment I'm there right at the door with my squad. I'm squad leader, so I'm first one out. We come in fast; the bird shakes quite a bit. Everyone's quiet. The pilot talks to me, gives me time frames. Thirty seconds, twenty seconds, ten seconds. At ten seconds we stand up. Weapons are hot. Rear hatch opens and I'm out the door. You have to clear the blood tray fast; the Pelican's usually turning as you jump out so it can ascend. And you just become part of a whirlwind. Plasma, bullets, wound men, dead men, Covenant. I try to find cover, do some shooting, I keep an eye on my guys, give orders. Run, gun, take cover."

Adelaide looked very grave, very pale. She sitting up again, and was picking at her nails; a habit she developed long ago. When she was nervous, she would pick. Frost swallowed a lump in his throat.

"Have you ever...gotten close to a Covenant."

"Call'em Covvies. And yes, I have. Many times." Frost chewed his lip; his nervous habit. His eyes were staring off into the corner of the room. He bounced his brow. "Too many times."

"How did you survive? I hear they're actual monsters and can rip people apart with their hands."

Frost shrugged.

"Just did."

"That's not an answer."

"You don't want to hear that."

"I want to know what you do out there."

"Trust me, you do."

"Jack-"

"Ade, no. Just...no."

"Jack, I really want to-" she stopped herself this time. Frost could hear the sound of a toddler crying in the background. "Oh geez, hold on."

Adelaide left the room and Frost was left staring at the room his parents used to sleep in when they stayed at the ranch. Almost nothing had changed, besides the paintings that she had hung up on the walls. She had a way of sprucing a place up. He longed to see it decorated in her tastes; she did have good tastes, he didn't mind admitting that. Mom and Dad were a bit old school. When she came back, she was holding Addison in her arms. Frost smiled.

"Oh wow," he said, marveling, "that's really her, huh?"

"Yeah. Can you say hi Addison?" she asked as she sat the babe in her lap. "Huh? Can you say hi?" Addison was absolutely stunning; the little thing was already growing a thick head of brown hair like her mother and had her green eyes. Her skin was pale-a trait all of the Frost family possessed. Everything about her was just so tiny and beautiful, even as she stared blankly at the screen showing him. "Can you wave? Can you wave at your uncle Jack? Hm?" Adelaide asked in an endearing, motherly voice. With a little help, Addison waved one of her little hands while she stared off at something else.

"Wow. She's a smart little thing."

"Mhm, she took her first steps the other day."

"One year old and walking already?"

"I know, just like you. And she's already said her first word too."

"Really?"

"Yeah, she said mama. Owen was so mad, he was hoping she would have said da-da."

"Sucks to be him, huh?" Frost said.

Creeping up his throat, he could feel a sob. As Adelaide got Addison more situated in her lap, a blanket over them, he couldn't stop the tears rolling down his cheeks. Slowly, silently, shaking, he lowered his head and cover his eyes with one hand. Making sure not to make a sound, he let his body move through the wracking motions of sobbing. Tears leaked between his fingers, ran over his cheeks and lips, and fell onto his fatigues. Never before had he felt such an utter, heart-wrenching loneliness. For the first time in his life, he felt the oppression of separation. He became aware of the unknownable space between himself and his family. And without a sound, he sobbed into his hand.

"Jack? Oh Jack..."

"I'm sorry Ade," Frost said, sniffing loudly. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, his nose on his sleeve. "I'm real sorry, I don't mean to cry." He shook his head, the tears stinging so much he closed his eyes. "I'm sorry that I'm not there with you right now, that I'm far away. I'm sorry I couldn't be there when you were pregnant or when you delivered. I'm so, so sorry I can't be there to hold your baby girl in my arms. I'm sorry I left."

"Jacky...Jacky..." Ade soothed. But her voice cracked too and soon she was crying as well. Brother and sister wept, separated by space and time, by war, connected only by a pair of screens and cameras.

* * *

"Promise you'll stay safe," Jasmine heard Frost's sister say.

"I promise."

"When you come back, you're staying with me, understand. We're going riding."

"Yes, we are," he said, happily.

"Alright, well I've got to get her back to bed."

"Sure. Wait, before you go, uh...do me a favor?"

"Mhm."

"Don't tell Mom and Dad, or the rest of the girls how cut up I am. It'll worry them to death and I don't want them to. Alright?"

"Well, okay. I'll say you looked alright and all that jazz."

"Thanks, big sister."

"No problem, little brother.

"Well, I'll let you go."

"Alright. Hey, thank you for calling. Let's do it again some time."

"Absolutely."

"Okay. Looking forward to it...love you, brother."

"Love you too, sis."

"Bye."

"Goodbye."

Jasmine waited a beat before coming around the corner of the door. Frost was sitting there, staring at the screen which had now disconnected from the chat and showed the menu for the video chat software.

She came up beside him with tissues. He took one automatically and cleaned his face.

"I'm sorry that I eavesdropped, I tried not to but uh...I couldn't help it."

"Possessing great knowledge, like you do, tends to make a person curious," Frost said, joking, smiling that sad smile of his. "That was hard, Jas, real hard."

"I understand. I'm very proud of you for doing it. You made a real difference for her, and for yourself."

"You think so?"

"Yes."

Frost stood up. Jasmine was about to turn to hand him his crutch, just to be friendly, but instead his arms wrapped around her. He hugged her very tightly, with his face pressed into her shoulder. All Jasmine could do was hug him back. It was hard for him, she knew. For so long those feelings had been ignored, maybe even repressed. No time, no thought, had been set aside for them. Emotions that for years remained untapped, misunderstood, forgotten. What did they do to a man, a boy, disconnected with his entire family. At war, where death and horror were the only true staples. He hadn't ascended through a painful, awkward social phase as a teenager, hadn't experienced loss as a child, had willingly left his tight-knit family. What did this _do_ to someone like him?

When they parted, ever so slightly, they pressed their foreheads together. "What you said about me...nobody's said that before."

"I meant it," Frost whispered. Once again, she felt a loss for words and the only conveyance of what she felt was a shy kiss. As he pulled her closer to his body, Jasmine could feel that same urging come back. Exhilarating as it was, it left as soon as it came when her data pad chimed with a message.

Reluctantly parting, Jasmine pulled it out from the inside of her white lab coat and opened it. Her eyes widened.

"What's the news?" Frost asked, taking his crutch.

"Vivian said she needs to talk to you, alone."

"She say why?" Frost said after a moment. He seemed just as surprised as her.

"She wants to discuss your Raiders, and some other 'military' matters," Jasmine pushed her glasses back up her nose. "I'll say this about my friend, she can be a little ominous."

But Frost was smiling now.

"Tell her I accept. But we meet on my terms. Tell her this..."

* * *

" _Seeing your little brother in uniform is so...surreal. All my life he had been this cute, innocent, friendly little kid who always wanted to hang out. And all of a sudden he's a grown up, with a thick head of hair, a beard, scars, muscles, and a look in his eye that seemed so distant. It's something that all siblings have to get over, I think."_

-Adelaide Forester

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Boom! Another one! And another will becoming soon! Prepare yourself for an adventure! Well, prepare yourself for the preparation of the adventure, then we'll get to the adventure. Boy I gotta work on this. Anyways, I gotta say folks, I can't tell you how overwhelmed I am by seeing the views spike and getting comments and seeing so many people coming back to read this story. I was so worried after my prolonged absence that nobody would come back and yet here you all are. It's...very heartening, to say the least.**

 **Before I go all mushy like I do, let's do another round of Comment Responses (YAAAAY!) Whose first, godangit!**

 **Commissar Critical: No problem, I love talking about the characters. You make observations or have questions, I'm more than happy to talk about them. And don't worry, the action will always be there. In fact, I've been thinking more and more how to make more action sequences unique; I think you're really going to like them. And developing Frost and Jasmine's relationship is a lot of fun for me; we have these two who have little to no experience with romance and they're just fumbling around with these new feelings. Sometimes it's easy, sometimes it's awkward, sometimes they need to talk like in this chapter, and sometimes they just have to** _ **do**_ **. I am certainly glad you like Chapter 35. To be honest, I was really worried that chapter just wouldn't add up. I thought the tone was off, though the action was too un-engaging. But to see it work, I am very proud of it. Little tidbit, that I'm not sure if I mentioned in a previous Author's Note, but chapters 34 & 35 were originally composed as one chapter that was over 30,000 words, but I thought dividing them into two would create a more episodic feel and help emphasize the flow of time in the story. Dunno if it worked out though. All the same, thanks for commenting Commissar, it really means a lot to me to have your feedback after so long. **

**The Rookie Author: And here's more! Another chapter for ya! To hear you (well, read you) say that this is your favorite story is truly touching for me. But trust me, there's tons of great stories on this site that go way beyond mine in terms of quality and all the other stuff. To be able to entertain you and engage you and others with my story, however, is my greatest pleasure and I promise that I'll keep delivering!**

 **MightBeGone: I've missed you too. If we didn't have the internet blocking our interactions, I would have brought you and everything other reader I've kept waiting some flowers, a box of chocolates, and $50 dollar gift card of their choosing. Joking aside, it's damned good to be back and posting chapters and writing and of course talking with you and all the commenters. I've missed the connection with you guys, I miss opening dialogues, and seeing your excitement when you finish a chapter. Believe it or not, I wanted to wait until I had ten chapters ready to go, but my girl made me post the six I had. You can thank her for getting the six this early! XP Don't worry, I'll crank out a few more before my winter break ends.**

 **That's all we've got right now folks, stay tuned for the next chapter it's coming...relatively soon. Until then, feel free to leave a comment or PM me; if you PM I should get back to you within twenty or thirty minutes (it's not that I put off your messages I just compose responses very slowly). Thank you so much for reading and sticking with me!**


	40. Chapter 40: The War Council

Chapter 40: The War Council

* * *

Never having had much trouble with hangovers, Steele sat on the end of his bed running a comb through his hair with one hand and a small square mirror in the other. Unlike his unfortunate companions, his face lacked the dark bags of a sleepless night and the grimness of a hangover. His morning stubble was neatly shaved, his mustache and soul patch preserved. As usual, he was smirking. Oddly, he was in a good mood. While the sinewy Scotsman and the crusading Canadian busted their own humps, Steele was quite contented. Debauching was one of his favorite activities and a military pastime for men on leave; as far as he was concerned he was just keeping things real. In fact, it was the only military tradition that he appreciated and maintained. Soldiers had a long history of searching for booze and finding easy women. Alcohol rations hadn't existed for some centuries and visiting whorehosues was still illegal, even though plenty of personnel still forked over hundreds of credits for a night of warmth. Steele was just doing what so many other Marines were doing.

"Hey."

Steele looked up. Maddox was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, a cigarette dangling from his lip.

"Hey," Steele said back, almost apprehensively.

"I talked with Bishop. He's a little shaky, but he seems to be doing better now that he's planning on talking to Doc J later today."

"It'll do him good."

Maddox nodded in agreement.

"He told me I ought to apologize to you and Carris. Said you two were in the right in stopping me. So I met up with C, and said what I'll say to you. You two were right, and I'm here to apologize."

Steele waited. And waited. Still, Maddox said nothing. He didn't have the look of a man attempting to speak. Finally, accepting that his statement was as close as he was going to get to an actual apology. Standing, he approached Maddox, arms outstretched. Maddox did the same and they embraced. With that, the two old friends were repaired. Patting each other on the back, they withdrew. "I'd say we're a big happy family once more, but you and Carris need to patch things up I imagine."

"All we did was have an argument. Wouldn't have happened if she hadn't chewed me out." Steele sat down in the same spot and bent over to tie his boots. Maddox went over to his own bed and laid back, the cigarette between his lips. He took a long drag on it.

"Mate? When I was still in school, my best subject was math. Numbers just made more sense in me head. And we used to contests, y'know, solving formulas. Never wanted to do'em though. My math teacher one year, when I was...hm...fourteen, fifteen maybe, he called me in to his room and gave me a ration a' shit for not signing up. Took every opportunity to give me a hard time about it, telling me I was misusing my skills and denying my own knowledge. So to shut that old codger up, I put in for the competition. Ended up winnin'."

By now, Steele had tied his boots but remained hunched. Arms on his knees, head hung low, listening. One more drag, and Maddox continued. "Took me a while to figure out the bastard was hard on me because he _saw_ something in me. That I could be something I wasn't: a winner. He cared about me enough to push me."

Maddox stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray beside his bed. Then he got up, stretched, came over to Steele and tapped the back of Steele's head with his knuckle. "Carris is at the firing range. With that, he departed. Staring at the open door, Steele groaned as he sat back. He ran a hand down his face.

"Bugger me."

###

He found her not in the range but stowing the spare ammunition from target practice in the Weaponsmith.

"Carris?"

The operative continued to place the clips back where they belonged. She did not turn around.

"I heard your promotion went through. Got your new stripes this morning."

"Oh? Yeah, yeah, I did."

Carris finally looked over her shoulder.

"Congratulations, Sergeant Steele." Her voice was flat, emotionless, devoid of the usual warmth she seemed to reserve only for him.

"Um, could I take you out?"

"Out where?"

"To town."

"And do what?'

Steele shrugged.

"I dunno. Go out to eat."

"We have a mess hall."

"Go for a walk, I suppose."

"If it's exercise you're looking for-"

"Bloody hell. Love, can you just look at me?" Carris turned around with an irritated expression. She even took it a step further, coming right up in front of him. Steele gazed up her muscular frame and met her vibrant blue eyes. What a poker face. Despite her fit, firm figure, her face was rather petite. Small pink lips, the soft pale cheeks, an elegant little nose, thin little eyebrows, all topped by short, black hair coming down past her ears. Hard to be mad at a woman who looked like that, Steele thought.

No words were passed between them. Heaving a heavy sight, Steele put on a smirk and turned his shoulder to her. "Not bad, eh?" he asked, tapping the three chevrons on his shoulder. "Did you know in the old days, officers and sergeants would remove their patches to become a less likely target for snipers. Good thing for me the Covenant could care less about who they shoot, eh?"

Maintaining her silence, Carris continued to stare down at him. Steele ran a hand down his face.

"I came to...I'm sorry, alright? I'm sorry I snapped. You didn't deserve that. Of all the blokes around here, I don't want to have harsh words with you. But I gotta know, why are you always harping on me?"

"We're teammates."

"Aye, we are. But I don't need a reminder of my stepmother every time you look at me."

A hint of emotion broke through Carris' expression. She quirked an eyebrow.

"Your stepmother?"

Steele was about to speak but his voice faltered in his throat. Already, he was regretting having said that. She was nothing like his stepmother. In his youth, when he had done wrong, punishment had been meted out by the palm of his stepmother's hand. Belts would have used if not for his father's intervention. An excuse, a pitiful, wretched excuse of a man. Mild mannered, quiet, easily bullied, letting a woman with no blood tie to his son's beat them for even the slightest infractions. Staying out among the roving bands of children, skipping school, had been his salvation. Out in the streets, he was safe from his father's negligence and his stepmother's brutality. Gangs had formed among kids; a growing problem in London. Or at least, as far as he knew when he was still there. Violence erupted between teens and kids even younger than that. Brawls were unavoidable, but as he least he had nobody controlling him. Control. Something he hated. But he did not hate the woman before him.

Etched on Carris' face was the same shroud of confusion. Summoning his strength with a sharp inhale, he said, "You're a good lass, Carris, and a good friend. But I gotta tell you real plain-like, I'm not going to conform to the way you want me to be. Clicking my heels, saluting until my arm flies off, folding my sheets to the proper margins, going yes sir, no sir, that's just not me."

"You're half a soldier." Carris sighed. Her head lowered and she bit her bottom lip, nervously. Nervously? Not once before had he seen her look the slightest bit nervous. If he had, he had forgotten entirely. "Louis, I grew up with my unit, just like you have with yours. We were all kids together. Our training was brutal, ruthless, and it hardly ever stopped. If a member of our team failed on the field, then we all failed. All the time we encourage one another, forced one another if we had, until we were perfect. You're a good fighter, one of the best shots I've seen. But being a soldier isn't just about fighting the enemy."

Carris put her hands on his shoulders. "Discipline, loyalty, perseverance, fortitude, dedication. Those are little parts that add up into the other half a soldier. If you fail to embody those traits, it's not your teammates that pay the consequences. It's _you._ " Carris squeezed his shoulders. "And I don't want you to die."

And then, to the sniper's greatest surprise, she followed up with a smile and a joke. "I mean, just look at you. You're so skinny; a Brute could snap you in half like a twig."

Steele, whose lips had been pursued, cracked into a smile and laughed. Carris chuckled and removed her hands. Naturally, surprisingly so to both, Steele took her hand in his and placed his other on to of it. He didn't even notice the little pink blush that grew on her cheeks.

"One could, couldn't it?"

"I think you'll make for a great sergeant. Frost needs someone like you as his second. You may be laid back and unsoldierly, but you're rational, and that complements his daring. You've always look after him, but you have to look after yourself too."

"Ah, well, I've got you for that, haven't I?" he said, squeezing her hand. Carris nodded, smiling shyly.

"Yes. I'm sorry too. I've been giving you a hard time. I just want you to take care of yourself. Thievery, drunkenness, and whoring aren't befitting of you, no matter what you think."

"I broke a promise to you. I said I wouldn't go to brothels and I did. It was stupid."

"But you're right. I'm not your wife. I'm not...I dunno. We're not like Jasmine and Frost."

"Well, love, it's not like Doc J is his missus now. They just got started. You don't go into things and start ordering the other person around. Just ask Knight. You can't go around dictating how another person does things just because you're together. If you've got a problem with them, you oughtn't be together, am I right?"

"I don't know. I haven't ever been with something."

"I'm very fucking well aware of that, love," he said jokingly. "That's why if I ever need advice about women, however rare that may be, I go and talk to Knight."

"Then who should I talk to about men?" Carris asked.

"Uh...well, I mean...I'm not sure, honestly. Erm, Nora maybe. Um, maybe...oh, wait...was that a joke?"

Carris smirked.

"Did you like it?"

Steele never liked to force laughter but he managed a chuckle.

"Good wordplay. You're learnin', you're learnin'." Steele scratched the back of his head, his humor dissipating. "Love, I made a promise and I broke it. Even if you're not bothered by that, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"I appreciate that." Carris again appeared nervous. "It's not just that I think you're above all that. I like everyone in the team. Everyone's nice, friendly, and funny, and nobody treats me like I'm different. Even Maddox came up to me today and apologized. What he said was very...sweet, if that's the word to use."

 _Of course he's nice to the ladies in the squad. All I get is a statement of intent, a hug, and another lecture of how big of an asshole I am. Great._

Carris continued. "But you're different. I'm just always better for seeing you. You were the first person that ever made me laugh. Thirty years and I can't remember a time I ever laugh, until I met you. And you make all these weird things seem normal. You help me."

"Ah, we're friends of a special sort, Carris. Think about it. I was there with you when you got drunk, and you were here for me. Now the circle is complete, hm?"

"I wouldn't exactly call watching your pale, shivering form huddled with two other men, jammed into a tiny shower, shivering under cold water as being there for you, but I'll take it."

Steele laughed again.

"Love, let's agree to put this behind us. Eh?"

"Yes."

Steele held out his arms the two hugged. Immediately, he felt his face grow red with embarrassment as his head was nearly level with her chest. Carris didn't seem to notice, or mind, and held him close.

* * *

By now, Delaney had returned to the bridge and a few of the other officers had too. Conversations started up, like they did. Hands tapped away at screens and data pad sat in her chair, gazing at her own, brow furrowed over her sparkling, emerald green eyes as she read a ludicrous message.

 _Viv,_

 _I relayed your message to meet with Frost. He agreed to meet with you; he's invited you to dinner tonight in the kitchens at eighteen-hundred hours. Everything will be quite civil, he assured me. Apparently, he's preparing the meal. It's a surprise._

 _Please, just be cordial with him. Thanks._

 _Jas_

Invited to dinner by the man who had slaughtered her friends. Who had taken his time and plunged a blade into one's throat. What a horrendous insult. Was this all a joke to him? She could see him, sitting his barracks, cackling, slapping his knee. Horrible, horrible man. Only humanity could be so cruel. It was quite the relief to have never fought them. Barbarity a defining characteristic of war. Unavoidable. No such thing as a clean war. Being in the Navy didn't separate one from it. Watching ships break apart, explode, counting the lifepods-those were what Naval officers had to see in their time. At OCS, she had listened to the old stories. Those times would come, eventually. All she could do was prepare. But she hated the ground war, and the men who fought in it. The men on her ships. They were like him. Just like him.

So lost in thought she was, that she hadn't noticed the pair of booted footsteps marching onto the bridge.

"Captain Waters." Vivian looked up. Major Holst and Captain De Vos stood at attention, side by side, saluting. Setting her data pad down, she stood and returned the salute.

"At ease. What can I do for you, Major?"

"Ma'am, I wanted to broach this subject with you before but you rudely-"

"Major," De Vos whispered sharply. Holst rolled his eyes.

"It's about Gunnery Sergeant Frost's raider unit."

"What about it?"

"After conferring with my executive officer, we believe that a unit, unofficial or official, should have an officer in charge. We understand that noncommissioned officers are receiving more autonomy and command positions within the Marine Corps, but with the risk and capacity that this raider unit finds itself in requires the presence of a commissioned officer."

Vivian stared at him blankly. Her mind was elsewhere, but she could see what he was trying to do.

"And I take it you'd like to be in command?"

"Negative, ma'am. I recommend Captain De Vos to lead the unit. I'd further recommend that considering our unit's experience and designation with the NAVSPECWAR, we'd like to integrate some of our specialists into the unit."

"You'd like to turn this into a joint ODST-Marine venture?"

"Yes, ma'am. Of course, considering we've been at war longer than the 89th, it might be prudent to make it an ODST detachment. Simplify the command structure."

"Major, why are you bringing this to me and not Colonel Hayes?"

"With respect, ma'am, I've known the Colonel for some years, by reputation and operations long past. He's a good officer and his men worship him. He extends that same worship to his men. He is not a man open to discussion when his Marines are on the line. Considering you approved the unit's formation and you are the battlegroup commander, I thought it expedient to come to you first."

"Mhm. And how do you feel about this, Captain De Vos?" Vivian asked, folding her arms across her chest and shifting her attention to the reserved executive officer.

"De Vos has assured me she is willing and able to takeover, ma'am."

"I was asking the Captain, Major Holst. Let her speak for herself." This she said quite sharply. Vivian was not in the mood for Holst's attitude or his game. None of the officers aboard, whether they belonged to the Marines, the Navy, the Air Force attempted to weasel into each other's affairs. She had read his CSV thoroughly. Overflowing with citations, medals, and commendations from numerous high-risk operations. For the past few years, his profile was devoid of such notes. It didn't take an expert to see that he was attempting to restart the glory days. Curious, how he opted for De Vos instead of himself. Maybe he was trying to live vicariously through his XO rather than do the job himself. No risk that way. But Holst didn't shy away from combat, not in the slightest. Then it hit her; with his XO in command, it would be his all the same. Its triumphs would be hers and his together. Sly.

De Vos was drilling holes into the side of Holst's head. Her gaze was tone cold. If she hadn't been standing in front of Holst, Vivian could have almost cracked a smile. It was nearly comical, the smug aloofness of Holst, oblivious to his second's disdain.

"Ma'am, I think it would be more fitting and productive if we included Gunnery Sergeant Frost on the discussion. It was his idea and he's done the legwork in recruiting the men for the job. Only fair to include him."

Holst's satisfied expression disappeared in the blink of an eye. He turned around, very smartly like he was on parade, and stared at her. Shock and aggravation flooded his features. Remaining calm, De Vos stared straight ahead. Vivian smiled, just a little.

"Good point, Captain. We'll save this until I call the war council."

"Another time?" Holst asked, bemused. "Ma'am, why don't we call him up now?"

"Gunnery Sergeant Frost is indisposed at the moment, Major."

Without a word, Holst turned to leave. Vivian frowned. "Major." Holst stopped. His hands were curled into fists. "I didn't dismiss you."

Holst turned around slowly and came to attention. His lips formed a tight line. "Dismissed," Vivian said, and after an exchange of salutes, Holst stormed away. Vivian looked at De Vos, who also saluted and was about to follow her commander. "Wait a moment."

"Ma'am?"

"You don't seem thrilled about the opportunity your CO sees for you."

De Vos was stiff and unreadable. Emotions that had been painted on her face just moments earlier and disappeared. Now Vivian knew she wouldn't be getting the answers she had been expecting, or hoping, to hear.

"Major Holst is just concerned about the command structure of the Raiders unit, ma'am. Having an experienced officer will keep the unit flexible and organized."

"You didn't agree with him just now," Vivian countered. De Vos's lips pursed. She was thinking of something to say. It wasn't that Vivian was toying with De Vos. Under no circumstances would she confront a crew member for an honest answer unless absolutely situation. If a crime had been committed, or were insubordinate, or had failed in their duties during combat-all reasons why she would take the stance she took now. Officers attempting to wrestle command from another, most certainly, was a reason to press for an answer. "Speak freely," Vivian said after waiting for a few moments.

De Vos cleared her throat.

"I am Major Holst's XO and I have been for some years. When he gives me an order, I must follow and fulfill the order to the fullest extent. But that doesn't mean I agree with every single command he's ever given me." De Vos shifted on her feet-thee closest act she had ever committed that resembled nervousness. "I'm not afraid to go on high risk-"

"I am not doubting your courage, Captain. Speak plain with me."

"Well, Captain, I'm Holst's XO and I belong among the other ODSTs. If this unit were to be composed entirely of Helljumpers, then I'd accept without hesitation."

"But?"

"I've seen Gunny Frost in action, ma'am. He knows what he's doing, considering his experience in the bush."

"Bush?" Vivian repeated. "You mean fighting Insurrectionists."

"One hundred percent, ma'am. Lightning raids, ambushes, long range reconnaissance patrols, S&D, snatch n' grab, that's what he's experienced with. The Skopje Campaign was composed of ops like that."

"And you're not acquainted with those kind of operations, Captain?"

De Vos chuckled.

"Well, I'm inclined to tell you ma'am that I'm a shock trooper first and a special operator second. Frost's experience suits the demands of this unit much better than my own. Not to mention I believe it's important to have experienced NCO's, and Frost is a force multiplier. His aggression will raise morale and help the mission, ma'am."

Vivian nodded, stroking her chin.

"Well put, Captain De Vos. Just one more question."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You spoke of orders, just a moment ago. If you receive what you interpreted as a...poor order, what would you do?"

De Vos appeared intrigued, confused, and startled all at once. Perhaps she hadn't expected the shift in conversation. Slowly, she looked to her left and her right, as if she were checking to see if someone were eavesdropping.

"I suppose, ma'am, that if the order would result in unacceptable casualties I would have to question it."

"Question, and not refuse?"

"I've never refused an order, ma'am."

"Would you, though?"

"I'm...not sure, ma'am."

"We're only speaking in hypotheticals, De Vos. There's no right or wrong answer. I'm just curious."

De Vos frowned.

"Curiosity is better reserved for ONI spooks, ma'am. Officers like me and you just follow orders."

She was growing apprehensive. Vivian saw this but continued to press on.

"Well said. Still, I'm interested in what you have to say."

Looking away, De Vos seemed to ponder. After some hesitation she said.

"Honestly ma'am, if it was a bad order, and men's lives were on line, I like to think I'd refuse."

"So if an order was morally questionable, you might refuse?"

"I suppose so, yes ma'am."

"If an order, from a superior or some other officer, got your friends killed, what would you do?"

De Vos pursed her lips.

"Hypothetically?"

"Hypothetically."

"I think I would kill them."

"The one who gave the order, or the ones who actually killed your friends?"

"The one who gives the order is truly responsible. The enemy has orders of their own, their own mission. I can't bring myself to hate them. It's just not in me."

"Thank you, Nina, that'll do. You're dismissed."

"Yes, ma'am." De Vos turned to leave, but stopped after a few steps. Slowly, she turned. "Captain?"

"Yes?"

"The Major won't forget that. He's prideful, and remember slights."

"Good. Let him remember what he is and what he's supposed to do in the presence of a senior officer."

De Vos nodded and departed. Vivian sat back down in her chair and reread Jasmine's message. Asked to dine with the man who slaughtered her friends. On whose orders? Hayes was the likely candidate. Of course, he was a colonel; he may be the boss of the 89th, but he had bosses too, and they had bosses. And it went on and on, all the way up through HIGHCOM. Blame could be spread out far and wide throughout the many branches and administrative divisions of the unwieldy UNSC. So many offices and meeting halls where officers so detached from the frontlines, making decisions for the millions of men and women serving humanity. Writing the blame off onto hundreds, maybe even thousands of blank faces didn't solve anything. Pointing the finger at Hayes was far easier. Mr. Adley would be been executed if not for her intervention. What hate, what anger, she saw in the colonel's eyes. Contempt for the Insurrection-for human beings-was rife throughout the 89th. Hatred was not innate, it was taught. Although, it could fester and grow on its own. Eight years Hayes had trained and let them. Plenty of time to teach his Marines how to hate not just the Covenant but the old enemy. Yet as she mulled and wondered and rationalized, she could not despise him like she did Frost. She had seen him! Pistol in hand, aiming for Adley, a man whose actions had made him innocent! But when she reimagine that scene in her mind, even when she shut her eyes, all she saw was darkness being torn apart by a terrifying yellow muzzle flash. All the noise-splinter wood, bullets burrowing into walls and flesh, breaking glass, and screaming. White teeth clenched in determination and delight as the bullets tore through them. Vivian opened her eyes and set the data pad down in her lap. Slowly, she looked out through the window, over the city and the distant ridge where Frost had made his dash. The early afternoon sun disappeared behind creeping gray clouds. Ran was coming.

 _That's where you and I differ, De Vos._

* * *

Frost and Jasmine were returning via the hangar to the mess hall. He was in a good mood. Despite how his video conversation with Adelaide had ended, he was happy that he had done it. Seeing her and his niece, his little niece right there in her arms, stirred feelings in him he had never felt-that he never thought he'd feel. Still not homesick but altogether buoyed, Frost wanted to do something with his hands. Cooking was the best activity for him.

To get to mess hall one had to pass through the armory and the barracks first. Facilitating the movement of manpower was key to a ship like the _I'm Alone._ Troops from the barracks went right into the armory, collected their gear, and immediately entered the hangar afterwards. Returning troops got to stow their gear, then go right back to their barracks or take the extra step into the mess hall for chow. Wounded went in the other direction, up over the HEV bay. Streams of personnel, across all branches, flowed by one another with ease. But for a recovering Marine sergeant and a tired Navy doctor it was certainly a trek.

"I'm sorry to make you carry the groceries," Frost said to her.

"Do you really think I'd let a man on a crutch carry these bags?" Jasmine asked with a kind smile. She was holding a plastic bag in each hand. Her data pad was in the large pocket on the inside of her coat.

They were both wet, having gotten caught in the afternoon rain. Neither of them minded much. His good mood had extended onto Jasmine, who seemed even happier than him. In a way, she seemed proud do. Frost, whose gray eyes didn't miss much at all, had noticed the small, tender glances she kept sneaking at him. A warm smile, glimmering eyes. To him, he was starting to think she was testing him. Test may have been too harsh a word. Proving didn't work either. She had been hoping that'd he talk to his sister. Jasmine had a way of investing in folks, he had decided. In Waters, in him, and already she was determined to see what was ticking in Bishop's head. Her interactions with him consisted of a very angry chew-out and little else. Compassion was not expected, even prohibited in the military. Most doctors he had met didn't have a benevolent attitude; most operated on wounded men like they were performing maintenance on their truck. Not her. From what he recalled from the blood-stained, shattered-glass memory of his surgery, he had felt so safe and calm. Gentle words came to his ear, reassuring him even when it was dark. The touch of her hands had been so soft it didn't seem like she had been wearing gloves.

Frost took his free hand and placed it on Jasmine's left arm. Jasmine blushed. "What is it?"

"You sure you can't make it to this little supper?"

"I'd really like to but I'm needed back in the medical bay later day, and I have Bishop's therapy sessions to begin. I won't be around for dinner."

"I really wish you could be there."

"If you wanted to make it really special why in the hell did you invite her?"

"She wants to talk. So do I."

"I definitely encourage conversation between two grievanced parties," Jasmine said, bouncing her brow in a way that made her glasses slide a little too far down her nose. "But I don't think you two ought to stay clear from each other for some time, despite this little peace pact of yours."

Frost reached over with his free hand and pushed her glasses back up her nose. "Thanks," said Jasmine, bowing her head so that her blush wasn't as noticeable.  
"I'm sure things'll be civil. I think me and the Cap' ought to talk. Maybe we can sort some of our problems out."

Jasmine seemed a bit more grave then.

"It's not that simple, Nate. But I trust both of you to keep things civil."

Frost offered a reassuring smile. Inside, he couldn't help but worry.

As they passed through the armory, he spotted Moser and Grant with Tane the scientist. Tane looked exhausted; his shoulders were sagging, he couldn't keep his head up straight, and he was panting quite heavily. Grant spotted Frost and waved him over. Jasmine and Frost agreed to say hello and check in on the trio.

"Grant, Moser," Frost said, nodding at pair. He turned his attention to Tane. "Mr. Tane, how are you?"

"I'm alright..." he wheezed. He was clad in a pair of gray sweat pants and an olive drab t-shirt that clung to his skin. Under his armpits and up the middle of his back were massive sweat stains.

"We've kept him busy with some physical conditioning. We're taking a ten minute break before hitting the range with Katz."

"Katz? Really?"

Grant and Moser exchanged a glance, and the latter shrugged.

"Katz really wants to join the raiding parties. He says they'll make for good stories; plans on recording them with a helmet cam," Moser said, scoffing at the end.

"We said he could train with us for the day but it's ultimately up to you," Grant said.

Adding a non-combatant to a raiding unit was ludicrous idea. At the very least Tane had weapons training and could defend himself if need be. Katz had no military training and could hardly put on body armor. War correspondents went out into the field with the troops all the time but this was different. Special operations weren't for correspondents; having to babysit him would waste manpower and add to the list of variables that Frost was doing his damndest to keep short.

"Where is he?"

"Firing range. Gave him a rundown on the M6C."

"We're not supposed to give weapons training to civilians," Frost remarked. Grant and Moser grinned.

"Only way to keep him out of our hair was giving him something to do."

"So you gave a man a crash course on pistol-usage and left him to his own devices?" Jasmine asked. "You might as well have given a handgun to a toddler."

"Jasmine's right," Frost said, "you should be keeping an eye on him, or else he might shoot his toe off."

Frost and Jasmine, accompanied by Grant, Moser, and Tane, all went over to the other side of the Armory. They found Katz in the closest firing stall. He was wearing ear plugs, protective eyewear, and standard issue gloves. Wearing jeans and a jacket, he looked entirely out of place.

"Katz."

Startled, he turned around sharply, still holding the pistol in one hand. "Jesus!" Frost dropped his crutch, took one quick step up to him, and snatched the pistol out of his hand. He flicked the safety off before clutching his thigh, groaning. Jasmine set the bags down and came over.

"Where does it hurt?"

"All over. My leg is stiff as hell."

"Is it a sharp pain?"

"Dull ache."

"You're do for some pain meds."

"I'll be alright for now," Frost assured her. Moser had come up on his other side and was steadying Frost with both hands. Grant was kind enough to fetch the fallen crutch and return it to Frost. "Thanks fellas." He turned his attention to Katz, who was standing sheepishly in the cramped stall with his head down and the plugs in his hands. "Never turn away from the firing line with a hot weapon. Even when unloaded, you have to be mindful of your weapon."

"Right, sorry. I just got spooked, is all."

"Well if you plan on joining our raids, you can't get spooked. You have to be calm, and make yourself small."

Frost crutched up beside him. "Face the gallery." Katz turned around and Frost held the pistol out for him. "You've got some targets out there. Show me what you can do. If you're going to come on a raid, I need to know you can defend yourself."

Katz flicked the safety off and slowly raised the pistol with both hands. Correcting his posture, grip, and other cinema-influenced perceptions on weapon handling, Katz managed to squeeze off an entire clip at a paper target of a charging Elite. Out of the twelve-round clip, seven missed, four had a large spread in the legs, and one managed to strike an arm. Some Marines who had gathered nearby laughed at the sight. "Don't pay them any mind," Frost said to the correspondent, who now bowed his head. He took the empty pistol from him and set it down on the counter in front of them. "Tell me why you want to come with us on ops. You've seen the fighting firsthand now. We almost got overrun just a few days ago."

Running a hand through his dark hair, Katz exhaled, thinking.

"I'm from Israel, but grew up in the States. When two years ago there was a big recruitment drive and all five of my cousins enlisted. Oh, I got plenty of shit for not enlisting. Heard it all; our ancestors were soldiers long before our motherland was even formed. One of the few countries in the world for its army to have existed before it's establishment. Amazing concept, don't you think? As for as my cousins thought, they believed they were upholding tradition. Now look at them. One's missing in action, one's in a coma, two are dead, and one's still active." He shrugged. "But nobody sees that on Earth. Back there, all you see is glitz and glamour. War heroes in their uniforms with big smiles waving from cars like they're celebrities. In magazines, in the paper, on television, people see medals and ceremonies, and they cheer and clap and think all is well. Nobody listens to the people on the ground like you or the refugees flooding from the Inner Colonies."

Frost nodded.

"You want to show people the real thing. I can respect that."

"It's not just about that." Katz said, leaning against the side of the stall. "People think victory is soon. I thought so too until I boarded this ship. What I've seen on the ground tells me it isn't close and it won't be easy. I want to show people that unless they all pitch in, that they all become _aware_ , that we're all going to die."

Such a message would be crystalline to individual, logical, thinking person, Frost thought. But he knew the masses would wave their hands and dismiss such a claim. Just another scaremonger trying to get his name in the papers, they would say. In his youth, he was subjected to such conversations in school, in restaurants, at home, at the store. It never ended. People just tunneling deeper into self-denial. As a child it was a nuisance but a comfort. Here, at the end of human space, away from the propaganda and the countless people willingly pulling the wool over their eyes, he could see it plain as day. If the UNSC failed, humanity was done for. Without their protection, the Covenant would steadily discover each colony and destroy it. He had known this since his first skirmish with the Covenant. Young Katz, standing before him, was a quick learner.

"And you think recording our raids will help show them that?"

"I think it's important for people to know what you're doing out here. Not just you, but this entire battle group. Morale is just as important as the truth, isn't it?"

"Agreed," Frost said. "Well, how's about you and I make a deal? You can come with us and film all you want under two conditions. One: learn how to use a pistol and carry one with you on the field, so I don't have to worry about you. Two: considering you're a civilian and you can order just about anything you want through the mail, mind ordering us some non-propaganda flicks?"

Katz blinked.

"R-really?"

"Yeah. We haven't seen a proper movie for eight years. Comedies, thrillers, horror, we'll take anything. But if you want to become real popular, order some pornos. You'll be sitting on a mountain of chocolate bars and cigarette packs."

"Done," Katz said. Frost spit into his palm, and overcoming a moment's hesitation, Katz spit into his own, and they shook hands.

"Grant, Moser, add Katz into your list of trainees."

"With pleasure," they said in unison, eyeing Katz gleefully.

Frost and Jasmine said their goodbyes and left for the mess hall. Jasmine looked over her shoulder.

"They're going to put those two through hell, aren't they?"

"Oh yeah. Training ought to be hellish, you know? Makes fighting the Covvies much, much easier."

"Hopefully neither of them will drop dead. Katz doesn't exactly have the best diet."

"I noticed he's been getting a little soft around the edges. Don't worry, Moser and Grant will take care of that."

###

In the kitchen, where Frost had prepared several meals before, he started to unload the groceries onto the counter. He was glad to be back. The mess officer had been kind enough to loan them this slice of the kitchen to use at their leisure and they had hardly anytime to use since they celebrated Thanksgiving. Christmas has passed them by and everyone's prodigal celebrations in the city left no energy left for the New Year. Ultimately, the squad wouldn't mind that they didn't get to sit down and have a dinner like before. But Frost planned to make plenty of extra food for the meal he was preparing, so they'd all have a nice treat.

"Can I ask you something...blunt?" Jasmine asked. She was beside him, going through the other bag.

"Shoot."

"Why haven't you ever been with a woman before?"

"...that was more blunt than I thought it'd be."

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, your squadmates certainly don't seem to have a problem with it. Especially Corporal-I mean, Sergeant Steele."

"How do you know that?"

"He has three counts of syphilis on his medical record. Let's call it a _hunch._ "

Frost chuckled.

"Steele's a bit of a ladies man. He's charming and much better looking. Girl's go crazy for that thick head of blonde hair he has. Most of the time though he just visits the whores. I wish he wouldn't for reasons that you just stated." They both chuckled. "But he knows what he's getting into and I'm not going to tell my best friend what to do with his free time. Even when I've tried he hasn't listened, so I let him be."

"Even when he has the potential to harm himself with venereal disease?"

"To quote him, 'There's a short for everything now.'"

"Pah. That's hardly the truth." Jasmine rolled her eyes, but then set down the bag and came a bit closer. "So, you've never been to one?"

"Been to what?"

"A whorehouse."

"I did once."

"But I thought you said you've never slept with a woman before."

"I haven't. It was the day after my nineteenth birthday. Steele was twenty and he said he was treating me to a special gift. I wasn't really for it."

"Why not? It's perfectly natural, especially for soldiers. You don't know when you'll come home, it could be your last night on earth. I can't blame a fighting man for spending his money on alcohol and women."

"I've never thought about it that way. I was just never interested. We were boy soldiers. No girls in our unit. We've fought beside plenty of units that were unisex-most in the UNSC are unisex now anyways. I think Hayes was trying to limit our distractions, although I don't think we would have seen them as distractions, but rather as sisters. But that's just me."

"But tell me about that night. You went and nothing happened?"

"Not exactly."

* * *

 _Three years earlier..._

Steele slapped some credits onto the counter of the dingy, hazy apartment they had just walked into.

"Two rooms please, one for him, one for me, I'm paying for both up front."

Two keys were handed to them by a middle-aged woman with dyed red hair, a cigarette in her mouth, and crow's feet. Steele handed one to Frost. "C'mon mate. Time you popped your cherry."

The two friends headed up stairs. Frost could hear muffled moans and grunts, the sound of bed frames slamming against walls, springs being squashed. Cigarette smoke hung in the air alongside the scents of vomit and sex.

"So this is the kind of place you like to spend shore leave, Louie?" Frost asked from behind. Steele laughed.

"Mate, it doesn't matter where you do it. I'd fuck outside if I had to."

"I know you would and that still disgusts me. Didn't anyone ever tell you that love making-"

"Ah uh, stop right there. You lost me already. Love making is something you do with your wife. What we're doing is fucking for our lives before Hayes sends us on another death run."

"If you say so."

"Ain't you excited, mate?"

"I have to admit I'm still hung over from yesterday. I don't think I'll ever drink that much again."

"Yeah, right, devil dog. We'll see about that. Here's our rooms." Steele unlocked his door, turned, winked, and gave Frost a rough pat on the shoulder. "Make me proud, bruvva." Frost rolled his eyes and unlocked the door. He went in and was met with a dimly lit room. The carpet was filthy with dirt, ancient cigarette butts, scraps of food, and numerous stains. The queen sized bed had one ratty brown blanket and two pillows without cases that were stained yellow. A nightstand stood on either side. Each had an astry and a lamp on it. On the right, a bottle of cheap whiskey sat on the nightstand. Either the previous occupants had forgotten or this cathouse was a step above the bar, and served booze along with women.

The wallpaper was peeling and dirty, the ceiling fan was close to falling off as it spun at a snail's pace. Perhaps the only suitable piece of furniture, which, quite conveniently was the only other seat in the room, was a leather chair. It was brown and the woodwork on the handles was quite intricate. The ends were made to look like a smooth, rolling wave. Obviously, it had been stolen. No place like this could afford such a nice piece of furniture. But what did he know? He went over to the chair, which was perpendicular to the bed and shoved against the wall, he examined it for stains. Thankfully, there were none that he could see. So he took a seat and waited. And waited. And waited. Ten minutes went by and still no girl showed up.

He heard a pair of feet coming down the hallway. For a moment they seemed to stop in front of his door. Frost sat up a bit and swallowed. He was sweating-the room was hot. But he was wrong. The door beside his opened and he heard Steele's muffled voice, followed by a girl's. A few moments later he heard laughing, then some shuffling, a big _fwump_ sound, and then a thumping against the wall. Moaning followed soon after. Frost cringed as he listened to his best friend on the other side. Already, he was regretting accepting the offer.

Accept was a kind word. Steele had practically dragged Frost off base and the others had bullied him into going. Everyone joked that it was his time, even Grant, who everyone knew was still a virgin himself. What was the big deal, Frost thought; what difference did it make if he died a virgin or died having laid with a foul smelling whore? Who cared? Would his family stand over his coffin, mourning his death, but taking solace in the fact he had been able to have one free night of fun with a woman he didn't even know. Way to make the parents proud, he mused sarcastically.

Suddenly, there was a knock. Before Frost could speak a girl came in. She was wearing fishnet stockings, jet black high heels, a maroon mini-skirt, and a brown leather jacket over a green tank top. She had an old handbag over her shoulder and she was rather pale. Frost had expected a much older woman with caked on makeup. But she was in her mid-twenties and had just a little blush on and some mascara, which was running. She sniffled as she came in, going straight to the bed and setting her handbag down.

Frost cleared his throat.

"Um, hello?" he said, quietly.

"Yeah, hi," she said, her voice choked. "I just need a minute, okay?"

"Oh, sure, sure, no problem," Frost said, patting his knees. The girl was going through her handbag and swearing under her breath. She was attractive; she wore her chocolate brown hair down and it seemed to shine, even in the dim yellow light of the lamp. Her figure was curvy and slender. Frost looked away, red in the face. But he looked back, as he continued to listen to her curse and sniffle. "Miss, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Don't worry, we're going to have a good time," she said, turning around. She smiled; she had a very wide, warm smile. Frost smiled back, but hers disappeared. Her eyes grew wide and sadder, like she had seen a ghost. Immediately, she turned around, her hand on her forehead. More sniffling followed.

"Miss?" Frost stood up and took out an olive drab handkerchief from his pocket. He came up to her and held it out. She glanced over her shoulder and took it.

"Thanks. You're sweet." She wiped her tears and the running makeup. "I'm sorry. It's just that you look like my...um..."

Frost grimaced. Was she married? Engaged? Were they so poor that she was forced into prostitution? If that was the case, he was just leaving some money and heading back to base. He couldn't bring himself to sleep with a woman who was with someone else like that, even if she was a prostitute.

"I'm sorry miss. I think I'll go."

"No, no, please stay." She said, grabbing his hand. "Please. I'm sorry, it's just...you look like my husband. He died on the front two years ago."

"Oh. I'm, I'm very sorry."

"Thanks. He was a Marine. He won medals for gallantry. But he died and work around here has been short. We were already working poor when he enlisted, and the insurance bill wasn't enough to pay all the bills. Lost...everythinge over the months and no place was hiring...so here I am. Been here for six months."

"What was your husband's name?" Frost asked, not knowing what to say.

"James. James Pineda."

"I've heard of him," Frost lied. "He was a good man."

The girl smiled, looking down. She held the handkerchief out but Frost shook his head. "Please, keep it."

"Thanks. You're real sweet. Your name's Frost," she said, pointing to the tag on his shirt. "Like the poet?"

"Just a coincidence," Frost said with a breathy chuckle, shrugging.

"What's your first name?"

"Nathaniel."

"That's a nice name. I'm Robin."

"What a pretty name," Frost said earnestly. This made Robin smile.

"You seem...young. Most guys who come through here are in the mid or late twenties."

"I just enlisted early."

"You've probably seen a lot of action."

"Plenty," Frost said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Not too long ago my buddy and I almost died on a special op. Had to jump off a cliff and somehow we managed the long trek back to base." Frost didn't like delving too deep into the story, especially his role in it. Too many people who had gotten a whiff of the story pressed for even deeper details and he just didn't want to remember how close he and Steele had come.

"Wow, you're a regular hero, aren't you?"

"No. Just got lucky, I think."

Robin sat down beside him.

"Where are you from?"

"Earth. I live in Nova Scotia."

"Oh. I'm from here. What's Nova Scotia?"

"It's sort of a peninsula on the east coast of Canada. It's one of the country's provinces. I live in the city of Halifax."

Robin looked away.

"I feel kinda dumb. I've never heard of any of these places. When people talk about Earth, they never get into specifics. Like when Earthborn talk about the colonies."

"No! No, don't feel dumb. I'm from Earth and I don't even know every single country. I doubt I could tell you much about your planet either." Another lie; before they had landed the Marines had been given extensive information on the colony and the cities in the event of a Covenant attack. They had been active in the area and there was a high chance that they might discover the system.

Robin came a little closer, kicking off her heels.

"You're a real swell guy. You're the nicest Marine I've ever met."

"Marines tend to be a little rough around the edges," Frost admitted. "Even me."

"Oh that beard and those nicks aren't fooling anybody. You're a gentle boy, I can tell. You put on the mean face for your mates, but you're a soft soul inside. Tell me I'm wrong."

Frost didn't say anything. He wasn't sure what to say. After facing the barrels of both the Insurrectionists and the Covenant, seeing countless planets glassed, losing comrades, and killing scores of human and alien combatants, he didn't think he was a _soft_ soul.

Robin giggled. "Your face is a picture. I know I'm right."

"Heh, yeah, you got me." Frost scratched the back of his head. Robin took his hand and placed it on her thigh. It moved up his thigh and onto his chest. She pressed her face against his neck. "I think I should leave." He got up quickly.

"Why?" Robin asked urgently, standing up.

"This just doesn't feel right. You're a very sweet gal and I'm sorry about what's happened to you. I wish I could help you in some way. But I didn't even want to come here, my pal made me because I just turned nineteen. I just can't though. I'm sorry."

Frost pulled out his wallet. His backpay had arrived and he pulled out a wad of credits. "I don't know how much this is. Here, take it." He pulled all of the credits from his wallet. "Just, just take everything and see if you can get to Earth. There's lots of work there because of immigration to the Inner Colonies." Robin let the money fall into her cupped hands.

"This is...this is..."

"Just keep it, alright? You shouldn't be in a place like this. Use it to get out of here, go somewhere safe." He smiled. "Go to Nova Scotia. Halifax is a nice place. You'll find work there, trust me."

Frost made to leave.

"Wait, Nathaniel." Frost stopped and turned. Robin was standing in the center of the room, the money in her hands, shaking like a leaf, tears running down her eyes. She dropped the money, came over, and kissed him on the cheek before locking him into a tight hug. Frost embraced her as well. She sobbed into his shoulder. He wasn't sure how long they stood there before she withdrew slightly. "Can I ask you to do something for me?"

Saying no was not an option. He nodded. "At night, my husband used to hold me from behind and would run one of his hands through my hair like this," she demonstrated, running her hand from front to back. "Can you...lay with me? And do that, for me? Please?"

Her eyes were large, brown, warm, and trusting. Frost couldn't refuse. Nodding, he let her lead him to the bed. She took off the skirt, leggings, and jacket, so that she was clad only in her tank top and a filly set of underwear. She didn't bother going under the solitary blanket. Frost lay behind her, wrapped his arms around her and with his left hand, began gently, slowly, smoothing her hair back and running his fingers through her brown locks.

* * *

 _Present day..._

Jasmine leaned against the counter in the kitchen as Frost finished his story.

"I'm not sure how much time I spent in that room with her. I may have nodded off a couple times. Surprised some thug didn't come banging on the door telling me my time was up. Eventually, she was dead asleep. I put all the money on the nightstand next to her handbag, and I managed to find some paper and a pen and wrote her a note. I don't remember what I wrote. But I come walking out of there and who do I see waiting just down the hall but Louie with a cigarette. He says to me, 'You were quiet,' and that was that. All I said was that nothing happened. He just shrugged liked it was no big deal."

"Did she ever write you or anything? I mean, she had your name."

"No. I'm not sure what happened to her. The planet was attacked not long after that night and there were a lot of civilian casualties. Droves died in the streets, killed by plasma artillery. I can remember the smoldering corpses strewn all over the place. Men. Women. Children." Frost shook his head. "An absolute nightmare. Never found her. I looked though." He sighed. "I like to think that she managed to get on a shuttle offworld and was able to make it to Earth, and she's got herself a nice little studio apartment in Halifax and a decent job. Maybe one day when I go home I'll bump into her. Be like something out of a movie, huh?"

"Life can be infinitely stranger than the movies," Jasmine said lightly.

"Very true. Steele says that no woman you meet ever stays out of your life for long. I used to think he was full of shit, but then comes along Waters, so I suppose anything is possible, huh?"

"Yes."

He was a sweet man. Robin wasn't wrong. Most men would have listened to her sob story and had their way with he anyways. Some might have even cut her off. Who wouldn't have? They had paid their due and were willing to fork over some extra money for the girl afterwards. And then comes along a man like Frost, who listened, who emptied his wallet for the girl, and refused to take advantage of her, even when she seemed to enjoy him. Jasmine knew no other men with that kind of empathy and fortitude. And with no reward, no incentive, no bond, no reason, he stayed there to fulfill her request. Any man would have just taken the opportunity for another round of animal-like sex. Not Frost; he was not like most men.

Jasmine reached up and put a hand on his cheek. She turned him so that they faced one another, and kissed him. Frost wrapped his arms around her immediately, lifting her off her feet. He then set her down on the counter, their arms still around one another. Jasmine broke from his lips and proceeded to kiss down the side of his neck and down towards his chest.

"Excuse me."

Frost and Jasmine both turned to their left. Standing in the doorway to another kitchen was the mess officer, holding a white mug of coffee. He didn't looked at all perturbed at the sight before him.

Taking another sip from his coffee and sighing, the steam rising from the mug, he said, "We do our best to keep the _I'm Alone's_ kitchens sanitary to avoid any possible mishaps with the meals we prepare. And as depraved as your Marine comrades may be, Gunnery Sergeant, I don't think they'd be happy to know they ingested one of their mate's, hmm..." he grinned, "...fluids."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir," Frost said, letting go of Jasmine while she slid off the counter. The officer nodded and turned around.

"Besides, it's much better on a table," he said over his shoulder before disappearing into the other room. Jasmine and Frost were both red in the face, more from annoyance than embarrassment.

"Just when I think we have a moment of privacy..." Frost muttered.

"Well, with a crew and complement over five thousand I don't think we should be surprised," Jasmine joked. She smooth out her lab coat. "I have to go now. I'll be dividing my time between the med bay and my office, if you need me."

"Alright," Frost said. They kissed once more and Jasmine left Frost in the kitchen to begin preparing the meal he had planned for tonight.

###

Later that day, Jasmine was sitting at her desk in her office. It was almost odd to be inside. All was the same; same furniture, same coffee machine, all of her books still on the shelves, her desk immaculate and untouched. Several days of working in her original quarters had almost felt like a vacation. Frost laying on the bed, reading a book or striking up a conversation with her, also took away the loneliness of a cramped room on a UNSC warship. Navy personnel, she had come to realize, did live a life of solitude compared with the rest of the branches. Marines and GI's were always side by side. Sleeping together, eating together, showering together, relieving themselves together, fighting together. Shoulder-to-shoulder, they engaged the enemy. Air Force personnel had it different but they could always rely upon one another. When they sortied against the Covenant, they were in formation, with pilots on their left and right. If a bandit was gunning for them, the trust their fellow pilots to come to their air. Yet on a ship of war, sailors couldn't see the men and women in the ship beside theirs. At battle stations, they weren't shoulder to shoulder. Everyone was focused on their station, on themselves, their duties. Perhaps it was just her, holding tight in the infirmary during an orbital engagement, but it seemed that the unity of the UNSC was lost in the confines of a ship.

Centuries ago, it was different. Gun crews in the turrets of heavy cruisers and battleships handed one another shells before driving them home and firing away. Anti-aircraft crews had stood side by side on the side of the vessel, loading, spotting, and firing at planes as they fired cannons and dropped bombs. Crewmen worked together to extinguish a fire and to move ammunition. Today, AI's did most of the work. Most safety systems on a starship were automatic anyways. Weapons were left up entirely to the weapons control officer or also automated. Movement was controlled by the navigator and the captain, just like in the old days, but the duties of the engine room staff were not as abundant as they were in the days of steam. Thousands of lives, all of the personnel aboard a ship like the _I'm Alone_ , were in the hands of an artificial intelligence and around three or four individuals. All they could do was monitor systems and wait at their battle stations. What a drab, terrifying existence.

Jasmine knew she was selling many Navy men and women short, but her mind tended to wander on matters such as these. Turning from her terminal, she gazed out the window. Raindrops slid down the glass and the clouds seemed to grow darker. Thunder rumbled and far away stark white lightning streaked downwards. She liked rain but it tended to make her melancholy, and she wished for Frost's company.

A knock came at the door.

"Enter."

The door opened and slid shut. Corporal Bishop stood before him. He looked a little tired from the previous night's drunken adventure but otherwise in good shape. Unlike the few men and women who visited her for such sessions, he didn't have a look of stress or absolute fatigue about him-the hangover notwithstanding. Nor did apprehension or aggressiveness cloud his full, square face. It was a kind of grim resignation, a brand of sadness that was all too welling.

Jasmine stood up. "Thank you for coming, Corporal. I know this wasn't easy for you. Please, where would you like to sit."

"Desk is fine."

"As you wish. Have a seat."

Bishop came forward and sat down. Jasmine closed her terminal and folded hands together on top of it. "How are you doing, Corporal?"

"I'm okay."

"Good, good. Now, is there anything in particular you'd like to talk to me about?"

Bishop chewed his bottom lip and shrugged. It was easy to see he was already struggling with opening up. "Mind if I do a little talking then?"

"I understand you stayed behind during one of the final assaults on the Curve. You had to take cover in an abandoned blockhouse until late into the night. You were under attack for the majority of it, correct?"

Bishop nodded. "Corporal, I want to let you know that there's nothing cowardly about what you did. No one-not me, not your superiors, not your squadmates-is doubting your courage and your ability. What you accomplished is incredible and not many people could have gotten through such an onslaught by themselves. I can only imagine how frightening it was."

"I've been trapped before, but always with my squad," Bishop said. "Not uncommon. Marines have to fight by the skin of their teeth most of the time. And with us, we welcome it. You don't see hand weapons come out as often in other units when you compare them to us. We were built for aggression."

"You're still human. What you're feeling is normal."

"I fought like a damned rat in that place. It was a black hellhole. Could hardly see and I had _real_ monsters coming at me. In the dark, the Covvies are your worst nightmares come to life. Nothing but bulks of flesh and teeth. I was using grenades, plasma weapons, my own weapons. But that wasn't the worst part."

"What was the worst part?"

"At the end. I was down to the last few shells in my shotgun. By that time, the Covenant were bracing for a counterattack, so they had lost interest in me. I had two shells left. And two Jackals came after me. I was in the last room, which was dark, filled with bodies, furniture everywhere. Could hardly move without slipping in blood or tripping over a body or an turned over bunk. They came in at the same time. I wounded the first and it went down, and the other just dove off somewhere."

Bishop clasped his hands together.

"Karl-"

"Frank. I go by Frank."

"Frank. What happened next?"

"Just waited. I didn't want to move, and neither did the unwounded Jackal. Because if one us moved, we locate the other. So we waited for the other to make the first move. I was hiding in this mass of bodies, human and Covenant. Blood was soaking into my uniform and running down my face and front and back. I was slick with it. I knew he was in there, I just didn't know where. And that wounded one had a good chunk out of him, but all it did was moan that whole time." Bishop shook his head. "This terrible, awful, shrill moan. I've never heard one of those fucking things in pain before."

Bishop wiped his eyes. "I didn't feel bad for it. I still don't. But having to listen to that thing dying...for an hour, two hours, however fucking long it was, was a goddamn nightmare. All waiting for the other one to make a mistake. And I had a flare with me, one last flare, but I didn't want to use it because the light would expose me too. I didn't want to risk it. So there I am, laying in corpses, covered in blood, waiting, listened to that motherfucker Jackal die."

He inhaled a few times. "Fuckin' hell, Doc, it hurts to talk about, like right here." He pointed at the middle of his forehead. "Right there, right fuckin' there. Like somebody's sticking a needle in my head."

"All the more reason to talk about it here rather than bottle it up or drown it in booze."

"I know. I was such a horrible prick to my squaddies, when they were just trying to be nice to me. I was a right asshole. I let them down, didn't I?"

"No, you did not," Jasmine assured him. "You didn't fail anybody. Your friends understand what you've been through; I know this."

"How can I tell them about this?"

"You don't have to tell them, but I encourage that you do. And I know it's difficult to talk about, but you just have to power through that pain here," she pointed at her head, "and tell them just like you told me. I think if you tell them, this feeling will go away."

Bishop nodded a bit.  
"I just feel weak."

"Tired?"

"No. Like I'm not up to snuff."

"Do you feel vulnerable because of what happened?"

"No, not because of that. Frost went through something similar and he didn't seem to come away from it any worse for wear."

Jasmine was confused and intrigued, but wanted to focus on Bishop. This wasn't about Frost.

"Comparing yourself to somebody else will never work, Frank. If you strive to compare, you'll always end up making yourself feel inferior to somebody else."

"Easy to say when one of your best pals is legend," Bishop chuckled.

"Are you jealous of Nathan?" Jasmine asked in a reasonable tone; she didn't want to sound defensive. To do so would appear unprofessional and impact the nature of their conversation. Bishop shook his head.

"Not in the slightest, Doc. And that's the truth. But Nate just has this way of dealing with things. I'm not sure how to explain it." Bishop sat back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, thinking. "We live our lives in blood and mud. I accepted that reality long ago. But you still see things that make you shudder. None of it seems to bother him though. Nate just get phased by certain things. It all just...makes sense to him, I think."

Jasmine was about to ask a question but Bishop continued. "I knew that way back on Skopje. Jack the Ripper was born there and I tell you, it was as sight to see. We'd be charging through trees with our bayonets, but he'd be twenty, thirty meters ahead with just a _knife_. And the rebels were scared of him more than us; they were running from _him_ , not us." Bishop shook his head. "He was angry back then. All the violence, the bloodshed, the atrocities. He was confused, I think, couldn't make things fit. And then we began assaulting tunnels, and Frost got trapped in one all by himself."

"How long?"

"Little longer than me. Maybe even longer than that. A day? Two days? I'm not sure. I remember we just spent so much time searching for another way into the tunnels. What we didn't find out until later that the tunnel network was part of the old mining system. Some were old, some were new, but all had been repurposed for the rebel's military activities. Some were used to move certain kinds of equipment, others to facilitate comms, others wounded. The one Nate ended up in was to move troops back and forth between positions all over the mountains. He never told me what happened in there. All I know was how I found him. He was drenched in blood and wounded in many places, laughing."

"Laughing?"

"Like a madman. I heard him before I actually saw him. Screaming like some kind of animal, then laughing. When I came up to him he had a blade in each hand and a smile on his face. Sixteen years old, he was, and he terrified me. But I said his name and that sort of, you know, brought him back. I had a cloth with me and I wiped him up as best I could. He just sort of sat there, eyes wide. I told him not to tell anybody what happened. And then we got up and left, and he was back like his old self. All of that confusion he felt was just gone. He was alright again. Whatever was troubling him just...didn't, anymore. At least, on the outside." Bishop shook his head, staring downwards. "I just don't get it. He just came right back without any trouble."

Jasmine, who had been taking some notes on her data pad, set it down and took off her glasses.

"I'd like to backtrack in our conversation, Frank. Is that alright?"

"Sure."

"You mentioned how much your unit relies on hand weapons. Hand to hand combat is a very regular thing. Can you describe what it's like? I think it's important for you to vocalize this."

Bishop's brow furrowed as he thought of a way to explain it. Getting Marines to open up wasn't easy, so Jasmine was thankful they had progressed this smoothly. Hopefully this wouldn't destabilize it.

"It's hard to say. When you drop your rifle and go for your knife or whatever you've got-club, tomahawk, entrenchment tool, machete, anything-you switch."

"What do you mean by switch?"

"You switch off," Bishop said with a sober chuckle, "Your mind shuts off and your body is on autopilot. You become an observer and you watch as you do things that'll make you shiver. When it's all over, you just wake up. And you're standing there, covered in blood, panting, wondering where everybody is."

Jasmine nodded.

"Is that how it was in the blockhouse?"

Bishop took a slow breath.

"Yeah." He winced. "It's a horrible feeling, Doc. Quite horrible."

"Have you been able to shake this feeling since then?"

Bishop shook his head, tears welling in his eyes.

"No, Doc."

Together they spoke for an hour. At times it was difficult to extract the emotions he was dealing with. But by the end he seemed to be processing everything much better. He was smiling wide and they were able to crack a few jokes too. She found Bishop to be a simple man. Not unintelligent, by no means. In fact, he was rather learned, and Jasmine felt sorry for doubting that. But in refining feelings into words, it was best to find an event, a source, and connect it with a specific emotion. Doing so had a greater impact on him, more so than simply asking him to explain what he was going through.

Through it all, Jasmine thought of Frost, wondering what he would say if he were sitting across from her instead of Bishop. What did he have to say about his time in the darkness? Again came that image of a half-armored Marine giving her one last assurance before joining the firing line. Then it was replaced by a soft-spoken boy on a crutch, preparing a meal. Gentle, sweet, and kind. It was hard to imagine him as anything else.

At the end of their conversation, Jasmine stood and escorted Bishop to the door. They shook hands.

"Thanks Doc," he said.

"Come back in a few days time and we'll talk some more, alright?"

"I appreciate that. This has helped a lot. Oh, and uh, by the way, I'm sorry that I was a mean bastard to you."

"Oh, don't worry about it. I understand."

"Nate-boy's like a lil' brother. And because your his girl now, I have to pretend to like you."

They both laughed.

* * *

Vivian arrived at the kitchen as evening approached, at the time Frost had specified. Clad in her usual gray uniform, nothing about her appearance had changed. But considering she didn't have to keep up appearances in front of him, she wore her hair down instead of the uncomfortable bun she usually had it in. She was due for a trim.

As she went through the kitchen, she stopped to speak with some of the staff. Everyone was glad to see her and she had nothing but kind words and smiles for them. Conditions, they said, were perfect. No one felt overworked or tired. Many were still thrilled to be working with non-standard food. A few told her that they were planning to attend culinary school after their tours of duty were up. Others came from families who already owned restaurants and they enjoyed whipping up specials that had been popular in their hometowns. Like she said with all her crew members, she said was glad they were comfortable but if they ever needed anything, all they had to do was ask.

Seeing her mess staff working so hard and so happily put her in a better mood. With a smile she approached the appointed kitchen. Music drifted through the door and she stopped just at the frame. Peeking around, a wonderful fragrance she had not smelled for two years greeted her. Immediately, she felt tears well in her eyes. It was liking seeing an old, old friend that one hadn't seen in many years.

There was Frost at the other end, between the stovetop and the sink. He was nodding his head along with music as he prepared the final touches.

"Papa loves mambo...bah-da-da-bah-dum...mama loves mambo...bad-da-da-bah-dum...look at him swing with it, getting so gay with it, saying _olé_ with it wow, hooah!"

Standing in the door frame, she watched him for some time. Some years ago, a monster had broken into a crummy, abandoned apartment and let loose with an MA5B assault rifle. Sixty rounds later and five corpses were on the floor. One girl was left quivering in the pantry. If not for the muzzle flash, she would have assumed it was some wraith come to take them all away. An undefinable black monsters, risen up from some hell, striking them all down. Indeed it was a man, a boy in fact, and he stood before her then, tapping his good foot to the beat, singing quietly. Just a boy, hardly a man grown, who enjoyed music and cooking, who felt pride and anger and love, who didn't seem to possess flaws. To see him so happily cooking away, as if he hadn't a care in the world, both shocked and infuriated her. His back was turned to her. Oh, his back was turned. If only she could bring herself to rip the pistol from her holster and finally do it. If only, if only. Fingers twitching above it, she instead folded her hands behind her back, clasping them tightly. Swallowing her fury, she finally spoke.

"Nathaniel Frost." Frost stopped and turned around. Vivian stepped in. "You invited me to dinner."

"And you have come," Frost said, smiling. "I'll be honest, I didn't think you would." He reached over and turned his music down. "Have a seat."

The seat was small stool on one side of an empty supply crate with a canvas sheet over it. Vivian slowly came over and sat down. While not a five start set up, she could have cared less. It was more than she was expecting, anyways. Sitting, she watched as he limped over and placed a plastic cup in front of her.

"Do you know what I'm serving you?"

"Selsko meso," Vivian answered.

Frost smiled.

"Correct. I had you pegged for a Macedonian."

"Half-Macedonian." Vivian rested her hands in her lap. "How did you know this was my favorite meal?"

"Jasmine told me."

"Of course she did," Vivian breathed.

"I got everything fresh. Pork, diced onions, ground beef, tomatoes; there's cream cheese, mushrooms, some spices and salt all over. Jasmine wasn't sure what peppers you liked so I got red and green. Got the wine in there too and the smoked meat. Only thing that I don't have is a clay pot for it all."

"Smells good," Vivian admitted reluctantly.

"What can I get you to drink? We've got water, whiskey, or wine."

Vivian knew she could cite him for bringing alcohol aboard a ship of war. To do so would be hypocritical, considering the scotch stashed in her desk. Not to mention there were old laws of the navy. Long ago men had received rations of grog, to placate them on the long voyages chasing privateers, prolonged blockading actions, pre and post-battle stress, and the rest of their maritime duties. Out here without oversight or supervision, Vivian didn't see it too much of a problem. Surprisingly, Frost and his two friends were the only men who made a public display of drunkenness since the _I'm Alone_ steamed away from Mars. Everyone else kept it off the ship or in their cabins, and that was fine by her.

"Wine."

"Superb."

It was a red wine. Frost filled both plastic cups up by three quarters. Then he brought over a bowl filled to the brim; it was a wonderful brown broth filled with meat, mushrooms, with spices, herbs, and salt sprinkled all over. It smelled incredible and Vivian felt very homesick. Frost set down a fork and a spoon next her. Vivian wanted to start but remembered her long disused table manners and waited for him to sit. Frost eventually sat down with his own dish and handed her a white paper napkin.

Both began to eat. It was a silent meal. Vivian did her best not to pay him much mind. Memories came flooding back of home, of their moderately sized apartment. Waiting impatiently at the table, sitting on her hands, and kicking her feet while her mother prepared the meal. The smell of all the meat and vegetables filled the kitchen and dining room. 'Soon,' her mother would assure her, 'soon, soon.' Homesickness continued to cling to her heart. Home was so far away and she was sorry that she had to leave it in the way she did. Nobody had been smiling, no emotional parting words. Just lifeless, absolutely lifeless embraces with her parents before she set out for Sol.

Frost had head low over his meal and an arm around the bowl, like he was afraid someone would come up and try to take it from him. Vivian eyed him warily. Entirely absorbed in his meal, he did not cast one look at her. Was he waiting for her to speak first? Why? Smug bastard. Another little, petty challenge for her. Talking first signified anxiety or nervousness. She couldn't appear weak in front of him.

"I figured you had some Slav in you. The shape of your face gives it away. You've got an interesting blend. Somewhere between heart shaped and triangular. But your cheekbones were the real teller. Strong, roundish. Goes well with your smile."

"You sound like a girl I once knew in high school."

"I had four _extremely_ feminine sisters. I picked some of this stuff up."

"Did they braid your hair?" she asked.

"They tried," Frost chuckled, flashing her a smile that anyone else in the universe would have found charming but her. "Any brothers or sisters?"

"I have a younger sister, and an even younger brother."

"What're their names?"

"Why do you care?" Vivian asked sharply. Frost looked up from his dish.

"Just asking."

"If you want names, I'll give you five. Joanna, Carla, Andrea, Willow, and Rosanne. Who do you think they were?"

Frost stared at her, not in anger, not in sadness, though not in kindness. He set his spoon down and folded rested one hand on the table.

"If I may, Captain-"

"Spare me," Vivian groaned with a wave of her hand. Now Frost frowned.

"Alright Ahab, if you don't want to make pleasantries, fine. You wanted to talk, so let's talk. What do you want?"

"Two things. We're shifting our operations. For the time being, we're going to be assaulting a Covenant-held colony."

"And why are we doing that?"

"To retake the planet and the facility that's sitting on the surface. We need a port in the storm, close enough to friendly territory as well as Covenant controlled space. Intel is still coming through and we should have it in about a week's time. I think, however we launch this attack, your Raiders unit will be a crucial piece in it. If there's a place for you and your men, do you want it?"

"You're...asking me?" Frost asked, confused. He thought for some time then he leaned back a little. "Oh. Jasmine." Vivian nodded. Frost chuckled. "You know some of the Marines here have young wives. Some even have kids that they've never met. Not many, but some, some. I don't see you offering the same courtesy to them as you do for me."

"Forget I asked. It's an order now."

"Whether or not it was an order I'd accept. My Raiders are from the most experienced troops, and those who aren't are getting a crash course that'll make them wake up real fast. We're up for the job."

Vivian had stopped eating and was glaring daggers into him. Frost didn't seem bothered by her menacing gaze at all. "And the other thing?"

"Major Holst believes that the Raiders would be more effective under ODST leadership."

"He believes in many things and yet that man is always wrong," Frost said. He took out a cigarette, lit it, and began puffing away. "Holst's washed up. But you know that, don't you?"

"I don't consider an experienced ground commander, tactician, and soldier to be washed up."

"He's in it for himself. Wants medals and ribbons and glory."

"You don't think I know that?" Vivian grumbled. "But he has a point. Not having a commissioned officer may be detrimental to the structure of your unit."

"Unit's unofficial, and we're not your run of the mill Marines either."

"Trust me, I know." Vivian rolled her eyes. Frost took a drag on his cigarette and pointed at her briefly.

"Now there's only one advantage that the ODST's have over us. They can deploy from orbit. It's fast, and they can hit hard and move fast. Problem is, those pods are pretty easy to spot. A Pelican with the right pilot can make the descent quick and quiet, not to mention it provides a quick exfil in case an op is botched."

"You seem to be forgetting ODST's superior armor, HUD tech, better weaponry..." Vivian listed.

"Helljumpers don't make for good raiders," Frost said flatly. "As shock troops they're unparalleled. But my people and I know how to move faster, silently, and we know how to melt away after an ambush."

"Captain De Vos said something similar. She noted your experience against Insurrectionists will be invaluable. Her ODST's don't have much tactical experience in that regard."

"No, they do not. The Skopje Campaign was long, bloody, difficult, and desperate. Most of the other Youth Programs were called in. If it weren't for the bigwigs calling us off, we would have burned the entire mountain and the forests beyond until we rooted them up." Frost shook his head, remembering. "De Vos is right, anyhow. We've got the raiding experience, and they don't. Making this an ODST operation will compromise the unit."

"Noted. I'll make my decision at the war council. But whatever decision I make, I need to know I won't have my top officers quarreling with NCO's, and vice versa. Understand me?"

"Yes, Captain Ahab."

"I'm serious. Holst is an old salt but he's still dangerous."

"Holst ain't shit," Frost scoffed. "He can't do anything himself. That's why he set his thugs on me instead of taking me on himself."

"You knew Holst ordered that?" Vivian asked, surprised.

"Not hard to tell. ODST's and Marines don't particularly get along but I've never given them any reason or excuse to gang up on me. Holst wanted it done. And so did you."

Vivian grimaced. Frost's grin was wolfish and exposed that missing tooth of his. "Yes, you did. How...unprofessional of you, Captain."

"We're done here," Vivian said.

"No we're not," Frost said, snatching her wrist as she stood up.

"Get your hands off me."

"Sit down." Vivian shook his hand off. After a moment's thought, she took her seat once more. "Ooh, there's that look. You've got that fire in your eyes again. You want to kill me, don't you?" Frost nodded. "Have you ever killed someone before?'

"Never. I'll never kill another human being."

"But you want me dead and I'm human. See your problem?"

"You're not human," Vivian snarled, pointing across the table at him. "You're an animal."

Frost folded his hands together as if he were a scholar.

"Let me tell you about killing. It's a very atrocious thing, but a necessary thing. All your life you're brought up a certain way; be kind to people, don't harm people, never cross your fellow man. When you join the UNSC they put a rifle in your hands and tell you that killing people is perfectly alright as long as they're on the other side. Even when they've finished breaking you down and building you back up into a proper soldier, your brain still wonders if it's wrong or right to kill someone. I know I never wanted to kill people. I didn't even think I'd have to considering the war. And then Skopje happened."

Frost chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. His gray eyes were very misty and he was gazing off into the corner of the room now. After a moment he brought his attention back to her. "So how do you kill a man?" He shrugged. "All your life you've been taught one way, and in a very short span of time you've been taught another. What do you do? How do you do it? You can hate someone all you want, to the point where it drives you mad for blood. But when you're face to face with him, it's so very different."

He took a sip from his wine. "It's easy to hate someone when you can't see them."

"I beg to differ," Vivian said darkly, through gritted teeth. Her hands were curled into fists. Frost found this amusing and smiled.

"After I killed your friends-"

Vivian slammed her hand on the table, stood up in a flurry, and her hand went right to her holster. Her eyes were wide and she was breathing heavily. All Frost did was lean back slightly, fold his napkin, and stare at her. His smile gone, he continued, "I wanted to vomit. Outside, I stood at the corner and dry-heaved for twenty minutes. And the next time I pulled the trigger-"

"You didn't feel a goddamn thing, yeah, I've heard that shit before."

"Take out your sidearm and see what happens after then, then," Frost said emotionlessly. The mist had departed from his eyes. Instead they seemed to shine, almost blue. They were dancing, alive. Vivian's eyes went to his hands. One was on the table, the other was out of sight. No chance. If she was fast, he'd be faster. Vivian slowly took her hand away from the holster and sat back down.

Frost closed eyes for a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache. When he opened his eyes again they were returning to their normal gray. "The next time, I just felt a coldness within me. Like a bad chill when you step out of a snowstorm. The third time is when I felt nothing. And do you know why I didn't feel anything?"

"You hated the people you were fighting?"

"No." Frost leaned forward, elbows on the table. "My world had changed. It had _expanded._ Killing expands you: your mind, your emotions. Nothing will ever be the same again." Frost dipped his half-finished cigarette into his wine then flicked it into a nearby trash bin. "You haven't, so you won't understand anything I have to say about killing. Or Skopje."

Vivian sat there, staring at this twisted man. She couldn't even begin to comprehend him. All of his philosophical, cryptic, _bullshit_ had amounted to the old adage: don't judge someone until you've experienced the same as him.

"You're a piece of work, Jack the Ripper," Vivian said, shaking her head. "How I'd like to see what's going on in that head of yours.

"I wouldn't be so quick to sling names around, Captain Ahab."

"I remind you of him. You're my great white whale and I'm the doomed captain, bent on revenge. Is that how you see me?"

"Actually, no. Ahab is a far more complex character than folks give him credit for."

"You think so?" Vivian scoffed. "He's a one dimensional antagonist."

"You don't become one of the most memorable American literary characters just because you have an evil name and your quest is bat-shit crazy," Frost said with a light-hearted tone.

"He's misunderstood, then?"

"He doesn't understand himself," Frost said, taking his spoon back up and finishing the contents of his bowl. "One part of him is moral, human, loving. He misses his family and his home. Another part of him is ridden with guilt; he regrets having left his family for so many years and even laments on the brutality and danger of his profession. Then you have the part you're so familiar with, Captain. The man of anguish and anger, who builds his life around revenge. Vengeance is the only option he has to stop that pain." His smile left him. "He just doesn't know who he is or what he really wants. So he just focuses on what he knows: his profession."

Frost sighed, almost sadly. "Poor dumb bastard." Vivian tapped the table, unimpressed. She hadn't experienced the analysis of a character since high school. Eventually, she looked across at him.

"And what of Mr. Ripper?"

"What about him?"

"On the surface, he's just a psychotic murderer who gets off on butchering women. If that was the case, why did he stop at five?"

Frost shrugged.

"I suppose the police activity scared him off. Maybe he was sated in some way. Or he was just some poor gutter rat that one day was killed in an alley."

Vivian shook her head, grinning.

"Five," she said, holding up five fingers, "five girls-whores, that nobody gave a damn about-and London loses its mind. Journalists going nuts, paper after paper spouting rumors and speculation about the infamous Jack the Ripper. For months, years after, people continued to talk about him. Even today he has an impact on society." Vivian set her hand down. "Five was enough. He was just a gutter rat that knew he'd never be able to work his way up in the normal world, some uneducated, lifeless, immoral, monster, who wanted fame and thrills, and when he got it, he was finally contented. No need to keep building a reputation when everyone else is doing it for you. So he just got to kick back and meander through the rest of his life, enjoying an utterly sadistic, inhumane rep."

Vivian paused. Frost was glaring at her. "Sound familiar?"

"Go fuck yourself," Frost finally said.

"Tough talk," Vivian said, standing up. She smoothed her tunic. "That was a good meal. One of the best I've had in months. It reminds me of home."

Turning her back on him, she went to leave.

"You should go home, you'll be better off there," Frost said. Vivian looked over her shoulder. He was standing up, a dark hatred in his eyes. "What you're in now is for soldiers. You're just another starry-eye, idealistic, pretty little girl with bright plans for change. Nothing'll change. Only you will change, and then you'll see that all I've said is true. If you don't want to face the truth, just go home."

"Maybe I'll take you back there someday," Vivian said, "and introduce you to the people whose lives you ruined, and see the pain in the eyes of so many fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters. See you at the war council."

Without another moment's hesitation, she departed, anger swelling in her chest.

* * *

Days passed. The New Year arrived: 2542. Humanity had survived long enough to see another year dawn upon them. Celebrations were mostly private. Some sweeping, grand toasts were made in the mess. All of the battlegroup Navy officers, invited by Vivian, came to the _I'm Alone's_ bridge for a little get together. ODST's took their festivities on shore; De Vos remained respectfully calm as her Helljumpers trashed several bars along with their drunken CO. As for the the Marines, they kept to themselves. Vivian enjoyed the company of her officers and was able to spend some time with Jasmine off-base. Jasmine made sure the medical staff had some to enjoy the spectacles of fireworks and merrymaking in the city and managed to find some quiet moments to spend with Frost. They would lay in bed, talking softly to one another, perhaps reading from the selection of books on board, other times napping in one another's arms. Frost and his squad had themselves a little party, where everyone got to down a little bit of whiskey-but not too much. Carris revealed that her birthday had come to pass almost two weeks ago. She had turned thirty-two. Aghast, the squad embarked on a mission to acquire a birthday cake. Unfortunately, an entire day was wasted searching for an open bakery, as all were closed for the New Year. To prevent Steele from swiping one of the overpriced cakes available in the supermarket, they decided to bake one themselves. So a second little party was held, complete with frosted white cake made by Frost and Langley, and the staple to every Marine celebration: whiskey. Nora Langley and Carris revealed their gifts to be scarves that matched the color of their battle armor. It was decided then that these would be called Raider Scarves, and they would buy enough to outfit the entire raider unit. They would be a mark of distinction.

Morale was soaring and everyone was content. But the days were also sober. The passing of the year brought back the names, faces, and memories of comrades lost. When the partying was finished, the _I'm Alone_ was very quiet and still. Some men, like Moser, sought the ship's chaplain, and prayed for the souls of the dead Marines of the 89th who were with them no longer. Grant, his constant companion, sat with him. Frost took the time to hold Teo's, Wright's, and Ocampo's dog tags to his chest, over his heart and hope they were at peace. Vivian had a drink alone in her office, her mind drawn to the faces of her old friends, who would stay forever young. Jasmine busied herself, taking the time to comfort the last wounded men in the infirmary. She encouraged their squaddies to join them, and many of them did. Langley wrote to her brothers at home and Frost, with a little help from Jasmine, was able to write his first letter back home in six years. Carris wrote one in the hopes it would find John and the others well. And Steele simply stood at the window of the mess hall, smoking and staring, remembering a time when a bruised, hungry boy sat up at midnight in his cramped, tiny room, watching the festivities unfold on the television. In this time, in the silence and the, the men and women of the _I'm Alone_ came together, swapping stories, chocolate, and cigarettes. Engineers rubbed shoulders with airmen, ODSTs traded with swabbies, and Marines took the time to speak with their Army cousins in the garrison.

Eventually, the day came when the _River Styx_ report came through. Vivian called her banners; Captains Kelly of _Batavia_ and Slater of _Best of the Best_ , Commanders Alastair of _Determined Guardian_ and Kolchak of _Lion's Den_ , Major Holst and Captain De Vos represent the ODST contingent, Colonel Hayes, Gunnery Sergeant Frost, and Sergeant Steele of the Marines, and last but not least, Jasmine, for what Vivian decided was the human touch. Also present in the discussion was Bassot, Koroma, Sosa, and Tsang, who looked more somber but otherwise composed. Ngouabi was there representing the air force detachment. All were assembled in front of the same operations screen where Delaney and Vivian had first looked at the images of Bartholomew. To the left of the screen stood the former with a data pad in hand, and to the right, Commander Solak. Right in the middle was Vivian. Also joining them was Decatur, standing attentively on his pedestal.

"As I've made you all aware over the past two weeks, we're changing tactics. We'll be going over a lot of details here so feel free to ask questions throughout. Our next mission will be to retake the planet of Bartholomew X, a half-glassed colony world now occupied by the Covenant." She motioned to Delaney. "Based on our intel officer's hunch, _River Styx_ has been monitoring the planet for almost ten days and it has paid off. The remnants of a UNSC fortified port still remain in the un-glassed section of the planet. Our chief objective is to capture this port and pick up where the engineers left off years ago. This will become our gateway into Covenant controlled territory as well as a path back to UNSC space where we can continue to aid in sieges."

Vivian paused, folding her hands behind her back as images of the base flashed upon the screen. "The only way to prevent the Covenant from sending reinforcements is by eliminating the asset that they've deemed important on the planet. If it's destroyed, they'll lose interest."

Steele raised his hand. "Yes, Sergeant Steele?"

"Ma'am, can you describe what you mean by 'asset,'?"

"The Covenant are ones to linger on a conquered planet. If you'll recall from the end of the Harvest Campaign, Captain Cutter of the _Spirit of Fire_ sent a report of finding a unique facility that the Covenant had shown an interest. While the details are classified, it shows that the Covenant would invest in a planet unless there's a special interest. As for Bartholomew X, scans show a large amount of activity at the entrance to one of the tunnels that was dug into the ridge."

"Ma'am?"

"Bassot, go ahead."

"Ma'am, do we know what's in that tunnel?"

"No. _River Styx_ is a state of the art stealth vessel and her scanning equipment is more advanced than the _I'm Alone's_ , but it's still not enough. It must be deep. We can assume there may be some kind of UNSC tech or other resource present in the tunnel they're trying to crack. We will destroy this resource, whatever it may be, and wipe out the garrison. Once we've secured the planet, on the surface and in orbit, we'll begin ferrying material and manpower to begin rebuilding."

"Ma'am?"

"Captain Slater?"

"What kind of enemy numbers are we looking at here, ma'am?"

"Delaney, I'll pass that off to you."

Delaney stepped forward, tapping his data pad and bringing images up of Covenant troops in the base. " _River Styx_ pulled all the stops for us. Utilizing drones, scans, and planetside reconnaissance teams they've gathered a very accurate estimate of enemy infantry. The garrison at the naval base, call sign Alpha Base, numbers at about three hundred. A large body of Grunts, augmented by a platoon of Jackals and a platoon of Skirmishers, followed by a large number of high ranking Elites and a contingent of Brutes. They've installed minor fortifications; some blockades, five gravity towers with turrets, several MG positions. In terms of vehicles, it's very light. Several Ghosts, one Wraith, and two Revenants."

"Damn, that's the best intel I've heard in four years," Vivian heard Steele whisper to Frost, who chuckled.

"What's more concerning than Alpha Base is a Covenant twenty klicks north." The image of the base appeared on the screen; it was seated at the edge of a lake with many rivers and streams branching off in all directions. To the west, east, and south of the base was nothing but forest. "We're designating this as Bravo Base. It's of the smallest Covenant class; an outpost, with a garrison of five hundred to six hundred troops, with light vehicles and some heavier ones. _River Styx_ highlighted that the Covenant have no air assets besides a few Phantoms and are concentrated only around Alpha and Bravo Base. The rest of the planet is uninhabited except by local wildlife. "

Delaney pulled up images of the planet's orbit. "As you can see, the Covenant fleet is large but made up of low tonnage vessels. Eight CRS-class light cruisers and eight SDV-class corvettes, which revolve around the capital ship: one ORS-class heavy cruiser. We've seen very few of these in the war thus far and we've only destroyed a few, often at the cost of many our ships."

"The plan," Vivian said, "is to destroy as many of the lighter ships as possible. Concurrently, we'll deploy a large formation of Shortswords and with an escort of Longswords on a bombing run of Bravo Base. Ngouabi, can we do it?"

"Not a doubt in my mind," the old sailor said with a smile.

Vivian nodded, smiling herself. "Once the strike is complete and we've destroyed as many Covenant ships, we will lure them to an uninhabited system. We'll link up with a pair of _Marathon_ -class cruisers from Great Bear-UNSC _Countdown_ and UNSC _Winter's Keep_ -who will help us finish off the remaining Covenant ships. Upon destruction, we'll be jumping right back to Bartholomew X."

Vivian paused and looked at all of the present officers, commissioned and noncommissioned. Everyone was paying attention, even intrigued. "This is all just a cover, however. We're going to make our attack look like a raid on their fleet. By retreating, we'll feed into their overconfidence and use it against them like we have before. We are going to make as much noise as possible to clandestinely insert a team planetside to attack Alpha Base and hold it until reinforcements arrive." She turned looked at Frost. "That's where Jack the Ripper and his Raiders will come into play."

All eyes turned to Frost and Steele. They looked back at everyone else. "Frost's unit will deploy on the planet about two klicks east of Alpha Base in a forested patch of land. From there, they'll hike to the base, prepare an ambush, and take the facility. Numbers won't be on your side but with superior training, firepower, and the element of surprise, I think your unit is sizeable enough."

"Subtract three pilots," Major Holst piped in, bitterly, "and two non-combatants, that leaves twenty-three fighters."

"ODST's go up against worse odds and come out swinging," Colonel Hayes growled as his opposite.

"Ripper," Vivian said, ignoring the two officers, "can you do it?"

"With plenty of ammo, we can," Frost said, nodding. "We'll stash the Pelican in that thicket and we'll call it for support. The rockets can do some damage. The Pelican can also bring a Warthog with us too." He leaned in to Steele. "Remind me that we need to recruit a designated gunner for the Warthog. Emery should decide."

"Aye."

"Good. I'll allow you to develop your plan with your team. Your primary objective is to eliminate the point of interest and wipe out the garrison at Alpha Base. There may still be some survivors at Bravo Base but they won't be in any condition to help you. You'll dig in at Alpha Base and hold until we return. You may be on your own for some days."

"We can hack it, ma'am," Frost said. Vivian nodded.

" _River Styx_ will remain hidden in the system and act as a communications buoy between you and us. She has a small contingent of special operators on board and they'll be your assist if the operation goes sideways."

"Captain?" Holst asked, raising his hand.

"Major Holst."

"Why don't we just invade in-force, utilizing both the Marines and the ODST's in a combined offensive?"

"We'll have to put the fleet into an invasion stance which would make us vulnerable to the enemy fleet. We'll lose time and men in a large offensive. In this way, we make the retaking of this planet a surgical maneuver, rather than a full scale assault." Vivian concluded, "Upon our return our ground forces will mop up any Covenant on the planet and we'll stay on defense until Alpha Base can start to be used for repairs and supplies. We have a unique opportunity to attack the Covenant, force their hand, eliminate a fleet and its ground forces, and take back part of the UNSC. Are there any questions?"

No one raised their hand. "Alright. Begin preparing as necessary. Brief your men, allocate and distribute supplies, and make ready to leave port. We depart tomorrow."

Everyone saluted, and Vivian did so as well. "Dismissed." As the group began to file out, she said, "Major Holst, Captain De Vos, Gunnery Sergeant Frost, remain here.

Once the crowd dispersed from the bridge, the three named individuals stood before her. Vivian stepped closer. "I've heard both sides out and considered the matter carefully. Considering the tactical experience and advanced training of the 89th MEU, I'm confident that Frost and his unit do not need inclusion of the ODST's."

Holst frowned immediately.

"Ma'am, permission to speak freely?"

"Granted."

"Not providing an officer to lead the unit or putting better trained, more experienced men in the unit will be making this unit far less effective. The Raiders _need_ the ODSTs!"

"I didn't say I wasn't providing an officer. I'm placing De Vos in an advisory capacity to provide further training and tactical advice to the Raiders as necessary. She will be attached but not included in their operations; Frost is in command."

Holst shook his head and held his arms akimbo.

"Captain, I think you're making a mistake."

"Major," De Vos hissed.

"Be careful what you say to me, Major Holst," Vivian said menacingly. "You may be the leader of the ODST's here but this is my battle group and _my_ ship. I am the supreme commander."

Holst said nothing. All he did was clench his fists. Vivian folded her hands behind her back. "If you've nothing more to say, Major, you're dismissed." He stormed off the bridge.

Vivian watched him go, and looked back to see De Vos and Frost exchange a glance. "Go get your men ready." Both troopers saluted and departed. Vivian turned around and faced the screen. Dozens of images, piled on top of one another, showed the base in so many different angles. Beside them showed the enemy fleet. With so many smaller ships around it, the heavy cruiser seemed like a whale surrounded by smaller fish.

* * *

" _What is it, what nameless, inscrutable, unearthly thing is it; what cozzening, hidden lord and master, and cruel, remorseless emperor commands me; that against all natural lovings and longings, I so keep pushing, and crowding, and jamming myself on all the time; recklessly making me ready to do what in my own proper, natural heart, I durst not so much as dare?"_

- _Moby Dick_ , by Herman Melville

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **You know, I quite like dialog heavy chapters like these. It suits the story.** _ **I'm Alone's**_ **plot is driven not by events as it is by characters; its their beliefs, ideals, personalities, experiences, and actions that drive the plot, rather than the world around them. So chapters like these, at least I think, are important. By the way, it's pretty much a coincidence that these chapters, taking place around, between, and just after Christmas and the New Year. I didn't plan for any of that, just sort of happen. Ah well, welcome to 2542 (2018 really but who cares, we're in story land right now)! And hooray for Moby Dick references! Guys, it's my favorite story and it just fits, you know?**

 **Let's get onto everyone's favorite: comment responses!**

 **MightBeGone: Well I hope Steele and Carris' make up session made up for it. Carris is an important character in this story but the past few chapters I've taken to build the relationship between Frost and Jasmine and also to reinforce the dynamic between him and Vivian. It's also a logistical thing; I want to make sure there's plenty of content for succeeding chapters so I don't like to cram all of the interactions in just one. Granted, this was just a slice, but I'll spoil a little bit and tell you Carris will have some pretty lengthy screen time coming up. And hey, I haven't actually killed anybody yet, what's got you so worried my friend? Who could I possibly end up killing? Jokin' aside, I'm glad to hear from you, thank you for commenting, much appreciated!**

 **Chase8999: Good to see you my friend. Yes, I've been gone for some time. Deepest apologies. I don't like being away for long because I know you and others are waiting to see what happens next. Granted, I'm not sure why you guys keep coming back, this story ain't even that good...I mean...look at it. Forty chapters and no dang end in sight. You're all major troopers, believe me. But yeah, I've been away. Lot going on; gotta finish my studies, gotta find a job, gotta marry my sweetheart, gotta get a house, pay of loans, and a bunch of other terrifying adult things that have got me shitting my pants. All the same,** _ **I'm Alone**_ **can be a stress inducer and a reliever, and I plan on making more time for it in the near future. More chapters are on the way, my friend, thanks for stickin' with me.**

 **Alpha HighBreed: To address both your comments, I shall begin with NO, I don't have a stinkin' beta yet! Gosh! Like I've said, I'd rather my beta come from the audience, somebody who's invested in the story! And** **Halo 3 is special for me. Me and my pals just playing all day, messing around. It was a wonderful experience. Halo Wars did get me invested in the world of Halo, because of the diverse amount of maps, and the tech and vehicles, but it felt so very disjointed from the Halo other Halo titles. Believe me, I love it, I bought it on Steam even though I still have my Xbox 360 copy. But if I really want to get immersed, I go with ODST or Reach. To each his own.** **Oh don't worry about Carris and Steele. I'm sure they're all completely patched up now after this chapter and nothing bad will ever happen again. They're best buddies...special buddies...good buddies. Nothing will ever come between them again...don't look at me like that man.** **Ah, thank you my friend, I appreciate you taking the time to commend and thank you so much for all the kind words. It's always good to see your name on the reviews list. :)**

 **Alright folks, that's it for this one. I'll be starting work on Chapter 41 tomorrow morning. This may come a little sooner than this one but don't get your hopes up, I've got some things to take care of, not to mention I'd like to try out some of the new games I've got on Steam. Anyways, happy New Year folks, I hope you're all safe, sound, and happy, and we can all keep going on this little journey together. Thank you folks, thank you so very much.**


	41. Chapter 41: The Raid, Part One

Chapter 41: The Raid, Part One

* * *

Two days after the war council, the Raiders had gathered in the classroom that sat between the facilities in the _I'm Alone's_ armory for their first briefing. Clad in their light green, digital pattern camouflage fatigues, save for their two civilian companions. All sat at the desks, staring at the whiteboard at the front of the room. It was a full house: the entire roster of Raiders, including their three Pelican jockeys and their newest recruit, Phan, a Vietnamese-American lad with a narrow frame, flat black hair, and a trim goatee. He had confident eyes and his lips were shaped in such a way that made it seem like he was always smirking. Like Emery, he was a part of the mechanized portion of the 89th MEU, serving as a gunner on Warthogs. By having him in the Raiders, they wouldn't have to sacrifice some of the muscle or their specialists to man the M41 Vulcan. Also present was Captain De Vos, sitting at the desk with a data pad, observing the personnel intently. At Frost's request, Lieutenant Delaney from intelligence had also joined them.

"Alright guys, quiet down. Lights off...lights off please. Lieutenant Delaney has rigged up the projector so he'll be putting slide of the terrain and the target on the board." Alright appearing on the board was a slide with black block lettering with: OPERATION: APOSTLE. "Captain De Vos is here to offer tactical advice, so feel free to cut in whenever you want, ma'am."

"Thank you, Gunny."

"Hey can we hurry this up, I wanna rub one out," Steele said loudly, making the others in the room laugh.

"Pipe down, pipe down," Frost said, trying not to laugh himself, "Can we have the first slide, Lieutenant?"

An image appeared of the unscathed half of the planet. "Bartholomew X is a mostly forested planet with large stretches of grasslands. It has a temperate climate; cool winds, rain, and snow are fairly common. For three quarters of the year it's locked in a state of what can be described at late winter conditions, so not too cold but not particularly warm. Precipitation is higher during this period. In the off-season, conditions are slightly warmer but wind levels rise. Lieutenant, what does Meteorology have to say about weather conditions for the next couple weeks?"

"Reports from _River Styx_ indicate that there has been some snowfall and there may some light flurries by the time you insert. However, conditions should remain low to moderate in terms of snowfall and temperatures will only fall just above freezing. Very manageable.

"Thank you, sir. We'll be bringing extra thermal layers and balaclavas on this one, alright people? In case the conditions unexpectedly change, as they often do, we'll bring our snow camo. Think we can fit the extra gear somewhere in Triple Seven, Jasper?"

"She can fit it but we can't overload her. Speed is going to be key if we're going to insert undetected."

"Well said. This brings me to my next point. Slide, please Lieutenant."

The next image showed the planet at a closer angle, as well as the position of the Covenant fleet. "So, Captain Waters wants us to leave the hangar bay when as soon as the enemy fleet starts losing ships. Descent will take, approximately, less than five mikes. Waters assures me that when the shooting starts and it comes time for us to deploy, we'll be right above the landing zone. So Jasper, that means you'll taking us straight down."

"No problem. All we have to do is tack on the deployment pod and we'll effectively double the capacity. There's thirty personnel in total, including the crew, so we should have plenty of space for all the supplies we need. Only problem is, we won't be able to take a vehicle with us. You can either have a pod or a Warthog, not both."

"Hey, we've crammed over twenty Marines and civilians into Pelicans during evacuations before," Steele said over his shoulder. He was sitting in the front row. "You can attach a Warthog, can't ya?"

"Sergeant Steele," Jasper began, annoyed, "Pelicans are absolute beasts; they can take a lot of damage and they can carry a great deal. These numbers I'm throwing out here are optimal unless it's an emergency. A high speed, stealthy, tactical insertion is not an emergency. Not to mention that transatmospheric insert of vehicles by Pelican is too dangerous. Take into consideration drag, maneuverability, speed, and that the nature of entering atmosphere may destroy the vehicle and cause us to lose control."

"What's your recommendation then?" Frost asked.

"You're not gonna like it."

"Hit me."

"We take two separate craft. Triple Seven with a deployment pod, and an Albatross carrying the Hog and some extra supply crates. Still a limited chance for visual detection and we can take extra supplies with us in the Albatross. Might be big but it's quick."

"If we're going to use an Albatross why don't we all just shove inside that?" Nebiyev suggested. "It has much more carrying capacity than a Pelican." Frost could see the logic behind that. Albatrosses carried more than double personnel capacity, room for vehicles, and scores of supplies. But a craft without weapons would be no use in the attack.

"The Albatross has no offensive capability. We need a Pelican for its nose and rear mounted weapons and the rockets. My major concern is that we'll be sending the Albatross back up to the fleet without an escort."

"Ngouabi will detach some Longswords. I'll ask him; he likes me," Jasper said.

"No, he doesn't," Pajari muttered and everyone snickered. "But he'll consent."

"Alright. So, Emery and Phan will ride in the Albatross and disembark. We'll place some of the extra supplies with you two as well. It'll have to be a quick unloading process, no less than five mikes," Frost said. "Jasper, I trust you to pick the Albatross pilot. Now that we've settled this matter, let's go over the rest of the plan...next slide, please sir." The image showed a thin stretch of woods. "Originally, we were to land in a patch of forest two kilometers east of Alpha Base. De Vos and I spoke with the Captain and we all decided this was too close. While the Covenant may be distracted with the attack on Bravo Base and may detach forces to provide aid, we may be close enough for visual detection. We've moved the LZ further east to another thicket that _River Styx's_ recon team was nice enough to locate for us. It's a dense patch with shrubs, brush, leaves, and plenty of branches to provide cover." Lieutenant Delaney changed the slide, showing the new landing zone. "The recon team went ahead and cleared a flat spot right in the center for the Pelican to land. Most of us here have seen Jasper's piloting skills, so I'm confident he'll get us there without a scratch."

"You're in good hands."

"The LZ is now seven kilometers east of the base, which should a provide enough distance between us and Alpha Base to avoid visual detection, especially with the bombing run distracting them. _River Styx_ hasn't picked up anything that resembles long range tracking equipment at Alpha Base. Once we land we're going to camouflage the bird and leave the Hog. Emery, Phan, you'll be staying at the LZ to provide security for the Pelican crew. I'll get into your roles later on. We'll rest for an hour's time, adjust to the battlespace if necessary, and then the rest of us will be embarking on the seven kilometer hike across the grasslands to the base."

Another slide appeared on the screen, showing a bird's eye view of the LZ, marked by the two letters, and Alpha Base abbreviated AB. In between were four thickets, marked C, D, E, and F. "As you can see, there's a lot of open ground between us and Alpha Base. The Covenant do not send out patrols nor do they have any air assets. Targets C, D, and E will provide cover and opportunity for us to rest. We'll be laden with plenty of gear and ammo, so the march should take us somewhere between two and three hours with rests. Target E is less than a kilometer away from the base and will be our fallback position. When we reach it, we'll remain there until nightfall. Using the cover of darkness, we'll pull recon, identify any new developments. We'll fall back to E, rest up, and just before dawn comes we'll start taking strategic positions before we stage the assault."

More slides came onto the board. Frost pointed at the first one. "The base itself was never completed so the facility is located where the two parts of Ridge L meet. We need to secure several positions. Here is Tower A at the southeastern corner of the the base. It provides an excellent overwatch position over the rest of the base. Steele, Mori, that's where you'll be setting up."

"Copy that."

"Tower B is located at the northeastern corner. Nikodim, Konstantin, you'll set up your machine gun there to provide cover for the assault teams. The final tower is the shortest: Tower C, located in the Northwestern corner of the base. Knight, Langley, and Boulos, it'll be your job to secure the tower. Knight, use your launcher to take out the enemy vehicles. Boulos and Langley, you'll be taking battle rifles this time around. But Nora, your primary duty will be to call targets for us. You'll have an excellent view from the tower. Boulos, you'll provide cover but we're holding you in reserve in case anyone gets hit and Pachis can't get to them."

A slide showed a bird's eye view of the base. "With all three towers in our control, the courtyard will be a shooting gallery. All the people I just named, we're designating you as Second Squad, support and weapons. Steele, you're in charge."

"Aye."

"Third Squad, led by Nebiyev, will consist of Gabe, Borko, Parker, Maddox, and Tholane. You'll be our sappers. Your job will be to knock out the grav towers here, here, here, and here," Frost said, pointing at specific locations on the next slide. "You'll move in from the northern perimeter between C and B. First Squad, led by me, will consist of Carris, Bishop, Grant, Moser, Macintosh, Sanchez, Christianson, and Pachis. We'll attack from the eastern perimeter between Towers A and B. As the assault team, we'll be crossing the courtyard and attacked these two warehouses." The slide came up and he pointed at the two buildings. "These are located beside the entrance to the tunnel. Intel says this is where the majority of the Covenant infantry are housed. Our job will be to contain them while Third Squad eliminates and suppresses hard targets on base. Once Third Squad eliminates the grav towers, we're shifting gears. Second Squad will start suppressing the warehouses, while First and Third Squads assault the CP. The CP is located on the opposite side of the tunnel. Together, we'll clear it and reactivate the systems. It appears that there's a basic automated defense system that was deactivated, consisting of ten M202 XP machine gun turrets. We'll locate the control room and Tholane will reactivate the system."

"Easy stuff," Tholane said.

"Once we've reactivated the turret system, we'll be able to manage the remaining Covenant forces easily. Nebiyev will remain with a part of First and Third Squads to hold the CP, and the remainder led by me, will assaut the tunnel, locate the asset, and neutralize it. It may be safe to say we'll have to bring the entire tunnel down on top of it, so bring plenty of C12. Once we've cleared the compound, we'll begin fortifying the position and wait for the battlegroup to return."

Frost pointed at Jasper. "When the assault begins, you need to be Johnny on the spot. Drop the Warthog to support us in the courtyard and then shift to support. Your chaingun and rockets will come in handy as well. If there are any hard targets or reinforcements, we'll mark them for you."

Delaney shut the projector off and then turned the lights back on. Frost nodded. "That's the whole of it. Any questions?"

Tane raised his hand. "Mr. Tane?"

"Where will I be?"

"Considering Covenant tech looks pretty light, you'll stay with the Pelican crew and deploy with Emery. When we assault the tunnel, we'll need you to tag along to identify what their asset is."

"Hey, question," Steele raised his hand, a cigarette clenched between his finger. "What do we have in terms of support?"

"Until the Pirates return, we're on our own for the most part. Our backup is Jasper and the Pelican; they'll be our air support. _River Styx_ will be remaining camouflaged in the system to provide us with intel as we progress; she has a small completement of special operators on board. If shit really hits the fan, they'll deploy to assist."

Everyone grimaced at the mention of 'special operators.' Frost could understand. These operators were experienced, highly skilled, black ops troops who worked solely for ONI. Because they didn't answer to NAVSPECWAR or NAVSPECWEP, or even SPECWARCOM in general, they didn't deploy against the Covenant like other special operations forces. He had seen them a few times during chaotic evacuations. Shadowy men and women in darkened armor and gear, lurking just out of sight, always transporting something away from a facility of some sort. Not contributing to the battle or the evacuation, always preoccupied with something vastly important. What could be more important than saving human lives? ONI was mysterious and everyone was wary of them, even the personnel whose names and faces were well known. Unlike the other branches, ONI had an agenda. By the standards of the other UNSC branches, their special operators couldn't be relied upon.

Frost folded his hands behind his back. "One more thing. Stealth is key on the approach to Alpha Base. We're going in with cloak and dagger until I give the word to open fire. We have to consider that the Covenant have heightened senses of smell, and we don't want our scent catching on the wind. To better blend in with the planet, Captain De Vos has recommended that we go the day prior without showering." Everyone groaned. "It also means we're taking dry rations only, nothing odorous, and no smokes." More groans, louder than before. "Hey, pipe down. This isn't the first time you've gone into an op unwashed with crappy rations and no cigarettes. Remember, we're raggedy-ass Marine Raiders; we're supposed to be unwashed, unshaven, and mean. Anybody else have something to share?" Silence. "Lieutenant Delaney has some materials for you all to study. Make sure to grab your copy on your way out. Study the maps, study the objectives, study the base layout, and pick your gear accordingly. Tane, Katz, wait outside for me please."

Swearing, grumbling, joking, and laughing, the Raiders stood and left the classroom. Most snatched the paperwork from Delaney like annoyed, bored children receiving their homework. However tedious it was, he needed every Raider to memorize the operation. It was simple. Not many moving parts. Less variables. Controlled. Overall, the plan was flexible enough to allow his entourage to react to any snags, changes, or surprises along the way. If any occurred before they arrived, _River Styx_ would report it and they could adapt. For the first time in years they were going to engage the Covenant-on the ground no less-on their own terms. It was almost too much to take in. Seeing everyone in good spirits bolstered his own resolve. Frost was thrilled and relieved all at once.

When the classroom had emptied of the Raiders, only he and De Vos were left.

"Not a bad briefing, Gunny," De Vos said, standing up. She was clad in her black shirt and fatigues. "You have an aptitude for command, not to mention organization and field leadership. Needless to say, I'm very surprised you haven't received a battlefield commission."

"To be honest with you ma'am, I never thought I'd ever rise above corporal. My previous squad leader made me his second and I was contented with that. I always figured myself as a second man."

"You and I have much in common," De Vos admitted, leaning back against the desk, gripping the edges with her hands. "I just want to do my job. Get the fighting over with and get back home. Don't you agree?"

"Most definitely, ma'am." Frost took off his soft cover and turned around in his hands. "Taking care of the troops is more important what we want for ourselves. Don't you think so, ma'am?"

"I do," De Vos said, nodding. She had some years on him, but not much. Her orange hair fell around her ears in a typical haircut many UNSC women wore. Toned, overall well-built, athletic. Her face was difficult to read, and she usually looked very serious or tired or both.

Frost cleared his throat.

"I never thanked you for pulling my ass out of the fire."

"You would have done the same for me, Gunny."

He nodded. "Besides, it was Doc J who sewed you back together, not I."

"Still. Thank you."

De Vos stood up straight.

"We look after our own. We're all human, here." She reached out and the pair shook hands. "I'm sorry for what Holst tried to do."

Frost bristled. Holst tried. _Tried_ , and failed. All thanks to Waters too. To say he had been worried Vivian would change her mind after how their dinner together ended was an understatement. During the entirety of the war council he had been nearly sick with anxiety. Seeing his work burn up in ashes and his friends lose a chance they were hyping themselves up for would have been horrible. Vivian would have relished in his loss, laughed at his shame, and drive it home at every opportunity. Making him look the fool was all she could do if she didn't want to end up in prison herself. Must be hard, Frost considered, that a woman so full of hate could only act petty in her vengeance. Infuriating, even. Not that he much cared for her side. Yet, after everything, she favored him in the end. Perhaps it was just to keep him close and maximize the odds for an untimely demise in risky operations he knew that would come with raiding. Unless there was something else afoot.

Holst was by no means a troublemaker. Almost everyone in the UNSC had heard his name at least once. He was once a household name, synonymous with heroism and valor. By now, his name had dropped off the radar. Most officers didn't live long enough to see a mission end in complete failure, and their careers and reputation went up in flames. Any who did were still essential components of the ground war. Good officers were always needed. All that changed was the limelight, in that it no longer shined upon them. No cushy positions, no desk jobs. Only the spotlight was shut off. Admiration and respect dissipated. In Holst's case, he simply hadn't performed any death-defying missions in the last few years. Some operations succeeded, others didn't, the same as any other officer. There was no disastrous event, such as the loss of an entire detachment of troops or a VIP was killed en route to an evac shuttle. He just petered out. Nothing extraordinary. Just a slow, unremarkable, descent from grace. Now when the upper echelons spoke of him, it was with laughter. While he didn't know much, scuttlebut relayed that he had pressed his superiors for more special assignments like some other ODST Special Purposes Forces. Denial after denial, he had had been hopping ships with his unit for years.

Any man who had fame and lost it wanted it back. He'd do almost anything to get it. Celebrities, with all their glitz and glamor, could approach in numerous ways. Usual results consisted in greater disgrace, humiliation, or if the stars were aligned, a comeback. Military officers, on the other hand, who wished to quest for glory and wished to claim it once more, were dangerous. Primarily, they had accesses to state of the art firearms, armor, and loyal men. Vivian must have viewed Holst's prying as a threat to the stability of the battlegroup's command structure and integrity. Infighting would cause numerous problems. Even if she had stripped Frost of his new command he wouldn't have struck out against her decision or Holst for his interference, no matter how angry he was. Although, he couldn't say the same for Holst. As far as he could tell, the ODST's CO was making himself scarce. Sulking in his office, no doubt. While he cared not for Vivian's troubles, he hoped the decision wouldn't come back to bite anyone.

"Major Holst had his reasons and he raised some good points. I'm sure he was just looking out for the men more than anything else," Frost said. De Vos bounced her eyebrows and smirked.

"Cut the shit, Gunny. You're mad as hell."

"Of course I'm mad as hell. The man tried to take my idea and use it for his own gain. I thought we were all on the same team. Doesn't he trust his NCO's?"

"Don't feel like you have anything to prove to him, Gunny. Your CO is Hayes. You let me worry about Holst."

"No offense, ma'am, but how can you stand him? Holst is-" _A smarmy prick who likes sticking his nose into other people's business and has no problem with setting his men on me like he's a mobster._ "-not what I'd call an ideal officer."

"Don't let him hear that," De Vos said, looking at the classroom door. "Look, I've served with the man for the better part of a decade. He's not perfect but no one is. What he did, I don't approve of. But he looks after his ODST's and has always treated us with respect, no matter how bad things got. All of the high level ops we pulled, we pulled together. He's vain but he was always in the trenches with us."

Any good second would have said something along those lines. If anyone had criticized Teo, Frost would have said something similar. In that case, however, it would have been true. While he respected De Vos and took her words graciously, he was having trouble believing her.

De Vos slid her hands into her pockets. "Holst is my CO and my friend. Sometimes he just...forgets himself. I help bring him back. Which is why I've been meaning to ask you something."

"Yes, ma'am?"

"You were set upon some of my men some time ago. I made sure they were disciplined accordingly. And I knew they didn't do it on their own accord or due to some kind of provocation. I could tell just by looking at you." Frost braced slightly. De Vos smile. "We've heard of you too, you know. Jack the Ripper, a man with ice-colored eyes and a heart of obsidian. By the time we finally met you could have been some kind of half-animal, half-human with the teeth and claws of a werewolf. But you were all business when we handed that nuke off to you, cool as ice." She chuckled. "You're a man. I can read your face. And you're a shit liar." She approached him until there was hardly any space between them. "So I need you to tell me if Major Holst, or anybody else, had anything to do with those ODST's attacking you."

Here was a chance to do some damage to the man who tried to usurp. A chance to deal a blow towards the girl in a captain's tunic who was giving him such a damned hard time ago over some bodies left in a crummy apartment. De Vos was not a famous name but those who knew her respected her to the highest degree. None were more loyal to the UNSC than her; her dedication, her bravery, and her tenacity were all to be admired. Frost believed this heartily. She was a model soldier. Anyone would listen to her. If she knew Holst and Vivian ushered the ODST's to rough him up and De Vos brought it to the authorities, heads would roll. What did he have to lose? Captain Waters had already tried that stunt on him was denied. Everyone was on his side. All he had to do was say the words. Just say it, and maybe he could make his life all the more easy.

"Not that I'm aware of," Frost said with a shrug. "I wouldn't know why anyone would want to see harm come to me. If I were to guess, those Helljumpers were just antsy for a fight and I was the first person they came across. It happens."

De Vos's expectant look faded into one of mild aggravation. She placed her hands on her hips and took a step closer.

"I was a young lieutenant back in my days as a Pathfinder. As difficult and dangerous it was, I enjoyed what I did. We'd drop in darkness, and I'd lead about ten other men, plus a few other Para's who for security. Thirty minutes-that's how long we had to navigate the terrain, avoid enemy patrols, and mark the DZ. And in thirty minutes, we did it. Nothing was more rewarding than seeing the Pelicans soar by overhead and those parachutes opening up. And nothing was more crushing than seeing those men get gunned down by plasma fire, because some chump in HIGHCOM thought the zone he picked was the optimal position for an airborne offensive."

She looked him dead in the eyes with those steely green eyes of hers. "All it takes is one officer who doesn't know what he's doing to get your people killed. He may not know what it is you do, or how you do it, hell, he may just not like you, but he outranks you and you must obey. Orders are orders, right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"So, are you sure no officer on board this ship had anything to do with your assault?"

Frost maintained their gaze.

"Most positive ma'am. I can't think of anyone, commissioned or otherwise, who would want that. I think it was just an isolated incidence, some ODST's wanting to blow off steam. Perfectly normal Helljumpers and Jarheads to crack skulls."

De Vos's face sank in rare aggravation. Rubbing her forehead with one hand and sighing, she turned away.

"Fine, then." De Vos went to the door of the room, but stopped just shy of it. Over her shoulder, she warned, "Be sure to stay out of Holst's sight. He doesn't like being snubbed."

###

Snitch was the word that came to Frost's mind as he walked out into the armory. Nobody in the military hated anything more than a snitch. Some white knight whose expectations of the Corps were vastly different from what he experienced. As a child, he remembered seeing those recruitment advertisers on television. Service was made to be glamorous, clean, and rewarding. He felt bad for the poor suckers who saw those and believed them. In the Corps, their sole duty in life was to kill. Colonel Hayes never force-fed them nonsense like that when they enlisted. They knew what was happening; they would be trained into hyper-lethal vectors. Killing machines, whose movements would be mechanical, their thoughts automatic. No doubts, no second thoughts. Anyone who didn't wake up to that fact ricky-tick only had themselves to blame. Still, they would go crying to someone who could make heads roll. And his expected vindication would fall apart in his hands, as he would be discharged for tattling on his comrades. Someone who would turn on their friends like that had no place in the Corps, or the UNSC. Not even Lompar had turned to snitching. Yes, he had refused to fight. But he didn't go whining to their superiors. After all the mockery, somewhere in him was a demented kind of loyalty that the Corps had drilled into him.

Yet the more he thought, the more he realized it wasn't snitching he was concerned about. Major Holst may have been a superior officer but not his direct CO. Frost didn't owe any loyalty to him. The same went for Waters. Separate branches, not directly linked with his unit. In the end, he wanted to handle whatever came his way himself. Holst was arrogant and, although he respected De Vos for much, didn't believe her. Her CO didn't appear to be that much of a troublemaker. Waters wasn't trouble either. She was bound by her own contradictions and the regulations she sought to uphold. If either of them tried to interfere with his unit, or trouble him in anyway, he would handle himself. De Vos was rigidly military, it was her life and privilege to serve. Loyalty, for her, was owed more to the UNSC itself rather than the individual commander. It wasn't hard to tell. By exposing conduct unbefitting of an officer in either Holst or Waters, or both, she would simply be rooting out a rotten part of the UNSC.

Rotten, he repeated in his head. Holst was by no means old and his experience was crucial, even if his glory days were all washed up and turned to sputtering foam. His behavior certainly was. Waters was by no means rotten. At the age of twenty she was an excellent tactician, bold, and selfless when it came to her men. Out of the two, she was more upright as well as dangerous. But she didn't infuriate him like Holst did. He was a meddler, a schemer. Frost despised schemers. Vivian didn't come off that way, at least not anymore. Rather than hide her intentions and her feelings behind snubs and slights, she had stood right in his face and told him just how she felt. Anyone who could be straight like that deserved a modicum of respect. In a strange way, he didn't want to see Waters go. Part of him was purely interested to see what she did next, good or bad.

Waiting patiently for him outside the classroom were Katz and Tane. Being clad in civilian wear, they looked out of place among the throngs of exercising men and women in various states of athletic and military gear.

Frost smiled at them both. He was off his crutch, finally, although still limping. When he came up, he put an around each of their shoulders and began ushering them towards the Weapon and Armorsmith.

"Well boys, Grant and Moser have been keeping up to date on your pistol training. He says you've both improved. Maybe you ought to think of putting in as a combat photographer for the Corps."

"Uh, one step at a time, Gunny."

"Nonsense," Frost said heartily, "like you said, you're from a long line of warriors, from the country who had an army before its borders. What would they think of their descendent holding a camera instead of a rifle?" Frost threw his head back and laughed loudly. He shook Tane a little. "Ah, and you. You're a Maori aren't you? Earthborn?"

"No sir, I'm from New Carthage."

"No need to sir me, my friend. Gunny's fine, Frost is better, and Jack the Ripper's for fools."

"You're in a really good mood," Katz commented.

"A new year and a new mission. What's not to be happy about?"

They entered the Weaponsmith and proceed onwards to the Armorsmith. "So you're accustomed to the pistols now, but we have to get you armored up." They entered the next facility; racks of armor sets lined the walls and men sat tinkering and shaping and reworking pieces, from chest plates to ballistic gear.

Frost brought the two civvies over to a table. "I had the boys here put out your gear. I've got something special for you, dear Katz." He picked up one of the two helmets. "Basic MCH252 helmet, but we attached a helmet cam so your hands are free for your camera or the pistol if you need it. A couple of us will always be wearing helmet cams to show Captain Waters after the mission; we'll make sure a copy of what we see is passed on to you."

Katz held the helmet up; instead of an olive drab finish, his and Tane's helmet were painted black. "Wow. This is really cool. Thank you."

"You can repay me by keeping your ass outta the line of fire," Frost joked. "Basic M52B body armor, with all the fixings. Boots, standard issue. Gloves, standard issue. Knee and shin pads, standard issue. As for your clothing, we ask that you wear camo bottoms. Your tops can consist of civilian attire, but try to match them with our environment, alright?"

"Aye, Gunny," they both said.

"We'll stow your gear with ours. The boys here are setting a space for our gear so we can have easy access. Anything you two want to go over with me?"

The two civvies looked at one another. Despite being within the secure confines of the _I'm Alone_ , they were nervous. Frost, standing before them, reached out and put a hand on each of their shoulders. "Fellas, it's okay to be scared. Don't worry about letting anyone down. Just keep low, do what we tell you, and we'll take care of you. Some of the best Marines on this ship will be with you on this one. I promise you'll be safe."

"Safe?" Tane repeated. "How can we be safe in a war zone?"

"Have you ever been in a war zone?"

"Well, no."

"Then let me tell you, Mr. Tane, there are hundreds, thousands of safe places in a war zone. The trick is getting to them." Frost laughed again.

Leaving the two civilians to their own devices, he headed back out. In good spirits, smiling, he suddenly realized that he didn't have anything to do or anywhere to go. Everyone knew the outline of the plan and later sessions of rehashing the operation would take place over the course of their journey to Bartholomew X. All involved knew what gear to bring, he didn't need to peer over their shoulders seeing if their equipment was immaculate. That was the beauty of working with veteran troops, for the most part.

Luckily, Steele was nearby and approached when he caught Frost's eye.

"You'd make a hell of a teacher, Nate-boy."

"Felt a little out of my element."

"Nah, it was good. Some blokes round here don't let people talk but you let everyone ask questions throughout. That's good I think."

Steele tapped two cigarettes out of a packet, giving one to Frost. They lit them up and began smoking and walking in no particular direction. "Off to see the Doc?"

"Oh, I dunno. She's busy right now and I don't want to distract her while she's working in the infirmary, y'know?"

"I read you."

"We decided that seeing as how she works graveyard shift in the med bay most of the week, I'll stay with her only on her admin days. For the rest, I'll be bunking with the squad like usual."

"Good."

"When I'm not around, you're in charge, remember? Sergeant Steele?" Frost grinned and Steele elbowed him. The two walked in silence then, dragging on their cigarettes, earning the ire of passing seamen. It was pleasant, just walking together. After so many years, there was no need to force conversations. Everything came naturally. Barriers of the past were long gone.

"Anything happen between you and the Doc?"

"What'd you mean?"

"You know. Anything." Steele shrugged, "Like... _you know._ "

Frost raised an eyebrow.

"No, I don't know."

"You still a virgin?"

"Shut the fuck up, Louie," Frost said, smiling and shaking his head. Steele chuckled.

"That's a no then. Why're you holding back, bruv?" Steele put his cigarette to his lips and then held his hands up as if he were measuring something. "I've made some calculations. Just by doing a little eyeballing, but I think your head is perfectly sized to fit between her thighs."

Frost didn't want to laugh but he couldn't help it.

"No wonder you can't get a date."

"Hey, I got one with that medical officer."

"That's not a date, that's a hook up."

"Same difference."

"The fuck does that mean?"

Steele shook his head, grinning from ear to ear.

"How come you two haven't yet?"

"It hasn't really crossed my mind. We almost did."

"I'm not giving you props for halfsies."

Frost glanced at Steele.

"Heard you and Carris made up. I'm glad you sorted that out. She looks up to you. Well, figuratively speaking. I think you make her feel comfortable. Ever notice how she's always gravitating to you? She always sits next to you in the mess hall, is always beside you at the range."

"She said something similar not too long ago."

"I know I put you on separate teams. I can change that if you'd like."

"Why're you asking me and not her?"

"Because it's you that's here before me, and not her," Frost smiled.

"Makes more sense for her to be on the assault team rather than the support team, even if she is a dead shot. Her armor gives her an edge."

"Just asking, in case you want to stay close."

"She's not my wife, Nate," Steele said, somewhat annoyed.

"I didn't say that. I just think she helps you in a way too."

"What makes you say that?"

"You play an uncaring act, Louie. But I know you better than anyone. You're a good man and you like helping folks. I know you feel sorry for her, seeing how she's a bit like us. I think she allows you to be who you really are."

Steele shrugged.

"I suppose. Honestly, I don't think she's like us. I think we're like her. But that's just my gut."

"So if you want me to switch her over..."

"No," Steele said quietly, "it's fine." He didn't say anything for a second, staring ahead. "I know you're just looking out for us, brother. But she and I, we aren't involved." Frost was about to speak but Steele held up his hand. "Don't push it. It won't happen."

Frost sighed but held his tongue, and the two friends walked in sullen silence.

* * *

Taking a breath, De Vos entered Major Holst's officer. Not one to feel nervous, she certainly felt apprehension. Since the war council she had busied herself with advising the Raiders. Mainly, she spoke with Frost and offered her two cents on the questions he asked her. She didn't mind. In fact, she found watching the young NCO work to be enjoyable. Something about seeing individuals with potential recharged her. It made her wanted to sit back and think of how she could better herself. One could be good, excellent even, but there was always an opportunity to improve. Ignoring Holst's demands that she march up to his office couldn't last forever. At some point, she knew he'd made it an order and she'd have to face the music. All the same, her Helljumpers didn't need their CO and XO butting heads over an issue like taking command of someone else's unit. Handling of this matter would need to be delicate.

Holst was standing behind his desk, hands flat on the top. Immediately, he looked up with fire in his eyes.

"About time you finally showed up. Two days and I can't even get you in here. What is your deal, Captain?"

"I've been busy helping the Raiders unit, sir."

"Oh, of course you have," Holst said, standing up and waving his hand dismissively. "All chummy with the competition now, are we?"

"Competition?" De Vos repeated, brow furrowing. "Sir, permission to speak freely."

"Don't patronize me, Nina. Say what you want to say."

"We're not in a competition sir," she said rigidly, "our job is to work in tandem with the other branches of the UNSC. This is the military, not a game show."

Holst scoffed and turned his back on her. De Vos would have continued but she could feel his mood changing. Spend enough time around someone in the cramped confines of warships and foxholes, you learned everything about them. How to read them, what they were thinking, what kind emotions were coursing through their hearts. Soldiers had a unique connection like that, one she knew that even the closest of friends couldn't even begin to imagine in civilian life.

"We've been fighting together for years, Nina. Countless drops, countless ops. I've lost count how many times we've pulled each other out of the fire. We're friends." He looked over his shoulder slights, still facing the rear window in his office, overlooking the Army garrison. "You and I are supposed to have each others' backs, and you weren't there for me."

That hurt. De Vos winced.

"Major, I was looking out for you."

Holst turned around, angry, hurt, and bemused.

"I make an opportunity for you to lead a unit, earning us new agency in this battlegroup and plenty of glory, and whatever you said to Waters killed the chance. I practically gave you a _gift_ and you spat it back in my face."

"Gift? Sir, we're in a _war_ , in case you've forgotten. We are fighting an enemy that does not care if dozens of its ships burn in orbit, or tens of thousands die on the battlefield. What they lose they replace instantly. All they care about is wiping our race out. 'Gift giving,' has no place in our occupation. And I'm trying to keep you out of Captain Water's crosshairs."  
"What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Major. After all we've been through the least you can do is self-reflect. How many Navy captain's asses have you burned? You could have been a colonel, or much more if you hadn't badgered and insulted and pushed on the ships we've been stationed on. The _I'm Alone_ is one of the best ships we could be on currently and Waters is a fair officer. She'll view what you're doing as vainglorious, and she won't tolerate any kind of squabbling among her officers. The next time you press her like this, I'm worried she'll boot us off this ship."

"Oh please. Waters doesn't have the balls. We had a blatant breach of the rules and regs-a medical officer stealing from the supply-and she decides not to punish any of the parties involved. She may be tough against the Covenant but she'll never bring herself to do any harm against the personnel on her ship, physical or otherwise."

Silently, De Vos disagreed. Vivian Waters was firm, indeed fair. But she had seen something in the war council. While the others paid attention at the screen, she had seen a look in Waters' eyes. When they had locked on Frost, they became terrifying dark. The shine dissipated, the determination faded. All that was left was a blank, black rage. Absolute hatred. And De Vos had seen where she looked when that anger flooded into her eyes. Frost. Only a blind man could miss the tension between the two. It could be heard in their voices when they spoke to one another, seen in their faces and their body language. Over the past two days De Vos had become acutely aware of it. Had something happened between them? Rumors rose soon after Ambition that Waters was rubbing elbows with a Marine. Gossip was part in parcel on a ship; nothing could be hidden for long. Even those antisocial scientists had been roused from their lab. Nothing romantic had occurred between Frost and Waters. De Vos may have been out of touch of the complexities and difficulties of civilian life, but she could still see how people felt about one another. Between Frost and Waters, there was no sense of friendship or romance that had been shattered. Just pure, absolutely pure, fury. On Waters' part at least. From Frost, there was a particular sadness. Then again, the Gunny had a way of looking that way. In his smile and his eyes there was an innate sadness. Beguiling it was, in a way. Nearly charming. While their encounters had been few, she could see what Doc Jasmine could see in the man.

"Respectfully sir, I beg to differ. If crossed, I don't think Captain Waters is to be trifled with."

"So what am I supposed to do, then?" Holst asked, falling into his chair, rubbing his forehead. "Keep my head low, my mouth shut, and do whatever the bitch asks me to?"

"Have you forgotten that this is the military sir?" De Vos asked, stepping forward and bracing her hands on the desk. "We. Follow. Orders. You know that and you've never had issues with it before. I know you; you may not like it but you do what you're order. If you're ordered to attack, you attack. If you're ordered to stand down, you stand down. Right now shouldn't be any different. What could possibly be different about this?"

"She's just a little girl!" Holst shouted, slamming his fist on the desk. "A twenty year old officer with barely any experience under her belt, giving _us_ orders? It's a disgrace!"

"A little girl who has one every single engagement and completed every mission that's come her way. Someone who's pushed the way we've conducted war since 2525. If we're really going to take the fight to the Covenant, I want to do it on this ship." De Vos stood up straight. "The war's not over yet. We've a long ways to go. I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to make a big splash."

"I suppose." Holst sighed. "That'll be all Nina."

De Vos didn't leave. He glared up at her. "I said that'll be all."

"I made you a promise long ago that I'd have your back. Please understand that what I do as your XO, is for our troopers and for us. At the end of the day, we're all we have left."

Holst said nothing and De Vos finally took her leave, glad to be out of his office.

* * *

Vivian had invited the captains back the _I'm Alone_ to go over fleet tactics once they were in orbit around Bartholomew X. Kelly, Kolchak, Alastair, and Slater stood around the operations screen once again. Ngouabi was present as well. Images of the Covenant fleet appeared on it.

"Typical of a Covenant fleet holding tight over a planet, they're not in any specific formations. All of the smaller vessels are surrounding it. When we jump into the system they'll all be forced to turn and attack us. By having the element of surprise we'll force them to react and use their superiority complex against them like we have before."

Vivian motioned to an image of the Covenant classes. "We have Corvettes and light cruisers to deal with. As we know, Corvettes have no shielding and should be our first targets. We'll jump in and form into an echelon, with the heavier ships on the right and our lighter ships on the left. From left to right: _Lion's Den_ , _Determined Guardian_ , _Best of the Best_ , _Batavia_ , and _I'm Alone._ We'll all fire one volley; heavier ships, we have the advantage of two MAC cannons and we should take the time to fire at two different targets. Which means we'll have eight shots; eight shots means we'll eliminate all of the Corvettes. But the light cruisers will be able to fire back. Just when their plasma is about to strike us, we're going to peel off to port, in formation."

She mimicked this with her hand; holding it out flat, she dipped it towards the left and moved it down. "As we peel down to port, we'll each use our rear emergency thruster to effectively swing the stern of our ships back into a line formation underneath the Covenant fleet. Despite being below them we'll have the advantage; they'll be forced to turn to starboard and face downwards. On top of that, they'll be trapped against Bartholomew X, limiting their range of movement. By that time our weapons will be recharged and we'll unleash another volley. MAC rounds to take out their weaker shields, and then finish them off with archer missle pods. In doing so, we'll be taking out the majority of the remaining vessels."

"Ma'am, won't we be vulnerable to their plasma cannons after we fire?" Kolchak asked, his Russian-accented voice raspy. "I don't like the idea of getting shot when we have the momentum."

"Good point, Commander. After we complete our port maneuver and start approaching from below, we'll be going at full speed. By the time we fire and eliminate another wave of vessels, they'll still be turning. By the time they've turned and are ready to fire, we'll be flying up over them. In line formation, we'll go over Bartholomew X."

Commander Alastair raised her hand. "Go ahead."

"Can you go over the other operation points, ma'am?"

"The Marine Raiders will be deploying from _I'm Alone_ immediately after the first volley. Captain Ngouabi, would you like to go over the Air Force operational plan?"

"Yes ma'am, I would." Ngouabi stepped forward. He was a thin man, and despite his age his features and frame were still quite strong. "We're throwing all of our Shortswords and Longswords into this run. Like the Marine Raiders, we'll be deploying right after the first shots are fired. Our bombers will approach in three waves, each with its own escort. Once the bombing run is finished, the aircraft will exit back into orbit. If all goes as planned, they're trajectory will link up with the fleet as they pass over Bartholomew X."

"We'll decrease speed slightly to pick up all of the aircraft."

"My Longswords will deploy Moray mines in our wake before they berth, so any remaining light ships will be destroyed as they attempt to pursue. Which will leave only the ORS-class heavy cruiser to follow us." He turned and smiled at Captain Waters. "Not a bad plan at all. Oh, I received a message from the pilot that will be ferrying the Raiders planetside. They need an escort of Longswords for the Albatross that'll be transporting their vehicle support. All I need is two Longswords."

"Granted," Vivian said with a smile.

"Once they've deployed the Raiders, they'll follow in the wake of the bomber formations. The Longswords might even be able to get some shots in at the base if time allows for it."

"Nothing too risky, sir," Vivian said. "I don't want to lose any ships or birds on this run."

"Of course, ma'am," Ngouabi said, bowing his head and rejoining the minor crowd of officers. Vivian continued.

"After we've collected all of the aircraft, we'll progress forward over the planet. Once the cruisers hit or bypass the mines, we'll make a hard turn to starboard. By that time, the enemy heavy cruiser will be going around the right side of the planet in an effort to cut us off."

"How can you be sure of that, Captain?" Slater asked. Vivian grinned.

"Because it's what I would do. As we come into view, we'll jump to the link up destination with the _Marathon's_. The cruiser will follow us there and we'll be able to take it out. Once it's destroyed and ensuring no other vessels have followed, we'll be jumping back to Bartholomew X. I know it's tempting to remain and engage the heavy cruiser, but we know the kind of damage they can do. Its shielding is advanced, its armor thicker, and its armed to the teeth. We need the advantage of extra heavier ships."

Vivian looked at the screen. All that she had said appeared in images and simulations. In front of her, the officers nodded and smiled, impressed and excited. High spirited officers meant more effective fighters. Morale was continuing to grow. It couldn't get any higher.

The plan called for constant motion. Some officers would have found it daunting. Instead, Vivian found that it gave her more peace of mind. Long ago, ships and armies had lined up, sailing and marching shoulder to shoulder. Waging war had been illogical and suicidal, as ships and men lined up in front of one another without any cover and hardly any maneuvering, and essentially traded blows. Like two boxers, they stood their ground and swung at one another until the other broke. Nothing was truly achieved. Victory would always come at a high cost. Too many UNSCN captains were comfortable in tight, stagnant formations that officers from the Age of Sail would have approved of. Constant motion, simple yet elegant, would maximize damage to the enemy fleet, utilize the advanced technology that other ships of line didn't possess, and decrease the risk of damage to their own ships.

What worried her were the Marine Raiders. It was not for their safety; she could care less if Frost and his close cronies bought it on their mission. The mission's success concerned her. Were twenty-seven military personnel, with firearms, hand weapons, one Warthog, and a Pelican enough to retake a base from the Covenant? Marines went through some of the most advanced, intense training available. From their diverse arsenal, the UNSC also boasted some of the most effective, powerful infantry weapons available. While primitive when compared to plasma weapons, bullets would also stop a man much more than plasma. Like all factions at war, the UNSC had adapted to the Covenant's weapons. M52B body armor took away the penetrative abilities of most plasma weapons, unlike the body armor from the two previous decades. One bolt from a plasma rifle could kill a man. Their weapons were already effective against Covenant ground forces; pistols were excellent Grunt killers, and automatic weapons chewed through the minor armor of Jackals and Skirmishers, drained the energy shields of Elites, and their explosives were so powerful their vehicles could barely stand a chance.

The Covenant, seemingly, weren't adapting. In the end, what they had were numbers. Replenishment was quite easy for them. While the weapons they carried were indeed powerful and their tactics far exceeded those of the Covenant, Frost's tiny unit was vastly outnumbered. However, her concern was not shared by anyone else. Nobody knew what he really was except for his Marine brethren. To the Navy, Air Force, and ODST's on board, he was Jack the Ripper, the legendary soldier with a heart of gold. To the Marines, he was the knife fighter, the killer, the monster, the bane of both Rebels and the Covenant. Everyone was confident that he could pull the mission off. He was the great hero after all. How it infuriated her to see so much praise and hope fall at his feet. It was not jealousy. She cared for the men and women under her command, even the Marines, no matter how much she despised them. Not all of them could be like him. Some were still human, some still worth saving. All the same, she didn't need her people heaping praise upon her. Getting the job and keeping everyone alive was enough for her. Medals, citations, commendations, none of it mattered to her. Seeing it delivered unjustifiably to him just seemed wrong.

Telling the crew was always an option, she'd tell herself. She wondered what the reaction would be if she told all of the souls in front of her what he had done long ago. Would they side with her and condemn the act as unnecessary by the laws of war, or would they side with him, declaring that it fell within the rules of engagement. After all, they had been armed and defecting. As much as she loved her crew, she knew in the end they'd side with him. Even if they did, the cohesion between branches would drop. Hayes was right in that regard. If any of them had seen what had happened to Adley, they would have rioted. Reporting him wouldn't change a thing and he would most likely get a chewing out at the most. Like Frost, and the 89th, he was too invaluable to discharge or imprison.

Dismissing her officers, she returned to the command chair. All of her officers were working now, running diagnostics and checking systems.

"Tsang, operational report."

"Provisions, ammunition, medical supplies, equipment..." he ran down the list, "...all is aboard and stowed. All ships are full stocked and ready to go."

"Excellent. Koroma, issue a fleet communique in an hour's time. We're be steaming up and entering slipspace for Bartholomew X."

"Aye aye, ma'am."

"All nonessential personnel, save for the Marines and pilots engaging in this mission, are to enter the cryo bay."

Decatur appeared beside her chair on his pedestal.

"Madam?"

"Yes, Stephen?"

"I just wanted to make you aware that you have an unread message from Captain Rikard Rundstrom, skipper of the UNSC _River Styx._ "

"Thank you, Decatur. Please, don't concern yourself with matters like that. I'm sure you've got enough on your plate."

"Oh, it was my pleasure, Captain. It's no trouble; I can do many things at once. I am everywhere, after all!" He laughed, saluted, and blinked away. Vivian could only smile at the AI's cheerfulness. The message had been sitting there since yesterday. She had simply been busy developing her strategy to open it and it wasn't in her priority section.

Picking up her data pad, she opened the messaging tab and selected the unread message.

 _Captain Waters,_

 _I finally have the pleasure addressing you, ma'am. I've heard a great deal about you. You and your ships have conducted some impressive operations. It's been some time since Covenant sieges have been broken, not since the Cutter days. I look forward to seeing your ships in action. If the stories are true, I suspect I'll be seeing UNSC ships dancing rings around the Covenant. What a sight that will be. Don't worry about your boys going planetside, we'll keep an eye on them. Won't be hard; ONI had their eyes on everyone and everything._

 _Good old Kelly asked me on your behalf if I'd like to join your battlegroup and I can see the tactical value of having an ONI prowler on your side. I've given it some thought and talked with my superiors. They've communicated with Rear Admiral Travers and all of the transfer paperwork has come through and I'm glad to join you. Of course, you know a_ Sahara- _class prowler won't be much use in a stand up fight. If you want stealth insertion and reconnaissance, I'm the man for the job._

 _I'm looking forward to meeting in person. Good luck, Captain Waters._

 _Captain Rikard Rundstrom_

Instantly, Vivian disliked the man. A condescending, knowing tone clung to each word in the letter. It was as if he knew something she didn't. Of course he did. He was a part of ONI. Nobody could trust ONI; on the surface they were indeed the intelligence wing of the Navy. Like the British East India Company of so many centuries ago, ONI was its on separate branch in all but name, with its own forces, its own ships, its own objectives, its own projects, operating independently of the other UNSC branches under a veil of support. Instead of monopolizing trade routes and toppling empires, they had bullied and absorbed all other intelligence services available to humanity, military and civilian. Such cutthroat practices had begun even further back, when the Carver Findings led to ONI's ruthless actions towards the Insurrectionists in the waning years of the 25th Century. While at Luna OCS, the instructors had told the cadets of the usefulness and diligence of ONI. Behind closed doors, they warned them that ONI always had ulterior motives. If they joined a fleet, their objective was twofold: support the fleet in anyway and complete an objective known only to them. Such personnel should be treated with suspicion, she had been taught.

Deciding not to respond to the message, seeing as it didn't merit one anyhow, she set her data pad down and waited for departure.

* * *

"Yeah Mom...no Mom...no I haven't found any nice boys to date. I'm in the Marines-I mean the Air Force-there's more important things to worry about than that...Mom those guys are my friends...Mom...Mom stop...Mom that's gross..." Langley groaned and ran a hand down her face, "...Mom that's not funny...can't you just appreciate what I'm doing out here...I know but to hear you say it once in a while would be nice. It's just that...okay Mom...Mom I'm not losing years of my life by doing this. I'm learning and gaining new skills, experience I can bring back to civilian life with me...reenlistment...? Oh. I hadn't, hadn't really considered that. I mean, the war's not attending anytime soon, and they need good radio operators out here...honestly I wouldn't be surprised if they started forcing reenlistment soon. Look I gotta go now Mom...yes...yes I'll be safe...I promise...no Mom...just no. I'm not going to ask him out...oh God Mom that's disgusting...yes, I love you too. Bye."

Langley hung up the phone and pressed her forehead against it. Nothing was more embarrassing than getting dating and sex advice from her mother. Both were very, very far from Langley's mind. She wondered if Sánchez was having any more luck than her.

Walking down the phone bank she found him, standing with the long distance caller in his hand.

"I'm being safe honey...don't worry I've got some of the best guys out here watching my back...well they like me now...baby don't say that, they're all really swell guys. It's just different out here. One day you'll get to meet them...what do you mean you don't want to...but dear...dear...hold on a sec...yes I know they did that...babe...oh boy..." He turned around slightly, caught Langley's gaze, and faced her. He cupped the receive in his hand. "She's still mad at my squad for giving me a hard time. When things like that happen, she just doesn't let it go," he whispered, then uncovered the receiver, "Yep, yep I'm here. I caught every word...would I lie to you, sweetheart? I have to get going on, our ship's leaving in twenty minutes. I love you very much and I'll come home to you soon...uh...let's cross the bridge when we come to it. Okay, love you...bye."

He hung up and sighed. "She asked me if I'm going to propose when I get back," he said as they exited the communication's facility.

"You're not going to?"

"Of course I'm going to!" Sánchez exclaimed. "Why wouldn't I?"

"You didn't seem too thrilled with the idea a second ago."

"Oh, I that's just pretend. I like to make her think I'm all squeamish about the idea so that when I eventually ask she'll be super surprised."

"That's sweet. Hopefully she won't dump you in the meantime. Then the faking will be for nothing."

"Nah, she won't do that. She's head over heels in love with me, just like I am with her."

The two started walking across the main courtyard towards the drydock where the _I'm Alone_ was berthed. So many stories tall, the silver giant loomed over all of the structures in the base. Army troopers drilled in the courtyard, relief convoys were still rolling out of the base into the city. While the life had returned to the city and much of the damage had been repaired, some buildings had been reduced to piles of rubble.

The pair walked side by side, hands in their pockets. It was a cloudy day; most days since the war council had been dreary. Light rain began to fall and thunder rumbled in the far distance. Both zipped up their overshirts to the collar.

"Are you scared about this op?" Sánchez asked.

"No, well I mean yeah. It's weird. I don't feel scared, but I know I am. I don't know."

"I feel scared. Like my guts are roiling." He shook his head. "The vets never seem scared at all. How do you think they deal with it?"

"Oh, I wouldn't know. I don't think it's something they can verbalize. It's just something they do, without thinking." Langley looked over at her friend. He didn't seem fearful, but his face was somewhat pale. "Hey, did you have a picture of your girl?"

"Hm? Yeah, yeah I do. Want to see?" Langley nodded. Sánchez reached into the pocket on the left side of his chest and retrieved a well-photograph of a woman with long, black flowing hair, full lips and a radiant smile, with soft cheekbones and tan skin. Her dark eyes were beautiful and smokey. "I took that a few days before I shipped out for basic training."

"She's stunning," Langley said, handing it back.

"Yeah but she's wonderful. I've never met a more compassionate, charming, and understanding person than her. I grew up in a place called Taxco. My family has resided there for centuries, descending from men who worked in the silver mines. It was a silvertown and it became well known for all the shops selling silver products. Stories passed down by my ancestors said it was a good place to live; all the historic buildings and the culture. I loved watching the processions during Holy Week." He sighed sadly. "Of course, I never got to see the beauty of the city like they did. A few centuries ago when the new part of the city was raised, with all the MagLevs, preservation for the old city dropped entirely and no one wanted to buy the silver. It became a slum."

"That's harsh."

"It was a hard life. We made little money and lived in a house without basic enmities. Water came from a pump down the street, our school building was an old house next to the rundown cathedral. Nobody wanted silver jewelry or table sets. It just sat in our crumbling shop collecting dust. I miss that little ramshackle shop, seeing all the necklaces and bracelets my mother made."

"Did you grow up with her?"

"No. She was born into a wealthy family. Her father and mother founded a historical preservation and projects committee. They funded it all themselves and began living in the old city when I was ten. They created many jobs and began cleaning the slums up, and wanted to help close the gap between rich and poor. So his daughter went to school with us in a gesture of progress. Everyone fawned over her because her parents were helping the community. But I could see how sad she was; she was a girl who wanted to enjoy her youth instead of riding on her parents' dream. I was the only one who didn't badger her and we just sort of...came close together. I understood what she was going through, and she was very sympathetic to me and my family. Oh my parents fell in love with her the first time she walked home with me. My mother grabbed me by the shoulders after she was picked up and said to me, 'You must marry that girl!'

Both of them laughed. "And I said, 'yes mama, I will.' She eventually started helping her parents out more and more as she got older. Actually, she began doing more than her parents after we finished school. By that time we were dating. She's wonderful; she helped me and my family so much. What I appreciated most about it was that she _respected_ us; she knew we didn't want handouts. She helped us help ourselves."

Sánchez grew sadder still. "And how did I repay her? Instead of marrying her and starting the family she wanted so badly, I go off to war." He shook his head. "I'm a poor man, Nora," he said, tapping his heart. "A poor man."

"I know you're not," Langley offered kindly. "She's waiting for you. So whenever you feel scared, I want you to pull that photo out and look at her."

He quirked an eyebrow and then looked at the photo. Langley smiled. "She'll help you get home even faster."

Finally, Sánchez smiled and his mood brightened, even as the sky above them darkened. The rain began falling harder, steadier, and the thunder grew louder.

"Thank you, Nora," he said as they hurried back to the _I'm Alone_ , "You're a good friend."

* * *

The _I'm Alone_ was dead in slispace. Most of the crew slumbered in the cryo bay. On the bridge, Captain Waters and her officers looked at the gloom and flowing lights. In the engine room, Chief Burgie and a miniature staff of his engineers kept an eye on the systems. Despite having hardly anyone to cook for, the smell of steaming food drifted out among the many empty chairs and tables as the mess hall staff prepared meals more for themselves than the skeleton crew. Pilots made up the bulk of those awake, socializing more in the hangar than in other parts of the ship. Jasper had selected an American fellow by the name of Heathcliff with pale blonde hair, a strong, clean shaven face, and an average build, to pilot the Albatross. The barracks were quite empty, so the Marine Raiders had been dividing their time between the Armory or cramming themselves into Frost's and company's quarters.

All of the Raiders were prepared. Weapons, gear, and equipment were set. The plan had been gone over nearly fifty times. Everyone could picture the base and its smallest details in their heads. Images that had been shown in the slides were etched into their memories. As they sat, waiting for the jump to finish, they were was an immense quiet between them all even as they sat together in the cramped confines of their quarters. Some wrote final letters home, others tinkered with bits of their armor or one of their weapons. Others still murmured quietly to each other, read books, smoked cigarettes, or sat in utter silence.

Frost had seen such faces many times before and found that he couldn't endure for much longer. Instead, he found himself in Jasmine's office, laying on his back on the leather couch with Jasmine on top of him. Her weight was comfortable, and she rested her head on his chest. The lights in the room were off and the blue and golden lights of slispace streamed by, filling the room with radiant colors before receding to darkness again. At the end of the couch, their black boots sat in a neat row on the floor.

For much of the time, they were quiet. He wasn't sure what to say. Not much needed to be said anyways. Right then, letting light and dark wash over them as they lay on the couch, was enough.

He sneaked a look at her. Jasmine had taken her glasses off and had left them on her desk. Her eyes were closed and her black hair, which was now down to her shoulders, fell over most of her face. Whenever he took a deep breath and exhaled, her head would rise and fall with his chest. Each time he did so, she smiled a little bit. She seemed tired. Medical work was beyond stressful; how could one not feel trepidation when dozens if not hundreds of lives were depending on you? Managing it all was a monumental task and Frost was glad to be her vent and relief to it all. To many, she was the guardian against death, an angel, who would bring them back from the edge of the abyss.

"Thank goodness for lead foil," Jasmine murmured sleepily as the light faded from the room once more. Slipspace often brought with it many uncomfortable, and physically stressful notions due to the high levels of radiation. Of course, one would say, traveling through a dimensional subdomain would have its risks. Prevention came in the way of lead foil built into every UNSC ship. With it, the radioactive dangers were negated, along with other effects like nausea and worse.

"Yeah," Frost said, feeling quite tired as well. "Can't get a better night light than those, huh?"

Jasmine nodded, her hair brushing against Frost's shirt. He reached down and gently pushed a lock from over her eyes, then began running his hand up and down her back. She wasn't wearing her white lab coat, just her olive drab turtleneck sweater.

"That feels nice," Jasmine murmured happily, releasing a relaxed sigh. After some time she raised her head, casting a sleepy gaze towards Frost. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"This is perfect," Frost assured her, reached out and brushing his fingers down her cheek. Jasmine propped herself up a little bit. Her chin dug into his chest but he didn't mind so much.

"You're very calm. Don't Marines start amping themselves up before a mission?"

"Not at this point. Usually, it's while we're moving to the Pelicans. We play music, we get in the zone, crack jokes. Normal stuff."

"I don't like the idea of sending you out there without the _I'm Alone_ in support, leaving you nearly stranded on a Covenant infested planet. Seems wrong."

"It's not wrong. I'm in my element. This planet is just like Skopje. We spent a long time there, had our baptism of fire there. It'll be just like old times." Frost said this quite comfortably, confidently even, but he could see it did little to ease Jasmine's concerns. Her dark eyes shifted away from his and she began tugging gently at one of the pouches on the right side of his shirt. He wasn't sure what to say. Eventually, Jasmine stopped and crawled slightly up his chest so their faces were closer. She reached out and placed one of her small, soft hands on his cheek.

"Don't go out there thinking you have something to prove. Okay? You've got nothing to prove, not to Hayes, not to Holst, not to me, not your friends, and especially not Vivian."

"I know that."

"Just get the job done and don't get hurt. I don't want us returning just to find out you've lost an arm or a leg or something. Seeing you all torn up like that took years off my life."

"We're all coming back in one piece, Jasmine." Frost smiled at her. "All of us."

If he were a praying man like Moser, he would have visited one of the ship's religious officers. He knew what his friend was asking for: forgiveness, protection, strength. Moser went into battle a clean man every time. Clear mind, clear heart. Nothing phased him. Frost attributed his coolness to his demeanour, experience, and training, but Moser claimed it came from the Almighty. Maybe offering a prayer wasn't such a bad idea at all. Then again, he had no idea how to do it properly or what to say. His mother's teachings were long forgotten. Cynicism returned and he wondered what good words were when there was no one to listen. Moser's voice drifted into his mind, telling him that someone was always listening. Whatever works for you, Frost thought.

Jasmine adjusted, letting her head rest on his chest once more. Frost rested his hand on her back. "Hey, even if one of us gets hurt, we've got two corpsmen, an ex-PJ, and a combat lifesaver. We're in good hands."

She didn't say anything. Frost sighed. "Probably wasn't the most reassuring thing to say, huh?"

"It's not that. A good doctor is supposed to trust and respect other medical professionals no matter what. Even if you don't like them as a person. I trust my staff one hundred percent with the lives of everyone on board. I just don't trust them with your's." She propped herself up slightly, putting her hands on either side of Frost. "Does that make me a bad doctor?"

"Not in my book," Frost said kindly. That made her smile. Darkness receded and light shone over them once more. He reached up and caressed her cheek. "Can I tell you something?" Jasmine nodded. "I don't want to leave this room."

"Neither do I." Jasmine wrapped her arms around his neck and held her face just above his, allowing their noses to touch. "I ought to just hide you in here for the rest of the war."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," Jasmine giggled, "you're gonna have to go AWOL."

"Making me choose between you and the Corps? That's cruel."

"I'm so cruel, aren't I?"

They laughed quietly to themselves, embracing one another, staring into one another's eyes, nose to nose.

"I feel like I'm in a dream. Like this ain't real," Frost murmured to her.

"All dreams are real; they always come true," Jasmine said back. Frost wasn't too sure what she meant by that, but it sure sounded sweet when she said it. She ran her finger along the scar on his face very gently, then she kissed him. It was a very long kiss, one that made Frost's heart beat faster and his stomach warm up. When they parted, Jasmine looked into his eyes in a way that made time stop. "What should we do now?" she asked quietly.

"I think you should take off your sweater."

"You think so?"

"Yes."

Jasmine got to her feet just as the lights faded and the room was plunged into darkness. When they came back, the sweater was in a pile at her feet. She stood beside the couch, clad in her tank top. "And this?"

"And that," Frost said. Jasmine slipped the tank top off, leaving just the standard issue bra on. In the light, he could see the goosebumps on her tan skin as she stood before him, one hand over her stomach, the other by her side. Standing there, she seemed shy and excited, her lips forming a little smirk that he had never seen before. Her eyes, still a little sleepy, but more passionate than ever before. Even then, he could see that familiar pink blush clouding her cheeks.

"What next?" Jasmine asked.

"I don't know," Frost murmured, "I just want to look at you." Jasmine giggled and slowly slid a hand up her side, stopping on one of the straps.

"How about this?" she asked enticingly.

"Turn around."

"Hm?"

"Turn around."

Jasmine did so. Frost looked at the burn scars on her back, splotchy and white, some beginning to fade. He got up and stood behind her. Gently, he reached out and brushed his fingers up and down her back, feeling the contours, the roughness of the patches. After a few moments, he wrapped his arms around her middle and brought her close, burying his face into the nape of her neck. She put her hands on his arms and leaned back into his embrace.

"Nate."

"Yes?"

"I want you to see all of me."

Frost let her go and she faced him once more, shy, excited, blushing in the golden-blue light of slipspace. "And I want to see all of you." She came right up to him, unzipped his overshirt, pulled it off, and dropped it on top of her sweater. Jasmine's hands slipped down to his belt and unbuckled it. His own hands went to her pants, undoing the belt. Just as he was about to tug them down, the ship's intercom crackled to life.

"All hands, all hands," came Vivian's voice, "we are about to exit slipspace. Marine Raiders, assemble in the hangar. Cryo engineers, awaken the crew and report to battle stations."

Jasmine sighed.

"And like that, the dream's over."

"Just when it was getting good. I should have been paying attention to the time and-" Jasmine coiled her arms around his neck, standing on the tips of her toes. She brought him down her level and pressed her forehead against his.

"When you come back, we're coming straight here, and we're picking right up where we left off. There won't be any interruptions. Understood?"

"Loud and clear," Frost winked. They gathered their clothes, dressed, slid their boots on. It was hard saying goodbye, Frost found, seeing as how for the first time of his life he was _actually_ saying goodbye to someone he cared about before setting off on a mission. Not a wife or a sweetheart he left at the door back home on Earth, but a fellow soldier, a woman he cared about, who was waiting for him. He was coming back, for damned sure.

###

Frost double-timed it to the armory and met up with the rest of the Raiders. Everyone gathered their gear. Magazines were slid into pouches, extra pouches were velcroed and taped to their armor, another satchel or two were slung over the shoulder, and the rucksacks were stuffed to the brim with extra ammunition, water, dry rations, first aid kits, grenades and other explosives. The M52B armor sets were pieced together and put on, and the new Raider scarves were draped around everyone's necks. Some taped magazines together for quick reloads. Others took an extra weapon on top of their primary and sidearm. Grenades were attached to their chest pieces and bandoliers were donned. Music played in the Weaponsmith as they geared up, loud and heavy. To ease the mood, a few danced or moved to the beat for a few moments before resuming, getting a few laughs in the process. Objectives were recited, duties recounted. Praises and remarks and jokes were shared. Comms were checked, the lights shut off briefly to test the NVD's. By the time everyone was suited up, they had worked up a sweat. Taking one last moment, Frost took out a tin and applied his usual war paint: three jagged dark gray lines diagonally across his face.

In two lines, with Frost and Steele leading, they headed into the hangar. The Warthog had already been loaded into the Albatross and the pod was attached to the Pelican. Both craft were in front of the small fleet of Longswords and Shortswords, who would follow just behind them. Pilots and crew members were suiting up and racing to their starfighters. Crewmen cleared the way for their departure.

Waiting by the Pelican was Captain Waters, accompanied by Jasmine, Hayes, and De Vos. Frost and the Marine Raiders walked up in their two columns and stopped in front of them. Hayes came forward with a big smile on his wide, strong face.

"You and your Raiders look prepared, Gunnery Sergeant Frost. You ready to take the fight to the Covenant?"

"Sir, yes sir!" everyone barked in unison.

"Get it done, quick and dirty, and bring everybody back," Hayes said, clapping a heavy hand on Frost's shoulder.

"Yes, sir," Frost said confidently, nodding. The Raiders shifted, the two lines now waiting at the rear hatch of the Pelican. He glanced over at Jasmine and offered a smile. She was holding her data pad in front of her with both hands, down by her waist, as if she were a little shy. The blush he loved so dearly appeared on her cheeks. All he wanted to do was reached out, pull her close, and kiss her one last time. But the goodbyes had been said and done. No need to do it in front of the others. Vivian came close to him.

"Don't overextend yourself, Gunny. Take the base and hold it until relieved."

"Hold until relieved, solid copy ma'am. I won't let you down," Frost said rigidly. She leaned in closer.

"Don't fuck this up. When we get back, I better see every single one of these faces."

"Roger," he growled. With that, she left for the bridge. Frost looked over at Steele.

"Bitch," he muttered. He looked over his shoulder. Carris was right beside him. Reaching over his shoulder, he rapped his knuckles against her chestplate. "You good to go, love?" Carris responded with a thumbs up, which made Steele grin. "Thatta girl." She reached over, her hand curled into a fist, and brought it down twice on his shoulder. He too held his thumb up. Little taps were exchanged between the Raiders; fist bumps, pats on the shoulder, knocking helmets together.

The rear hatch finally opened, revealing Jasper. He waved them in as the ramp lowered.

"Load up, Raiders," he said. Frost stood to the side and motioned to the Pelican. "Everyone in, double time!"

All of the Raiders filed in, side by side. Frost, would Steele opposite, helped each one in by pushing on their rucksack. Everyone was heavy and climbing up was proving difficult. Eventually, everyone made it in, sitting and standing, with the two seats closest to the rear hatch reserved for Frost and Steele. Together, they walked to the front of the ramp and gave each other a one-armed hug. "Let's do this, Louie."

"Knock'em dead, bruvva."

" _A_ _près moi_."

They clambered in and took their seats opposite one another. Frost adjusted as best he could; like the others, he could barely fit in the seat because of the rucksack. Assault rifle in hand, he looked back out as the hatch closed. Jasmine stood there, smiling still, but pale. Frost gave her one last wave as the hatch closed. The inside of the Pelican was now dark, saved for the dull red light overhead. He looked across to Steele, who smiled at him. "Don't worry. I'll make sure you get back in one piece."

* * *

Vivian braced in her command chair. Everyone was rigid and attentive at their stations. She looked at Decatur on his pedestal, his hands folded, head high, staring ahead. The door slid open; looking over her shoulder, Vivian was surprised to see Jasmine. Offering a smile, Jasmine came up beside the command chair.

"Your battle station is in the medical bay, isn't it?" Vivian mused, teasingly. Jasmine smiled. But her eyes showed sadness. The pair had known each other long enough to tell when the other was putting on a face. With a wave her hand, she motioned Jasmine to come closer. She leaned down. "Don't worry. We'll be back here soon." It was difficult to comfort a friend when she loved a man who had done so much wrong. "He'll be fine."

"Thanks Viv," Jasmine whispered.

"I suggest you hold onto something," Vivian cautioned, and Jasmine took a seat at one of the empty terminals.

"All crew members have left cryo and are at battlestations, madam. Marine Raiders are set, bomber wing, set, fighter wing, set."

"Everyone's where they need to be," she said, inhaling. "Alright, let's give the Covenant a blow they won't soon forget people."

The lights became more intense, brighter, almost as if they were shaking. Seconds turned into minutes. Time dragged by. Suddenly, the lights dropped away and they were greeted with cold, dark space populated with scores of white does. Ahead was Bartholomew X, half green, half dead. And right where they should be was the Covenant fleet, the heavy cruiser with its smaller ships in attendance.

"All ships have successfully exited slipspace, ma'am!" Tsang shouted.

"All ships, all ships," Vivian said over the comms, "echelon formation!"

She looked at the operations screen on her left. Each ship slid into position in a matter of moments. Her eyes went forward. The Covenant ships were already feeling the constraint of their positions; they were having difficulty turning to face them. "Bassot, status on the MACs."

"Ready to fire in fifteen seconds!"

"Tsang, the fleet?"

"Less than twenty seconds and counting."

Vivian picked up her operational data pad and connected it with the operations creen. The screen began feeding her enemy ship numbers and classes. "Decatur, dispatch these firing coordinates to the fleet." The Corvettes would be the easiest targets. Possessing no shielding, all it took was a single MAC round to knock one out of the fight.

 _I'm Alone_ and the rest of the UNSC ships barreled forward. Straight ahead, some of the Corvettes had successfully turned and were charging up their weapons. But it was too late for them.

"All ships are ready to fire, ma'am!" Tsang yelled.

"Fire!"

Five golden streaks struck out between the two fleets, followed a few moments by three more. Sluggishly, the Corvettes attempted evasive maneuvers. In a matter minutes, orange-purple explosion erupted from their hulls and a cheer rang out in the bridge. "Damage?"

"Five enemy ships destroyed, three severely damaged and immobilized," Decatur reported. "Excellent. Give the order for the Marine Raiders and the bombers to take off."

"Already done."

"Reduce speed, begin recharging weapons, wait for the enemy volley," Vivian said over comms. Coming out of the wreckage of burning and dead ships came the light cruisers, small ships that could still prove deadly even to the mightiest UNSC warships. Along their hull, purple plasma bolts formed and a moment later were flying towards them.

"Enemy plasma incoming," Decatur warned.

Vivian waited, and waited. "Impact in one minute."

"All ships, peel off to port! To port!" Vivian shouted. Once more, her eyes went to the screen. First the frigates went, then the _Best of the Best_ , followed by _Batavia._ "Sosa, do it."

"Aye aye, ma'am," Sosa said calmly. The _I'm Alone_ followed suit and the line of ships steamed to port. "Engage emergency thrusters, in sequence!" One by one, the ships fired their rear starboard thrusters. Just how Vivian had planned, the stern of each ship swung out to port, bringing them into a perfect line below the Covenant fleet. Soaring off into the emptiness of space was the volley of plasma bolts.

Vivian sat back down. "Full speed ahead, all ships."

"Aye aye."

"Bassot, weapons."

"Twenty seconds."

"Tsang, the fleet?"

"Twenty seconds for all ships."

"Prepare Archer missile pods, ten pods each ship. I want to fill the orbit with missiles."

"Aye aye, ma'am."

The Covenant shops were struggling to meet them. Having already completed their turn to face the original position of the UNSC ships, they now had to turn again. Without emergency thrusters and unable to make the sharp turn at full speed, it was a slow and difficult process, compounded by the wreckage and the immobilized ships leftover from the first volley. The heavy cruiser still sat in the center, unable to move as the small ships buzzed and maneuvered all around it. They may have been known to climb over their own dead but even Covenant captains were smart enough to recognize the dangers of collision. Like any other enterprising pirate, Vivian used this against them. She distributed firing coordinates once via her data pad and watched the timer countdown. Each ship confirmed their targets.

"MACs are hot!" Bassot shouted.

"Green across the board, ma'am!" Tsang added.

"Fire!"

Five followed by three, the MACs fire. The heavy shells hit and the shields blossomed and billowed blue. The updated MAC rounds make quick work of the light cruisers' weakened shields, they were barely holding on. "All ships, fire your first five Archer missiles to finish off their shields. On my command, fire the next set of five!"

Clouds of missiles swarmed away from the UNSC ships. By this time they were rapidly closing the distance between the two fleets. Their missiles did not have far to travel. Point-defense systems on the enemy ships were activated, but they couldn't eliminate enough. Orange explosions rippled along their shields and they finally winked away. "Fire again!" The second swarm of missiles struck the enemy ships even faster than before. Hulls ruptured and split, clouds of wreckage filled the space around them.

"Corvettes are finished ma'am. Three light cruisers destroyed, five heavily damaged."

Would the Moray mines be enough? Vivian wasn't sure. She was faced with the decision of preserving Archer missile pods for their battle with the heavy cruiser, or using them to cause more damage to the cruisers. The less ships that followed them the better; bringing only the heavy cruiser back with them was ideal. All she had was a few seconds.

"All ships, arm three more Archer missile pods and fire at will!"

Missile streaked out once more, smashing into the damaged vessels that were still moving. Two more ships exploded. Three left.

"Ma'am, disabled cruiser twelve o'clock, directly in our path. Shall I change trajectory?"

"Negative Sosa. Hold your course."

The limping ship attempted to flee. It was too late. _I'm Alone_ smashed right through its center, cutting the cruiser in half. She shook tremendously, and everyone was rattled in their seats. "Damage?"

"Light damage, we're still at full operational capacity!" Tsang shouted.

"Excellent. All ships proceed over Bartholomew X to link up with the bombers. Ngouabi, status on our aircraft?"

Ngouabi turned from his station.

"Bombing run successful, good effect on target, no losses, all Longswords and Shortswords returning to orbit. Albatross Echo 231 has completed its delivery and has linked up with the rest of the bomber fleet."

The UNSC ships soared over Bartholomew X. The horde of Shortswords and Longswords, like a swarm of bees, began returning light bees to a hive. Vivian watched the friendly markers moving toward their ships on the operations screen. The Longswords diverted away from the Shortswords and began deploying mines, which came up as small blips on the screen. After laying a substantial minefield, they looped back towards the ship.

"Enemy fighters inbound, ma'am," Decatur warned, closing fast.

"They're deploying from the heavy cruiser. Ngouabi, get your pilots in, double time!"

"Net call, net call, enemy fighters inbound. Return to the ships immediately."

Appearing on the screen was a large cloud of enemy contacts. It grew larger and larger, closing in fast.

"Decatur, bring up the stern cameras on screen two," Vivian ordered, looking to her right. The screen shifted from a map of the system and the unit positions to the rear-mounted cameras. Four squares filled the screen and she could see the fleet of Seraph fighters approaching, with the two damaged cruisers following. They were heading right for the minefield. Her eyes went back to the operations screen on the left side of the bridge. Friendly contacts were streaming into the ships, becoming smaller and smaller.

"All aircraft have returned," Ngouabi said, sighing in relief.

"Are you sure? I'm not leaving anyone behind!"

"We're clear, Captain Waters. Everyone's back."

"All ships, hard to starboard, return to echelon formation." Vivian looked back at the right screen. Some of the Seraphs were expertly weaving through the tight formation of the minefield. Others were not so lucky. Little puffs of purple-orange appeared as they struck mines. When the light cruisers rolled over them it was over. Their hulls ruptured and came apart, and dozens of their fighters were destroyed. More cheers rang out.

Once they had turned and were moving back around Bartholomew X, they were at full speed. "Prepare for slipspace jump. Set coordinates. Koroma, contact the Marine Raiders. Put them on speaker."

"Aye aye," Koroma answered, "Alpha One-One, this is _I'm Alone_ , come in, over."

"Alpha One Romeo," came the voice of Sánchez, loud and slightly shaky, "We read you, over."

"Alpha One Romeo, put Alpha One Actual on, over."

"Solid copy, _I'm Alone._ Wait one, over." Only a moment passed before Frost's low voice came over the comms.

"Alpha One Actual here, send it, over."

"We have engaged the enemy fleet and have destroyed all but the flagship. Skies are clear. Give us a SITREP, over."

"We've reached the LZ and are holding tight. No sign of Covenant movement so far. No snags, no casualties, how copy, over?"

"Solid copy Alpha One Actual. We are exiting Bartholomew X's orbit and are preparing to jump. Complete your objectives and hold until relieved. We'll be back for you. God be with you, Alpha One Actual."

"Good luck, _I'm Alone_. Alpha One Actual, out."

Koroma looked over her shoulder at Vivian, who nodded.

"Heavy cruiser approaching on our starboard," Sosa noted. Vivian walked to the front of the bridge, hands folded behind her back. Lumbering around the side of Bartholomew X was the enemy ship, all alone. No pickets, no escorts: vulnerable. More than vulnerable. It was already a goner and the captain of that queer looking ship didn't even know it.

"All ships, execute slipspace jump."

Vivian closed her eyes, and when she opened them, the bridge was filled with the blue and golden light of slipspace. Everyone let out a cheer that could have made a planet tremble and Vivian turned around, smiling. All the pilots were back, all the ships were intact. Phase one of the mission was complete. Phase two, was just beginning.

"Ma'am," Decatur said to her. "You have a message, received just before the jump." Vivian picked up her data pad and opened it up.

 _Captain Waters,_

 _You did_ _not_ _disappoint. Spectacular work. See you soon._

 _Captain Rundstrom_

Vivian closed the message and tossed her data pad back onto her seat. Her eyes drifted to Jasmine, who was standing to the side, the only one not celebrating.

* * *

Frost breathed in the cool, crisp air of Bartholomew X. Peering through the dense bushes and shrubs of the extended thicket, he saw the grasslands sprawling out in every direction. The grass was a very faded green color, the way it got during winter like on Earth. Scanning the landscape with his binoculars. Still no sign of the Covenant.

The flatlands were quiet, entirely detached from the battle that had just raged in orbit. All had gone according to plan, in a shocking counter to most military plans. He would have paid good money to see that fight. Hopefully, it was recorded. Lowering his binoculars, he tucked them back into a pouch on his belt. Beside him, Steele was crouching in a bush, sniper rifle raised.

"Is this what your home looks like?" he asked.

"Not far from it, actually," Frost said.

"Another goddamned green planet," the sniper muttered.

"Keep an eye out."

He turned around and headed towards the Pelican. Several Raiders were helping Pajari and Isha cover it with branches and leaves. While the Covenant had no planetside air support, they weren't taking any chances. Emery and Phan were also casting some camouflage netting over the Warthog. The vehicle stood just to the rear of the Pelican in the little clearing the recon team had made for them. Three other Raiders had made a small supply dumb, cracking open a few crates filled with the necessary supplies. Everyone else was spaced in a circle around the LZ, hidden in the brush, providing overwatch.

Frost stepped away from the woodline, took off his rucksack, and procured a canteen. He went over to Sánchez and Langley, who were on his left. The former had been shaky on the comms and even now he was breathing audibly. "Psst." Sánchez turned and Frost handed the canteen to him. "Here."

Sánchez was about to take a sip when the scent of the contents caught his nose. "Boss, this is booze."

"Take a swig of the whiskey to calm yourself." Sánchez glanced reluctantly down at it. "It's an order, Airman." The radio operator finally took a swig and stifled a cough. "You too, Nora."

"Frost, I-"

"Drink." Langley took the canteen and took a quick swig, then handed it over to Frost. She was beginning to hold her liquor well. Frost went down the line and handed it over to Steele.

"Odorous material, huh?" he joked, "with their hypersensitive sense of smell you knobheads think the Covenant have, they'll smell the whiskey on our breath."

"Drink, man." Frost said as he knelt. Steele took a quick gulp before walking over to Carris, who was but a few feet away. In her armor, she was like a statue, nearly disappearing into the green stillness of their environment.

"Helmet off, love," Steele said quietly. Carris removed her helmet with one hand and Steele reached up, tipped the canteen to her lips, and let her drink a little. She gave him a surprised look, not expecting whiskey.

"Pass it down the line. Everyone gets a drink. When we take Alpha Base, everyone gets another," Frost ordered.

Once everyone had a sip of whiskey and the canteen was returned to him, he tucked it back into his rucksack and called everyone in. They assembled in a semicircle in front of him, made up of two rows, the first crouching, the second standing. "Alright Raiders, it doesn't seem like the Covenant are going to stir. The Pirates have left, and we're alone out here, save for _River Styx._ But I don't see ONI as much support out here. Do you, Raiders?"

"No, Gunny!" came the reply in a chorus of hushed voices. Frost grinned.

"We're going to move out early. Emery, Phan, you're pulling security here. Have the Warthog hitched and prepared to drop by dawn."

"Aye, Gunny," Emery answered.

"Mr. Tane?"

"Yes, Gunny?" the scientist asked timidly, looking goofy in his armor.

"Stay in the Pelican, do whatever these fine folks tell you," Frost motioned towards Jasper, Pajari, and Isha. "Everybody's collected the extra gear they need from the crates. For now, put them back into the Pelican. By the time you arrive we'll need that ammunition ricky-tick, understood?"

"Aye, Gunny."

"When I give the word, you fly straight for the base." Frost looked at all the rest. "Stick to the plan, remember your objectives, be aware of your teammates, check your fire, stay on the comms, and above all be aggressive." Frost thought he ought to say something inspiring, something uplifting. After thinking for a moment, he smiled, "Over a decade ago, we lost Harvest to the Covenant. It took five agonizing years for Admiral Cole to take that planet back, and when he succeeded, it was a ruin with no value, that was abandoned. Tomorrow, we are going to show humanity and the Covenant that all it takes is a scientist, a war correspondent, three Pelican jockeys, and twenty-five pissed off Marine Raiders and their rifles to take a planet back. What's more, we are going to hold this planet, no matter what. We thirty will defend against whatever will come our way and succeed."

Frost stood up, grinning. "So, are you ready to outdo that swabbie darling of the gutter press?"

"Aye aye, Gunny!" came the response.

"Let's make'em holler. Tactical column, Christianson you're on point, Nebiyev bring up the rear, Moser and Mori on the flanks. Move out."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **I was thinking of pushing it further but I decided to cut it here and use the next few paragraphs I wrote as the beginning to Chapter 42. Anyways, just to make you all aware (all you sexy people who read the author's note, that is) I head back for my last semester at college next Monday. I have five classes next semester, with light days on Monday's and Friday's, and no classes on Wednesday. Tuesdays and Thursdays are my heavy days, with three classes, so expect chapters to come out on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, or the weekend. I've taken several easy easy classes to finish off the year so I won't have as much work to do. Just please keep in mind some of my classes are more labor intensive so I'll have a lot on my plate nonetheless. I'll still keep writing but I will need time to rest, recharge, and relax. If anything comes up related to these matters, I'll have more info by Saturday or Sunday.**

 **Okay, enough of that, let's get to comment responses!**

 **Alpha HighBreed: Looks like this cold war...*puts on sunglasses*...just got hot. And like all steamships, this one takes a white to get moving and it doesn't alway...erm...make it to port. Oh god that's a tasteless joke. One day!**

 **I've actually been holding the idea of** _ **River Styx**_ **under my hat for a while; I knew sooner or later they'd need a stealth ship for insertion or scouting for fleets and infrastructure to raid. Not to mention that ONI needs to rear its ugly head from time to time. I wish I could write up a slogan for ONI. ONI: We are NOT Your Friends. And yeah, lots of development here; I love chapters like this because I get to create a history within the Halo lore. Mythos, lore, history, and world/universe building are probably my favorite things when it comes to writing, which is why this original stuff I'm working on is so fun for me. As for Viv and Frosty T. Blowman, you may be surprised by an encounter they'll have very soon.**

 **Chase8999: Free drinks? There's drinks here?! Why didn't anyone tell me, I'm the friggin' author for cryin' out loud! And yeah, I don't think we can ever apply the word 'cordial' to Frost and Vivian's relationship...if we can even call it a relationship. Might as well put them in a fighting ring and let them sort themselves out, but I think we'd all know who'd when that fight. All the same, thanks for commenting my friend! Much appreciated!**

 **MightBeGone: Man, I can sympathize. College is tough right now and I don't look forward to going back. I'm glad it's almost over. Look, I know what Steele said in this chapter but don't lose hope yet. I've got a couple of...relatively nice things for the next chapter. Wait and see! Oh and I have this little hope in my heart that somebody from 343 Industries will stumble upon my story, read it, and get blown away, which will lead to them contacting me, then an interview, and maybe I can write the story for the next Halo game! Ah, that would be nice. But we can only dream, can't we? Thanks for commenting my man, always good to seeya.**

 **Alright, thanks for commenting folks, I really appreciate you taking the time to read and your patience. And I just want to say thank you to every single one of you who has also favorited the story and followed it, to those who recently have and those who have been from the very beginning. Thank you, guys and gals, thank you. Next chapter coming soon and I think, considering what I have planned, if I sit down and pummel through it I should have it up soon. Stay tuned, my friends.**


	42. Chapter 42: The Raid, Part Two

Chapter 42: The Raid, Part Two

* * *

Steele was walking slightly behind Frost. They were up in front, with Christianson just a few meters ahead of them. Winds coming down from the north made their scarves billow to the side. It was chillier than before and the sky was cloudy. Instead of thunder and lightning like on the previous planet, snowflakes began to drift lazily down into the grass. The sniper glared upwards and pulled his scarf all the way up over his nose.

"Fuckin' Meterology for you," he mumbled to Frost.

"It's going to be light, it won't stick all that much," his friend assured him as he looked at his GPS module.

"How can you tell?"

"A man who spends his life at sea learns how to read water. Currents and such like," Frost said, smiling over his shoulder, "a man who spends his life in place where you get either rain or snow for most of the year, you can just tell."

Steele quickened his pace slightly and walked beside Frost. He was smiling and the cold didn't seem to bother him. Fitting, that a man bore a name of the cold enjoyed it so much. While having never visited Halifax, Frost had spent the past nine years regaling him with tales of his homeland. Snow, flowers, the city lights at night. Having heard the same stories over and over again, Steele couldn't help but find it as a sort of home for himself. In London, his world had been a rundown street-level flat and a few streets of crumbling slums. Halifax seemed more delightful by default. One day he'd visit, whenever the UNSC would grant the 89th the leave it deserved.

Home, though, was a word that didn't sit right with Steele. For everyone else in the galaxy, home was a place. A den of warm, fuzzy memories where everybody smiled and laughed and frolicked through endless fields of daises. Most of the men in the 89th hadn't spent enough time at home to see things go bad. For him, home consisted of people. Seeing as how the people of his blood and name were nothing but the most rotten wastes of space the universe had to offer, they were just a rundown motel he had stayed with for about fourteen years. Out here, on the heath, exposed to the biting wind, with mates on all sides, _this_ was home.

Releasing a contented sigh, he reached out and placed a hand on Frost's shoulder. Frost looked over at him and smiled. The two walked like that for some time, silent, smiling, happy. Eventually Frost held out his fist and Steele bumped his own against his. It was good to see the new head of the Marine Raiders so glad. With the grasslands and distant forest, the cool temperature, and the gray sky, falling snow, he was being transported all the way back to Earth. What kind of feeling came to a man who was not only bound to people but to land. Maybe it was a part of some self-actualization bullshit-prophecy where a man who kneel, take the earth into his hands, and truly feel connected to it. Frost's past-tendency to rub mud or dirt onto his cheeks instead of genuine war paint. Attaching to the battlefield, he had used to say. Most others in the MEU had thought he was just another warrior-poet, who took their identities way too seriously. Until Steele had a little chat with them, that is. Afterwards, they changed their tune.

Steele fell behind Frost a little, letting him enjoy the memories that were flooding back. He switched to the TEAMCOM, which all of Second Squad were connected to.

"Everybody holding up okay?"

The replies he received were all in the affirmative. He wasn't sure how he'd get used to that. Under his command-Second Squad-was Nora Langley and Fred Knight, good friends. Of course, there was Mori, Boulos, Nikodim and Konstantin. Manageable, but as Frost's right hand, he'd have to take over if his friend was hit. Hopefully, that wouldn't happen. Hell, he'd throw himself in front of any bolt or spike or take a plasma grenade to his chest if came for Frost. If he bought it, Steele knew he'd have to be the one to march up to Jasmine, see those tears in her eyes, and explain what happened. Facing her would be worse than fighting a Brute War Chieftain. Something about Jasmine, little, kind Jasmine, told him that he didn't want to see her riled in any way.

Time passed. Wind whistled. The air grew colder. They came to the first thicket, rested for an hour, but it didn't help much when they set off again. Steele had never been one for the cold. London had been too rainy for him. Too dreary. It dampened his spirits. Warmth was a soldier's best friend. Often, warmth came in the form of a bent cigarette. Something which he did not have and sorely craved. Long treks were not kind to his lungs and eventually Steele had to stop, plant the butt of his sniper rifle into the dirt, bend over and breathe. Some of his teammates slowed to check on him but he waved them on. Heavy steps then stomped up beside him and a gauntleted hand clamped onto his shoulder.

"Are you alright there, Sergeant?" Carris asked, her face hidden but her tone musing.

"Maybe I ought to quit fuckin' smoking," he wheezed, feeling mighty embarrassed that years of conditioning and physical labor had not paid off. He told himself he was built to run fast, not far. "I'll manage, I just need a breather here, love."

"We need to move."

"I'll be fine, don't worry love."

He looked up at her and offered a smile. Carris hefted her modified assault rifle onto the back of her armor, walked behind him, then put her hands under Steele's arms. He around and then craned his neck so he could look over his shoulder. "Uh, love, what're you doing?" Without speaking, she lifted him up as she bent over slightly, and placed him on her shoulders, a leg on either side of her head. Once he was firmly seated, she reached up and took his sniper rifle from his hands.

"Comfortable?" she asked.

"Well, love, I mean, you don't have to, it's quite alright," Steele said, feeling foolish and red in the face.

Carris said nothing and began walking again. Snickering broke out among the other Raiders. Steele felt awkward and exposed, but ultimately rested his arms on top of her helmet. Frost turned around and laughed.

"If we weren't all the way out here I'd say you'd be at risk for getting your head shot off."

"Fuck off," Steele grumbled.

"Man I wish I had rice," Borko tittered, "Carris hold him bridal style, I crush up some crackers and toss'em at you."

"You ought to go into combat like that," Nora Langley added, "the Covenant will just stand there gawking like idiots."

"New tactical posture," Parker chimed in, "Daddy Can You Put Me On Your Shoulders, I Can't See!"

"That's a hell of an abbreviation," Knight remarked, "Action DCYPMOYSICS."

"Hell, that's not even a goddamned word!"

"Hey Niko, won't you carry me like that?"

"My brother, I'd rather carry the machine gun."

"Aw hell love," Steele mumbled.

"Don't listen to them," Carris said, her voice reassuring and soothing, "just rest. You don't weigh much."

Steele sat on her shoulders, arms on top of her helmet, chin resting on his forearms. Eventually, the jokes and comments subsided and the only sounds to be heard were feet crunching in stiff grass, heavy breathing, and the moaning of the wind. Oddly, he didn't feel all that cold. Movement, the drill instructors from years ago had taught the Marines of the 89th, was one of the best ways to fight the cold. Immobile on a towering, heavily armored operative's shoulder, he felt the same warmth that an man sitting beside a toasty hearth would feel. A smile crept onto his face. Taking off his helmet, he bent far over her head so that he could look at her visor.

"What do I owe ya for this ride, love?"

"Maybe your ration of whiskey when this is all over."

Steele laughed.

"Gladly love, gladly." He leaned back and sighed happily. "Hey lads, I can see my house from here!" Everyone chuckled, even Carris.

"I bet she has the strength to throw you all the way back to Earth, Lou," Bishop said.

"Maybe I should give it a shot," Carris teased.

The march continued. Like Frost had said, the light snow wasn't accumulating all that much. Snowflakes danced and spiraled in the growing winds. It was going to get dark in a few hours. Resting again at the next thicket, the Marine Raiders set off for the final stepping stone before reconnoitering Alpha Base. Already, Steele could see it looming in the distance. It had an ominous, depressing look about it. Embedded into the corner of Ridge L was the CP, a large, semi-cylindrical building with many rows of broken windows. Adjacent to it were the towers, lonely in the falling snow. Instead of the usual dark gray concrete, their material had a more bleached color to them. Like bones that had been laid out in the sun for many years: stark white. A dead color. No Banshees or Phantoms lurked overheard. Even looking through his binoculars, he saw little activity. Nobody was coming out to search the land for potential raiding parties. Captain Waters' assault really had pulled the wool over their eyes. Complacency would be the Covenant's undoing, Steele thought. Not the UNSC's military might or the dedication of the civilian populace. It was their ability to use their overconfidence against them and exploit it at every turn. Pyrrhic victories did not win wars. Adaptability did.

Back on his feet, he stayed close to Carris. She had offered to give him another ride but he had received his second wind. Being carried by the strongest woman alive also had a positive effect on him. He glanced up at her armored frame. Her armor didn't seem to slow her at all. How she managed to move in it was beyond him. Rumors drifted back from the crumbling frontlines of the Outer Colonies and the burning parts of the Inner Colonies of mysterious soldiers in olive drab armor, who looked and moved more like machines than men. When he had first set eyes on her, she fit that description. Now there was more grace to her movement. Less mechanical, more fluid, like the Marines. He was glad to see that change.

###

When they finally reached the final thicket, less than a kilometer away, the sun was beginning to set. Everyone moved in at a half crouch and dropped their rucksacks. Foxholes were dug and camouflage by branches and leaves. Even though the ground was cold, it was easy to dig. Virgin ground was always easy to dig, even in wintery conditions, the engineers had taught them. All of the Raiders stayed low, with their weapons ready, and eyes locked on Alpha Base, looming over them just a short distance away. Between the base and the thicket was a gradual slope and rise, most likely an old, dried up creek bed. It created an embankment at the edge of the base's perimeter. Steele and Carris found themselves in the same foxhole, located between two dense lines of shrubbery. Looking through his scope, he was on the same level as the courtyard. Many piles of concrete rubble littered the grounds caused by the explosives the UNSC had set off when they abandoned it. Covenant troops milled around, seemingly without much direction. Elites came by every so often, barking at Grunts and Jackals, moving them about, carrying equipment or ordering them into the tunnel. Increasing the zoome, he could see the entrance. It looked like a normal mine shaft, but even with the night vision capabilities of his scope, he couldn't see far into it. On either side of the entrance was an Elite armed with an energy sword.

Frost crawled up to their hole.

"What do you see?"

"I'll tell you what I don't see," Steele whispered, "Brutes. Where the hell are the Brutes?"

"Hold on. Sánchez," Frost hissed, "get your ass over here." Quickly and quietly, the radio operator came over.

"Yes, Gunny?"

"Contact _River Styx_ and have them send a drone over the compound."

" _River Styx_ , come in, this is Alpha One Romeo, over."

"Receiving you Alpha One Romeo, send it, over."

"Request drone flyby over Alpha Base, break." He turned to Frost. "Direction?"

"South to north."

"South to north, over."

"Solid copy, Alpha One Romeo. Deploying drone. Hold tight for five mikes, out."

"Over and out."

Frost and Sánchez crouched behind the line of shrubs to the right of Steele's foxhole. Despite the absence of any Brutes, everything else that the recon team had noted was present. The towers, the emplacements, the few vehicles, the infantry numbers. For once, intel was on the ball. Everything was going as planned, which made Steele uneasy. Minutes ticked by. Wind whistled through the trees, casting tiny clouds of snow from branches and bushes. Being outside during a snowfall was an odd thing, Steele thought. Save for the wind, all was quiet. Yet snow had a certain hushed noise to it, as if one were listening to the inside of a shell. Just a constant, peculiar, nearly silent sound. It was as calming as it was unsettling.

"Alpha One-One, this is _River Styx,_ over."

Frost took the phone from Sánchez.

"Alpha One Actual speaking, we are receiving, send it, over."

"Confirmation: no visual on Brutes in the compound, over."

"Fuck," Frost swore under his breath. With the Brutes absent, there was a new variable to the battlespace. Steele thought for a moment.

"Hey, tell them to do a flyby over Bravo. Maybe they detached the Brutes there."

Frost nodded.

" _River Styx_ , is your drone still in atmosphere? Over."

"Alpha One Actual, affirmative, over."

"Maintain south to north trajectory over Bravo, over."

"Affirmative, Alpha One Actual, wait one." Another minute or so passed. "Activity at Bravo. A large body of Brutes are apparently going over the wreckage from the bombing run, over."

"Probably going to round up survivors and bring them back," Frost said gravely, "Alright, thanks _River Styx,_ you can pull the drone out. Alpha One Actual out." Frost gave the handset back to Sánchez and turned to Steele. "We need to get eyes on the warehouses, we can't see them from this angle. Tower B is blocking it." Frost dropped off the majority of his gear and flicked the safety off on his assault rifle, which he had augmented with an ACOG scope. "I'm gonna have a look. Steele, switch out your sniper for Mori's DMR. You're with me."

"Roger," Steele dumped his gear. Mori arrived from another hole and took his rifle. Steele took a bandolier of DMR magazines, turned the safety off. Frost crawled through the shrubs out in front of the foxhole, then changed position into a crouch. After briefly scanning the environment ahead of them, he looked at Steele.

"Let's move," he said, and darted off in a half-crouch. Steele got up to follow him when Carris grabbed his arm.

"I'll go," she said. "You stay."

"Don't worry love, I'll be back in a minute," Steele assured her, giving her a gentle pat on the side of the helmet, then ran after Frost.

Quickly catching up, the two ran to the edge of perimeter of the base. The Covenant hadn't posted any guards at the perimeter, instead concentrating their defenses near the CP and the tunnel entrance. They had many lights activated, illuminating the courtyard in a white-purple haze. It was practically daylight past the towers. However, the perimeter was shrouded in shadows. Perfect cover for Steele and Frost.

After bounding across the open ground, they reached a pile of rubble at the foot of Tower B. Steele raised his rifle and looked up at Tower A. In the guard tower, he could see the barrels of two beam rifles pointing upwards, probably left leaning against the wall. The occupants were nowhere to be seen; probably sitting and gabbing, if Jackals liked to chit-chat that is, or catching a few extra winks before their commanders noticed.

Steele lowered his rifle. "Clear on our left." Frost had his back pressed against Steele's, keeping his own rifle raised. Down the perimeter, past the rubble at the foot of Tower B, it was darkness as well.

"Clear right," Frost whispered.

Crouching down, they creeped to the edge of the rubble and tried looking around it. "Still no view of the warehouses. If we try to peek out anymore they may spot us."

What they did have was a good view of the CP. In the bashed out windows, they could see the barrels of several Type-52's turrets.

"See those," Steele said pointing with his index and middle finger, "two one the second story at seven o'clock and eleven o'clock. Two more, third story, same positions."

"Can you see anymore?"

The building itself had three more stories, and the top seemed incomplete, with exposed metal rods and steel beams.

"Negative. We'll have a good angle on them from Tower A, seeing as how its directly adjacent to it," Steele said, motioning with his left hand.

"Alright. We're going to have to loop around B to get eyes on the warehouses. I'll take point. Keep an interval."

"Copy."

Frost began moving down the perimeter, a hodgepodge of hescos bastions, jersey barriers, sandbags, and barbed wire. Much of the barbed wire was cut or tangled, and the sandbags had fallen into piles rather than rigidly stacked walls. Steele gave him about ten feet of distance before following him. Every twenty seconds or so, Steele would make a one-hundred eighty cartoon turn to check their rear. He glanced at the woodline where the others were dug in. They were invisible in the darkness.

Just ahead, he saw Frost come up to a sandbag bunker which was just past Tower B and still relatively intact. He raised his arm and made a fist, indicating for Steele to stop. He than swept his arm out and made his hand flat, and they both crouched down. Frost looked over his shoulder and made a signal with his hands that he was going to check the bunker. He crept up to it, looked in briefly, then made an all-clear signal before slipping in through a wide firing port. Steele approach, checked their rear one last time, and went in after him. It was cramped and the pair could rise any more than a low crouch.

"Hey, we lost visual," said Nebiyev over the SQUADCOM, "we can't cover you if we can't see you, over."

"We've moved into an old sandbag tunnel. The entrance is half collapsed and there's a lot of cover. We're going to go up and get eyes on the warehouses to monitor the Covenant's movement, then fall back to your position, over."

"Just making you aware, Actual, out."

They began to crawl through a tunnel of wreckage made up of barriers, destroyed vehicles, and other junk. Whatever the Covenant destroyed they had seemingly dumped in one spot. Steele trailed Frost, the latter's boots almost in his face. Suddenly, Frost stopped.

"Nate?"

"Opening. Hold here." Frost shimmed up, his booted feet disappearing. A minute ticked by, then another, and another. Steele kept looking over his shoulder and swore under his breath. He heard a sound at the apparent opening, and raised his rifle. Frost's face appeared and he made a quick signal for Steele to come up before disappearing again. So the marksman followed and came out into a flat spot with no wreckage overhang. Ahead was another pile of sandbags and his friend had wedged himself in between two smaller piles. Steele came up beside him and looked through his rifle scope. Now they could see the two warehouses. Over the SQUADCOM, Frost said, "Eyes on the warehouses. We're going to hold for ten mikes and if you don't here for us, send someone to our position, over."

"Solid copy."

The pair settled in with their weapons forward, watching the Covenant stream in and out from the side doors.

"Looks like they haven't figured out how to open figure the cargo doors," Steele murmured, "that's good. We'll be able to bottle them up."

"Yeah." Frost looked over his shoulder. "I'm going to task Third Squad with bringing some supplies here. Grenades and ammunition where we can quickly get to it, just in case we need it."

"Good idea."

The pair observed the warehouses through their scopes. It seemed as though they had caught the Covenant garrison in some kind of shift change. A column of Grunts came trudging from the tunnel, weaved back to the warehouses, while a column coming from the warehouses, flowed past them. Elites positioned themselves along the line, watching the Grunts shuffle by. To Steele, it was almost as if they were prisoners. No weapons or grenades were visible on the Grunts, and the Elites seemed uptight. "What the hell do you think they're doing in there?" Steele whispered.

"Beats me, but that confirms our target is located somewhere in the mine," Frost responded. He checked his watch. "Come on, let's beat feet back to the woodline."

"I'll go first," Steele said and slithered back to the makeshift tunnel, and went down. He could barely hear Frost behind him. The knife fighter had always been one for moving stealthily. As they got back into the bunker, Steele went back to the firing port and peered out. "Clear left," he whispered, then looked right. Something was coming. "Contact right," he hissed.

"Do not engage," Frost said and motioned for him to come back towards him. They got into a darker section of the sagging sandbag bunker. Steele couldn't be sure what kind of alien it was. Certainly, it was no human; anyone from the squad would have contacted them on the comms first. How could they have missed it? The two Marines exchanged a glance. Frost quietly went on the SQUADCOM. "We have an unidentified hostile approaching our position. Does anyone have eyes on it?"

"Interrogative. Identify your position."

"Sandbag bunker, right flank of Tower B."

"We have a profile. Tall, somewhat bulky. Most likely an Elite."

"Fuck," Frost said through gritted teeth. "Alright, nobody engage unless absolutely necessary. We have to maintain the element of surprise."

Steele leaned over.

"Hey, let's just take the knife to that fucker."

"If we kill it, the rest of them will wonder where one of their commander went. We have to let him pass."

"What if he decided to poke his head in?"

"Then I suppose we're going to have a fight," Frost said, holding his assault rifle in one hand and drawing his blade with the other.

"Shit," Steele said under his breath, getting his DMR ready. They could hear the stomping feet of the Elite. It was taking its sweet time. Despite the cold, Steele could feel sweat coming down his forehead. The steps grew louder, crunching in the stiffened grass growing just over the concrete edge of the base. A dark form passed by the firing port, hulking, heavy. Just as it was out of sight, it stopped briefly. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._ The Elite seemed to speak, then paused, and started again, then made an aggravated sound, and continued on. Steele could only guess the monster had stopped to talk on the comms with someone else. Two minutes passed by the sound of stomping feet had moved on entirely.

"You're clear," came Carris' voice, reassuring to Steele's ear.

"We're oscar-mike," Frost grunted and went up to the firing port. Cautiously, he stuck his head out, looked left, looked right, all with his weapon ready, then came out. He turned around and waved Steele out. Steele did so and took point, moving back the way they had come. Once they reached the rubble pile, Steele checked the occupants of Tower A once more. Still out of sight. No hostiles in the courtyard were facing out. "Stay low, move fast. I'll go first."

Staying at a half-crouch, Frost scurried back for the thicket where the others were waiting. Steele gave him a few yards distance before following. His heart pounded in his chest. This part he hated. Turning one's back to the enemy was to avoided as much as possible. Was a Jackal lining up its sights on him right now? Maybe a plucky little Grunt thought it was his time to shine, and was fumbling with a fuel rod cannon. Or perhaps it was an Elite, quietly running after him with an energy sword drawn. By the time he reached the woodline, Steele was bounding. He spotted his foxhole. Carris reached out, grabbed him by his vest, and yanked him into the hole. The act nearly knocked the wind out of him. Covering his mouth with his arm and laying on his back against the side of the foxhole, he panted. Crouched over him was her armored frame, and she had a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you alright?"

Steele nodded. He looked to the rear of the hole. Frost was on his belly, facing them; beside him was Nebiyev.

"How the fuck did you miss an Elite?" Frost hissed. "Didn't you seem him leave the courtyard? Where else would he have fucking come from?"

"I had everyone facing front, Gunny. No one spotted him until he was in the shadows heading to your position."

"The Elite was likely using active camouflage," Carris said, cutting into the debate. "Be on your toes; it can catch light, and the air in front of you may seem distorted or shimmering."

"Damn," Frost sighed and opened the SQUADCOM, "alright, listen up. We have at least one Elite utilizing camouflage. We're going to sit tight and start seizing the towers at oh-four-thirty hours. First watch will consist of myself, Grant, Carris, Mori, Konstantin, Nikodim, and Borko. Stay frosty."

"Ha, he said stay frosty!" Borko giggled over the comms.

"Shut the fuck up, Borko," Frost growled before he went over to his foxhole with Grant.

###

Steele couldn't sleep. The first watch had ended, his own shift came and went, and now Carris was back on. He was too cold, even with his scarf coiled around his entire face and a blanket. Sitting up a little and pulling the scarf down, he looked up at the sky. Still cloudy, no stars to be seen. At least the moon made the clouds glow a ghostly white rather than a dark gray. In a way, it was depressing. Gazing at the base, he could still see all the lights. Sighing, he looked at Carris, who was a solid as a statue, holding his sniper rifle.

"Hey love," he whispered, groggy. "Why don't I take over and you get some sleep?"

Carris shook her head.

"Can't you sleep?" she asked, her voice so quiet it sounded fragile.

"Nah, I'm too cold. Come on now, sit back and sleep. I don't mind." He sat up more and reached over to take the rifle. But Carris, turning slightly, put her hand on his chestplate. Steele glanced down at her hand. Gently, she pushed him back until he was seated against the side of the foxhole. She took the scarf from from around her neck, rolled it up, and put it behind his head. Then, she reached into the rucksack she had brought and pulled out another blanket. With one hand she pulled Steele's blanket back over him, then draped her's over it. Finally, she reached for his scarf and made it snug.

Steele blinked, somewhat taken aback. Then he grinned very wide and settled in. "Been a long time since anyone's ever tucked me in, love."

"Why are your cheeks red?" Carris asked.

"Just the cold," Steele lied, still smiling. "Why don't you put the rifle down and sit with me love?"

"It's my watch."

"Nothing's going to happen. I guarantee it."

After a few moments of stillness, she set the rifle down and came over to his side of the hole. Steele attempted to budge over as much as he could, considering how bulky her armor was. She sat down beside, shoulder to shoulder. Her shoulder to his head was more accurate. Steele didn't mind. "I take it you don't get cold in that armor."

"The suit regulates everything. I can't feel the cold."

"Lucky."

"In a way." Carris shrugged, resting her hands on her hips. "I used to not care so much. But after meeting you and hearing everybody talk about their home, I'm starting to think I'm missing out on something."

"Weather?" Steele made a dismissive sound. "Wind, rain, snow, heat, dust. Seen it all love, can't say you're missing much."

Carris took off her helmet. Her black hair was messy and matted, but all it took was one swipe of her hand to fix. Even in the darkness, Steele could see her porcelain white skin and vivid blue eyes. All those soft features. She caught his eye and smiled.

The two sat in pleasant silence for some time. Eventually, they heard humming from Frost's foxhole.

"Mhmm...California, here I come...mhmm..." It was Grant. Steele closed his eyes and listened. "Hey Nate, think you can sing me the song again?"

"Haven't you memorized it by now?" Frost whispered.

"Yeah but you're the only one who can sing around here besides the Russians."

"Tell you what. I'll sing it once we take this base. But you have to tell me that story again, about when your family moved to the States."

"It's a short story, Nate."

"I like it."

"Well, they couldn't afford to take a plan, so great-great grandparents gathered their family and bought tickets to travel to the West Coast by ship. They picked a bad time of year to do it with all the storms. The entire journey they had huge waves, gale force winds, and just one bad storm after another. When they finally reached California, it was like a veil had been pulled back. It was bright, warm, and sunny, and the first thing they did after they moved in with family already there was go to the beach. And the weird thing was, everyone was wearing white. White shoes, white hats, white shirts, white pants, white dresses. Everything was white."

Frost chuckled, sounding contented. Grant then said, "When I get back home, back to Carmel-by-the-Sea, I'm going to stand on that beach and wear a white hat, white shoes, and a white suit with a white tie. Then I'll know I'm truly home."

"Maybe we'll all stand on the beach wearing white, huh?"

"I hope so."

Steele smiled. While he would never say it out loud, he loved that story almost as much as Frost did. He glanced up at Carris, who was staring up at the sky. She had a forlorn look about her.

"Hey," he said quietly, knocking his fist against her armored bicep. She looked his way. "If you were in my squad, I'd make you my second." Effectively, Steele was Frost's second, but on the squad level, Bishop was his right hand. Nebiyev had chosen Borko as his squad-level second, seeing as how Borko was the only other one present with the rank of sergeant. Steele had decided on Knight.

Carris looked at him, a bit bashful.

"I've never been anyone's second, nor have I ever had one. I wouldn't know what to do."

"I think you would," Steele said, readjusting under the blankets. "How come you pulled so many solo ops when you had such a large unit?"

"My unit wasn't that large. Well, it was, and then it wasn't." She sounded sad.

"You don't have to talk about it, love."

"I want to. During training, we were all close. We had to be, otherwise we couldn't function as a unit, let alone as individual soldiers. But there were an...incident...and afterwards, I couldn't really look anyone in the eye anymore. After a lot of my friends died, I put in for solo operations. Luckily, my combat and operational scores were high enough, so I was attached to the ONI Prowler Corps for clandestine operations." She smiled then. "And I met you."

Steele chuckled.

"Think you can ever go back to what you were?"

"Well of course I-" Carris blinked, then blushed, her eyes averting from his, "-actually, I don't think I could." When her blush faded she looked back at him. "It's good to work with a team again."

"I bet," Steele said sleepily. "Hey, what was the incident? Can I ask?"

Carris' face grew dark. Not in an angry way, in a depressed way. Her eyes shifted nervously and she looked away. Steel, who was getting close to nodding off, became more alert and sat up. "Hey, hey, what's wrong love? You can talk to me."

"I've never told anyone this. We never talked about it even in the unit." She nibbled her bottom lip for a moment. "I'm worried you'll think differently of me."

"What? No way love. Come on, you can tell me...Carris." Steele offered a sympathetic smile. She stared at him for some time and finally took a breath.

"When we were still in training, I killed one of the instructors by accident." Steele's blood ran cold. He couldn't imagine Carris, sweet Carris, doing such a thing. She pulled her knees close, as close as her armor would allow. "I reversed a pin and threw him. It broke his back. He died instantly. No one pressed any charges. Life just continued. After that, I had to get away from everyone. My friends didn't want me to go, but I went anyways."

She looked down at the ground. Steele said nothing. He wasn't quite sure if he could say anything. There didn't seem to be any words that could fix this. So he reached up and put a hand on the back of her head, running his thumb back and forth the top of her neck. Her pale face turned red.

"I don't think differently of you, Carris," he said gently, "I don't think I could."

"Really?" she asked, her voice possessing that fragile, doll-like tone.

"Sure, love," he said, grinning. "You're my friend."

"And you are mine," she said, sounding sweet. For a moment-a very _long_ moment-they gazed at one another. After however much time passed, she laughed-giggled, one might say. "Your eyes are all droopy."

"I'm not tired."

"That's exactly what a tired person would say," she joked. Carris tugged the top blanket up over him a bit more, bringing it up to his chin. Then, she stretched her arm out, and readjusted his makeshift pillow so that it rested against her bicep. Steele, too tired to say anything, settled against her arm and released a contented sigh.

"Hey, C?" he mumbled sleepily.

"Yes, Lou?"

"Promise you'll always be in my foxhole."

"I promise."

* * *

Langley crouched in her foxhole looking at Alpha Base. It was a cold night and the snow was starting to subside. She didn't mind the weather so much. The trees on the planet were very tall and thick with branches heavily laden with leaves. Even the thickets were so dense that one could barely see the sky. It reminded her of when her family visited the Black Forest when she was younger. Among all the trees she had felt very small. As an adult, she felt tinier still.

To her right, Sánchez was under a blanket. Instead of draping it over his lower half, he had covered his torso instead. She was content with the scarf wrapped around her face. Glancing over, she was surprised to see some movement towards the bottom of the blanket. He was awake? What was he doing?"

"Sánchez?" she whispered.

"Yeah?" he whispered back.

"What're you uh...doing there...?"

"Writing a letter."

"Oh," was all Langley said.

"Yeah. Light discipline and all."

Some time passed.

"Read it."

"Dear Lucila," Sánchez began a moment later, "I miss you very much. Not a day goes that I don't think about you. When I get lonely out here in the vast reaches of space, or claustrophobic in the confines of our ship, my mind drifts back to happier times when we were together. Walking arm in arm down past all the silver shops. Sitting in the grass of the park your parents commissioned. Or when we used to pass notes with all those silly jokes we used to make. Remember how mad Mrs. Gebara would get at us?

Even memories that aren't so sweet are pleasant. When we sneaked into the old mine when our parents were away is one of them. Getting lost in that dark confines was frightening at the time, wasn't it? Now when I think about it makes me laugh. We weren't that far from the entrance. I cried like a toddler in there and you had to cuff me. You were always the strong one, weren't you? I'm out here clad in armor, toting high-powered weaponry, but you were always the bravest. I'm starting to think the only reason I ended up enlisting was to keep you from joining up yourself.

Sometimes this war feel likes that tunnel. Dark. Cold. Unknownable. Frightening. It made me feel helpless. Out here, I sometimes feel helpless. All of the Marines I'm with are vets and they put a soldier like me to shame. They're good guys, Lucila, no matter what you think. Hard men, but good men. I truly hope you'll give them a second chance and will meet them one day." He paused. "That's really all I've got so far."

"Lucila. That's a pretty name."

"Mm. Lucila Sánchez. That sounds nice, doesn't it?"

"Definitely."

Langley raised the scope of her battle rifle and checked the compound. She had spied some movement; it was just a few Jackals testing their shields.

"Say Nora," Sánchez said, sounding a little tentative, "Lucila doesn't have that many friends. Girl friends, I mean. Well, no guy friends either. Just not that many friends, kay? I was wondering if...um...when we get home you wouldn't mind being the maid of honor."

"Brides usually get to pick, last time I checked," Langley joked.

"Well I gotta pitch the idea to Lucila. I think she'll be for it. I've told her about you; she likes you."

Langley laughed a little.

"She'll change her tune once she meets me."

"Ah, if she asks you, will you accept? It'd mean a lot to me."

"Of course I will," Langley answered. "First we just gotta get home. And you know all of these jokers will be coming too, right? There's going to be one hell of a party."

"We'll see each other there, Nora. I've got your back."

"And I your's."

She looked over at him. He was still wearing the blanket over his head. Langley snickered. "You know this conversation would have a little more meaning if I wasn't talking to a guy way past trick-or-treating age. Worst ghost costume ever."

"Shut up."

Langley chuckled, resting the barrel of her rifle on the edge of the foxhole and resting her hand on the stock.

"War is like a cramped mine shaft," she murmured quietly to herself. It couldn't be farther from the truth. Here they were, under the night sky, with lands rolling in all direction. With friendlies to her left and right, enemies to her front, and the world behind her, Langley felt oddly calm. Peaceful. Somewhere in this awful, terrible war she had found something within herself that she hadn't found before. Back on Earth, she had been in a frenzy, fending off the intrusions and frustrations of countless siblings. With so many faces pushing and pulling her in numerous directions, she felt as though had no agency. Here, she did. Strange, considering she lived in the rigorous, strict nature of military society. But never before had she felt so liberated. So present. Like any human being, she missed the warmth of home and the family that inhabited it. But she couldn't think of anywhere else she'd rather be than in a frozen foxhole, waiting for a fight.

* * *

 _I'm Alone_ came out of slipspace. Days had passed but the tension from the battle had remained. Vivian sat in her command chair, drumming her fingers on the arms. When the uninhabited system finally appeared before her, she stood up. Straight ahead were two _Marathon_ -heavy cruisers; _Winter's Keep_ and _Countdown._ Elegant, sleek looking ships with beautiful titanium battleplate. One of the powerful classes of UNSC warships, and they were growing more vital than ever before, and not just because they were armed to the teeth. Of course, she wagered that the _I'm Alone_ , despite her aging class, could take both ships in a fight. Neither could boast an advanced weapons systems or the command and control capacity that her super heavy cruiser possessed.

"UNSC _Winter's Keep_ is hailing us, ma'am," Koroma said.

"Patch them through."

"UNSC _I'm Alone_ , this is _Winter's Keep_ , Captain Hasanoglu speaking," came a familiar, loud voice. "Let's get into two formations. That heavy cruiser will likely be in your slipspace wake and will be upon us within the hour. _Winter's Keep_ and _Countdown_ will position ourselves on their starboard side, move your ships to this position-" a waypoint appeared on the operations screen, "-so you can hit their port side."

Hasanoglu was a legend and Vivian, while focused on the task at hand, had to admit she was excited to work alongside his ship.

"I recommend all ships armed with two MAC's to a single volley to knock out the shield, then all ships fire a second volley."

"Follow it up with Archer missiles."

"You read my mind, Captain," Vivian said. Hasanoglu chuckled over the comms.

"Let's get this done, Waters."

The two groups moved into position. It took some time, but soon they were assembled. The two sections of ships had angled themselves so that in case a MAC round missed, it wouldn't endanger a friendly ship. Archer pods were armed, MAC's charged. Officers entertained the idea of laying another minefield, but much of the Moray's had already been used and Vivian didn't want to risk her Longswords at this point in the mission. All of the pilots were still relishing in their bombing run. With no anti-air defenses and no air support, the enemy base had been reduced to rubble. No structures remained standing, the vehicle depot was decimated, and their supply stores utterly ravaged. Any survivors were living on borrowed time. Even if they didn't assault Alpha Base when, or if, Frost and the Marine Raiders seized it, soon they would run out of the necessary supplies and die in the cold. Fitting for the higher echelon races of the Covenant, who were so proud and mighty. To die of exposure and hunger, rather than gloriously falling in battle, would make their deaths all the more painful. Not to mention it would make for a great show for any attending UNSC personnel.

With all of the weapons prepared and hot, Vivian, the crew of the _I'm Alone_ , and the other ships present in the system could only wait. Waiting was the bane of a military life. Occupation made the days, months, and years go faster. It was worse for the ground pounders, Vivian thought. Life on board a starship could become stale and tedious. Thank goodness the _I'm Alone_ was designed to be a five star hotel on top of one of the biggest, baddest, ships in the war effort, she thought.

Every was looking ahead, waiting for the enemy ship to appear. Minutes passed. She looked at the operational screen; her five ships on one edge of the system, and the two _Marathon's_ across from them. Seeing them alone out there made her uneasy. As far as UNSC ships went, they were better suited to be on their own than lower tonnage vessels. Still, seeing them isolated worried her.

The space in between them lit up, and out of the slipspace rupture came the heavy cruiser. Vivian stood up.

"All ships, fire!"

A golden blast erupted from the bow of each UNSC warship. The first volley slammed into the shields of the enemy ship. A white-blue shimmer ran all over the length of the Covenant vessel, then it flickered, and died. "Second round, fire!" Vivian ordered. But just as they fired, the Covenant opened a slipspace rupture and disappeared from view. All of the MAC rounds went flying off into the blackness of space. Vivian's eyes widened.

Not a moment later, the rupture reappeared on the other side of the system. Sliding out came the heavy cruiser. Its stern was facing them but it began

"Enemy ship activated an in-system slipspace jump!" Tsang shouted. Hasanoglu could manage his own ship as well as _Countdown._ She had to focus now.

"Form an inverted wedge!" It was a formation reserved usually for three ships, but she had a plan. " _Lion's Den_ , port side, abreast of _Determined Guardian._ Next tier, _Batavia_ , port side, abreast of _Best of the Best_ , _I'm Alone_ in reserve. In a matter of minutes, her ships soon resembled a V and were moving towards the enemy ship. "Half-speed, frontal assault. Charge MAC's, arm five Archer missile pods."

The heavy cruiser was almost facing them now. Vivian stood up, watching their ships move forward. "We wait until they fire plasma torpedoes. Front rank, fire first, and use emergency thrusters in your respective directions to avoid the torpedoes. Port flank to port, starboard flank to starboard. The torpedoes will lock onto the front rank; it's imperative that after you fire you wait until the last moment to use the thrusters. The torpedoes will lock onto the next rank of ships; once the front is clear, fire MACs and pull off at the last moment." _I'm Alone_ would then suffer the lock on, fire, and maneuver. "After we fire, we'll pull up and over the heavy cruiser, firing Archers as we go. _Lion's Den_ , _Batavia_ , take the port side and circle around the ships; _Determined Guardian_ and _Best of the Best_ , starboard. Move at full speed and utilize Archer missile pods."

Vivian look at the operations screen. _Winter's Keep_ and _Countdown_ were moving towards the enemy ship, fast. "Captain Hasanoglu, hold off your attack until I give the word." He would need to strike the killing blow.

"Captain Waters-"

"Trust me, hold off."

"Enemy ship has coming about," Sosa stated. "Preparing to fire."

"Keep moving. Close the distance." Vivian said, staring at the massive ship as it grew larger and larger. Red motes of light began to flare along its hull. The plasma turrets were about to fire. "All ships, prepare to fire."

On the operations screen, the MACs of all her ships were ready. Archer missile pods were armed. Vivian took a long breath. Two flashes of red later appeared on the hull. A pair of amber clouds began making their way towards their inverted wedge formation, one for each ship in the front rank.

Both plasma torpedoes barreled towards the two ships. _Lion's Den_ and _Determined Guardian_ fired their MACs. The rounds struck on the side of the Covenant vessel, causing damage to their weapons systems. Good hits; now the enemy ship couldn't utilize its other weapons. Yet the beast still drew nearer. Just as the torpedoes were about to strike, _Lion's Den_ peeled off to the left and _Determined Guardian_ to the right, using their powerful emergency thrusters. Switching targets, the plasma torpedoes locked onto the next two ships. _Batavia_ fired her two upgraded MACs; the rounds crashed into the hull of the enemy cruiser, slowing it considerably. Clouds of debris began drifting away. Another two rounds smashed into the enemy cruiser. And still the enemy ship continued forward. ORS-class cruisers were older Covenant ships but were some of the most powerful.

 _Batavia_ and _Best of the Best_ peeled off just before they were hit. Both plasma torpedoes locked onto the _I'm Alone._

"Incoming!" Tsang shouted. Alarms rang in the bridge.

"Ma'am!?" Bassot shouted.

"Fire!"

The _I'm Alone_ shuddered. Four rounds, two from each advanced MAC, struck the heavy cruiser, crippling the bow. Its speed now slowed even more.

"Sosa, full speed ahead, bring us up! " Vivian shouted. The _I'm Alone_ quickly changed direction upwards, surged forward, and then with the boost from the thruster, sprang up and over the enemy ship, just as the others circle around it. "All ships, fire Archer missiles!"

Swarms of rockets shot out from the silver UNSC ships and peppered the fracturing hull of the heavy cruiser. Tufts of flame and debris shot out from the hull. "Captain Hasanoglu, finish it off!"

Wordlessly, Vivian watched the feed from the cameras mounted on the bottom of the ship. _I'm Alone_ was passing overhead. _Winter's Keep_ and _Countdown_ fired their powerful MACs. The rounds struck forward, going straight through the neck of the ship, but failed to sever the bow.

"That thing's dead in the water," Hasanoglu boomed, "but it's still in the game. It's preparing to launch another volley of plasma torpedoes."

Vivian looked away, her face gripped by determination.

"Bassot, keep charging the MACs. Sosa, bring the _I'm Alone_ around to starboard." Sosa did so with skill and grace. In a matter of minutes, the super heavy cruiser made an elegant turn and was now heading back towards the Covenant heavy cruiser, maintaining its distance above it. "Dip the bow, Sosa. Reduce speed."

 _I'm Alone_ was now pointed down at the enemy ship. "Bassot, target amidships."

"Aye aye, Captain."

"It's preparing to fire again," Tsang warned.

"Ma'am, I suggest we break off this course," Decatur added, sounding calm.

"Bassot, give me the charge count," Vivian asked firmly.

"Ninety-five percent, both guns."

"Hold this course, Sosa," Vivian ordered.

"Ma'am..." Sosa looked over her shoulder.

"Hold."

"Ninety-seven percent, ma'am."

"Enemy is about to fire!"

"Madam-"

"Ninety-nine percent..."

The sides of the ship were a glowing, pulsating dark red. It was preparing to fire everything she had left.

"One hundred percent!" Bassot cried.

"Fire the MAC's now!" Vivian bellowed. Once more, the _I'm Alone_ shuddered. Two golden streaks, followed by two more, slammed right in the center of the ORS-heavy cruiser. All of the red motes of light suddenly disappeared. The final blow broke the ship's back. An explosion ripped right through the center, and the bow and stern separated. A massive debris field filled the growing gap between each section. Explosions rippled along the hulls and soon the remaining sections were breaking apart. One of the most foreboding, dangerous, eldest species in the Covenant Navy's arsenal was now a wreck, twirling and tumbling in space.

A collective gasp of relief was released by everyone on the bridge.

"Ship destroyed," Bassot breathed.

"Well done," Vivian said, wiping her own brow and taking a breath. She realized just then she hadn't been breathing properly for some time. How long, she couldn't say. "Good work, all of you." She was proud. Control of the situation had been briefly lost, but with quick thinking and excellent maneuvering, all of the ships had tipped the scales back in their favor, eliminated the enemy ship-all without incurring any damage.

Captain Hasanoglu came over the comms.

"That was a close one, Waters," he said, his booming tone lowered some, "A frontal assault on a capital ship. Not many Navy captains would take the risk. You and your ships were splendid."

"Thank you, sir," Vivian said, smiling.

"We'd be happy to attach to your battle group and accompany you back to Bartholomew X. You could use the extra guns, considering how much of your munitions you expended."

"As long as it won't jeopardize Great Bear's security I'll gladly accept."

"They can manage fine without us. We'll follow your lead. Hasanoglu, out."

High praise coming from a distinguished war hero and expert sailor. Vivian could see pride seeping onto the face every individual on the bridge, even if they weren't cheering like before.

"We don't have time to enjoy the view. We have troops to reunite with."

* * *

 _Dear Jasmine,_

 _I've never written a death letter before. Colonel Hayes has always discouraged it. Well, not Hayes. Major Royce, his second, says we shouldn't. He said thoughts of death end up coming true. It seems silly, I know, but listening to the old hands keep us younger soldiers alive._

 _The reason I never wrote one to my family-never wrote them at all-is because I thought I'd never see home again anyways. Part of being a soldier is acceptance. Long ago I accepted that death was a reality of my new life so that I could function as a proper soldier. I may be scared of many things out here, but I haven't been scared of dying._

 _Now I'm scared. I want to come back to you. To hold you, and lay beside you. Every time we've stopped to rest I've thought of you, and those lights. You bring a kind of peace I have never known before. Just know that if I fall, I've never met someone like you, that no one has ever done anything for me like you have, that I-"_

Frost tapped the pencil against the scrap of paper he had brought with him. He had been planning to use it to scrawl a message or something if a situation called for it. Instead, he decided to write her. Those words, those three words, he wasn't sure if it was right to say them yet. Certainly, he felt that. Without much doubt, he believed Jasmine felt the same way. Just go, they agreed. What feels natural, do it, say it. Flicking off his headlamp and taking the blanket off his head, he tucked the letter into one of his pouches and the pencil in his rucksack.

He looked at his watch. It was time. Frost reached over and shook Grant, who was dead asleep.

"Wake up, G, we've got to move. Start waking everybody up."

Grant sleepily agreed and dragged himself out of the hole. Getting out, Frost came to the foxhole Steele and Carris were stationed in. Both were slumbering; Carris had an arm out, bracing against the side of the hole, and Carris was nestled into the nook of her arm. Instead of waking them, he lay on his belly, looking at them with amusement. Eventually, listening the others rouse themselves in the brush, he reached down shook Carris. Shook was a kind word; he tried pushing on her armor but it didn't budge at all. Continuing was futile.

"Carris," he hissed, " _Carris._ "

Her eyes snapped open immediately. Frost smiled at her. "We're moving out. Get your helmet on, wake Louie, and collect your gear. Meet in the center of the thicket.

"Yes, Gunny," she said, turning red in the face. All Frost could was grin.

He went to the middle of the woodline where everyone else had gathered in a semicircle. Taking a knee in front of them, Frost took a breath and waited. Moments later, Carris and Steele joined them. Her helmet was on, hiding the embarrassed expression that must have been on her face. As for the sniper, he had tipped his helmet low and had pulled his scarf up tight to his nose. Nobody else seemed to notice but it took Frost a great deal to keep from chuckling.

"Alright. Dawn is coming soon. Second Squad, split up and start seizing the towers. Third Squad, take some of our extra ammunition and grenades and move to the sandbag bunker. First Squad, we're going to move up to the move up the embankment and stay in cover until the first cold gray light of morning comes. Nobody opens fire with an un-suppressed weapon unless absolutely necessary or when I give the command. Stick to your melee weapons and the SOCOM's kindly donated by De Vos. Questions?"

Silence. Frost nodded. "Alright, gear check. Drop everything that can't patch a wound or kill a Covvie. First Squad, we need to be able to move fast and hit hard. Attach grenades by the pin and not the handle."

"Ain't that dangerous?" Bishop asked.

"Don't drop it," Frost chuckled.

First Squad did as they were told. By attaching their frags by the pins, all they had to do was yank them from their chest plates and toss them, rather than take them off, pull the pin, and throw. He pointed at Knight. "Take out the Wraith first, then the Revenants, then the Ghosts. Once you're out of targets and you still have some rockets left, start taking out the gravity towers to support Third Squad. Parker, if you have an opportunity to hit a Ghost with the underslung forty mike-mike, take it."

"Roger."

"Steele, Mori," Frost said, pointing at both men. "Take out the turrets in the CP structure first, then target Elites; your weapons are powerful enough to crack through their shields. Target Ultra's and Major's first, then Minors. Who has battle rifles?" Langley, Boulous, Pachis, Moser, Nikodim, Borko, and Gabe held up their hands. "Focus your fire on Jackals and Skirmishers. Konstantin, target groups of Grunts, avoid single targets." He put a finger to his helmet earpiece. "Triple Seven, this is Alpha One Actual, do you copy? Over."

"Triple Seven here, reading you loud and clear. Over."

"Warm your bird up and attach the Warthog, we're moving out. Have Emery, Phan, and Tane ride in the Hog as you fly so they can deploy fast. Next time I raise you, head to Alpha Base. Alpha One Actual, out."

Frost took a breath. "First Squad, we're going to punch right up the middle and Third Squad will come in on the rank flank. Once Emery deploys, he'll cover our left flank. When all of the grav towers and enemy vehicles have been destroyed and the Hog lands, First and Third Squads will link up to hit the CP."

"That's when Second Squad shifts its fire to the warehouses, got ya," Steele said, nodding.

"Right. Once we've secured the CP and reactivated the turrets, I'll take Carris, Tane, Borko, Grant, Moser, Gabe, Maddox, and Pachis into the tunnel. Nebiyev, you'll hold the CP with what's left."

"Understood."

"Everyone ready?" Frost asked. He was answered with a series of excited smiles, a few thumbs up, and a great deal of nodding. "Stick to cover and conserve ammo; mark your targets before you fire. Let's roll."

Under the cover of darkness, the Marine Raiders surged forward, bounding towards the embankment. Feet stamping on the ground, heavy breathing, and the rugged hauling of gear were the only sounds to be heard. Nebiyev and Third Squad broke off to the right, moving in a spaced formation towards the sandbag formation. Steele and Mori hooked a left towards Tower A, while Nikodim and Konstantin made a bee line for Tower B. Following behind Third squad went Langley, Knight, and Boulos. Katz, who had been rather reserved during their journey, followed Steele.

First Squad hit the dirt at the embankment just at the edge of Alpha Base. Peeking his head up and over, Frost confirmed that no one had seen them. Elites stood guard near the tunnel entrance while Grunts milled in and out, exhausted and fearful of their overseers. Packs of Skirmishers loitered near the entrance to the CP and a few bands of Jackals roamed over the courtyard. Most of the garrison seemed to be either in the tunnel, the warehouses, or the CP. Sloppy.

Rolling onto his back, he looked up at Tower A. All three towers were of the same design: a concrete cylindrical column about a story high with an open box set up at the top. Over the roof was mesh netting and the sides had chest-high walls for cover. One Jackal was standing straight up in the tower, gazing out over the base. By now, Frost knew that Steele and Mori were climbing the ladder. Second ticked by. Suddenly, a shadow appeared behind the Jackal and it was pulled from sight.

"Tower A is secured," Steele said over the comms in a low voice. "Set."

"Tower B, secured," came Konstantin's voice. "Set."

Another minute passed.

"Tower C secured," Langley said, "Set."

Ahead of schedule. Now they just had to wait for Third Squad. More men to manage meant it would take longer. He took the time to look down the line to his left and right. Everyone was on their belly, weapons in hand, looking at the courtyard. Dawn was fast approaching. Soon the first rays of light would break through the dwindling cloud coverage. Snowfall had ended just two hours earlier. Like he had predicted, it had not accumulated all that much. In a few denser heaths and stretches of grass, there indeed was a thin sheen of soft snow. Elsewhere was the faded dark green of winter grass. Even in the dark he could tell; Frost was quite used to the dark. Closing his eyes he could feel the cold, nipping winds of Skopje against him. Boots crunching in snow and frozen grass filled his ears. Distant rifles cracked, artillery thundered, and Falcons buzzed. Chainguns made a distinct ripping noise in the air. And then came the cry of the rebels. Screaming like mad men, they hurled themselves down the mountain, believing themselves invulnerable to the UNSC guns. "Jack the Ripper!" they hollered, "Jack the Ripper! We've come for you!" Metal chimed as he drew his blades from their scabbards.

"Third Squad in position," Nebiyev said over the comms. Frost opened his eyes and exhaled slowly. The sky was beginning to brighten.

"Triple Seven, Alpha One Actual," Frost murmured. "Move to Alpha Base now."

"On our way. Out."

Frost crawled up the embankment slightly. Everyone was in place. Everyone knew their targets. The Covenant were sitting ducks. He got up into a crouch and took another breath.

"All units," he breathed, "open fire."

 _Whump! Whump!_ Two rockets streaked from Tower C and smashed into the Wraith sitting in the middle of the compound. An explosive cloud of purple, black, and orange blossomed out of the top. _Whump!_ A forty-millimeter round struck a grav tower near the warehouses, and the platform burst into pieces. Two Jackals that had been occupying it were cast to the ground, torn apart by the blast. _Crack! Crack! Crack!_ Rifle fire rippled from the towers and from the right flank. Skirmishers and Jackals fell in droves. Elites began falling. _Whump!_ A Revenant went up in flames. _Whump!_ The second was hit and flipped over. Another gravity tower exploded in a shower of sparks and debris. More rifle fire; more Covenant fell. MG fire from the CP was nonexistent.

Frost stood up completely. "First Squad! Skirmish line! Advance!" He sprang forward and began firing at the closest Covenant troopers. As they all charged, they reaised a shrill war cry. On his left and right, the squad fanned out and poured lead into the disorganized, scrambling Covenant forces. More rifle shots rang out as First Squad blitzed across the compound, stopping briefly behind bits of cover to reload and shoot before continuing their run. Frost waved his hand in the air. "Advance to the warehouses, advance to the warehouses! Keep them bottled up!"

Two Ghosts were hurtling towards their left flank at full speed. _Whump! Whump!_ A rocket struck each vehicle; one burst into flames and buried itself into the ground. The other was thrown onto its side and cartwheeled forward until it broke up. Another grav tower exploded, and another. Frost slid into cover behind a few rusting crates and checked the right. Nebiyev and Third Squad were vaulting over a Covenant barricade and spraying automatic fire into a mess of retreating infantry. Looking forward, he could see Grunts streaming out of the warehouses. Machine gun fire from Tower B ranked back and forth, back and forth, throughout the compounding, striking down dozens of enemy soldiers.

"This is Triple Seven, we're inbound to Alpha Base! Thirty seconds!"

"Copy!" Frost shouted over the hail of plasma and gunfire. "Keep advancing First Squad! Keep moving! Pour on the fire! Maintain fire superiority!"

He got up and rushed forward, firing his assault rifle. An Elite jumped over a pile of rubble and roared at him. Carris dashed by and tackled the beast. Before the alien could muster up a defense, she drove her knife into its throat half a dozen times. Three Skirmishers came jumping over on his left flank. Bishop was already there; he stood up, cocked his shotgun, and fired three times. Three targets went down. Ahead, Nebiyev's squad was moving aggressively through a semicircle of Covenant defenses, moving steadily to the warehouses. Enemies still came running out, disoriented.

"It's Jasper!" someone cired. Frost stopped behind a slab of concrete and looked up. Jasper's Pelican swept down from the sky, banking to the left. Leveling out, it came low and detached the Warthog. He could see Tane, nearly curled into a ball, in the passenger seat. Emery swung the Warthog around and Phan began opening up on the enemies taking cover on the left flank.

"Sánchez!" Frost cired. The radio operator ran over to him, crouching behind cover. "Direct Triple Seven's fire against the MG positions in the CP-there, there, and there!" Frost shouted, pointing to each turret.

"Triple Seven, Alpha One Romeo!" the young radio op yelled into the handheld and began feeding them firing coordinates. The Pelican turned to face the CP and launched four of its ANVIL-II ASM's. The missiles struck the CP with a frightening crash. An orange fireball gave way to a gray concrete dust cloud that billowed out from the impact area.

"Alpha One Actual this is Alpha Two Romeo!" Langley said over the comms, "Withering fire coming from the left flank! Suggest Triple Seven and Delta Team focus fire on the left!"

"Solid copy, Alpha Two Romeo!" Frost grabbed Sánchez by his collar. "Radio to Triple Seven, have him suppress the left with the chin turret. They're going to try and pull to the left and slip away or counterattack! We can't let that happen!"

"Yes Gunny!"

"Get to the Warthog and direct their fire!"

Frost stood up and vaulted over the slab. First and Third Squads had linked up in front of the warehouses. Bodies were piling up near the entrances on the sides of both buildings.

"Second Squad, suppress the warehouses!" Frost yelled over the SQUADCOM.

Knight finished off the remaining vehicles and Parker destroyed the last grav tower. Rifle and machine gun fire now peppered the warehouses and the tunnel entrance. First and Third Squads changed direction and began running and gunning towards the CP. Stacking up at the entrance, Frost and Nebiyev tossed in a frag grenades. After the detonation, Carris and Bishop rushed in, guns blazing. Both squads flooded in after them. Bodies torn by shrapnel littered the main entrance way. The room itself was a wreck, dusty, and falling apart. Most of the systems looked decrepit. "Gabe, Maddox, hold here in case any Covvies try come up after us." Battling to the staircase at the end of the room, the Marine Raiders shot and stabbed their way through the remaining defenders. A team of Skirmishers scurried up the steps and Frost was right behind them. Drawing his knife and letting his assault rifle hang by the sling, he tackled the last one and stabbed it right through the spine. One came at him, but he dodged its clawed hand and sank the blade deep into its gut, then dragged it up, opening its belly. When a Skirmisher came at his right, a shotgun blast ripped its head open. Bishop stormed forward and stuck a fourth with his shotgun like it was a club.

Everyone got to the top of the stairs. "Motion tracker shows more enemies ahead and on the floor above us," Frost said, watching the red dots move erratically on the blue HUD piece over his left eye. "Keep moving."

The two squads filed to the right, down the hall, trying to get to the next staircase. The hall naturally curved here. A huge gash from the missiles was on the right. No glass remained and part of the floor was gone. "Tread carefully," Frost said, stepping to the right and motioning everyone to continue, staying against the left wall. He took a moment to look out at the courtyard. Rifle and machine gun fire kept the remaining Covenant troops contained around the warehouses and the tunnel entrance. Around the perimeter of the base he could see the dormant turrets, just waiting to come back online and chew up the enemy. Emery's Warthog fishtailed around the yard, still hitting the perimeter between the CP and Tower A.

Frost tailed the last man.

"Macintosh, clear this room on the left."

The Hellbringer stomped up to the door, kicked it open, level his flamethrower, and unleashed a maelstrom of flame into the room. Ten seconds was all it took; he stepped back and let Parker and Nebiyev frags into the room to finish off the remaining Covenant, while the rest burned.

"Clear," Macintosh growled.

"Christianson, where's the TCC?" Frost yelled.

"Should be directly above us," came the response. "Move to the staircase. Check your corners."

"Frost, we've got SB Grunts coming! We have to come to you or we'll be overrun!" Grant yelled.

"Alright, come to us now. Double-time!" Frost turned around. "Bishop, Carris, stay here with me to cover the hall. Macintosh, stay at the top of the staircase in case we need you. Nebiyev, take the rest and get to the turret control center!"

Frost, Bishop, and Carris each took a knee, checked their weapons and reloaded.

"We're coming up! Hold fire!" Moser shouted. The two scrambled into view and rushed past them. The first Grunt, screaming and holding two primed plasma grenades, came charging up. Frost dropped it with a quick burst. Falling over, the Grunt dropped its grenades just as the other suicide bomber Grunts came after it. A blue flash filled the hall as a chain reaction of plasma grenades tore through the end of the hall. Frost shields his eyes from the flash.

"That sorted itself, didn't it?" Bishop said heartily a few moments later. Ahead there was nothing but torn corpses and plasma burns on the concrete. They were about to storm up the stairs after the rest of their companions, when Carris stood up suddenly.

"Bishop, duck!" she cried. Bishop immediately dropped to the floor as a blue energy sword swung over his head. "Gun!"

The pointman threw his shotgun to Carris before falling behind her. Carris emptied the shotgun in a matter of seconds into a shimmering mass that was soon covered with blue blood. The Elite's cloaking device failed and the bloodied beast stumbled back towards the edge of the destroyed portion of the hall. Spent, it stood there for a moment, then slowly fell backwards and to the courtyard below.

"Thank you, C," Bishop breathed as she handed him back his shotgun. She gave him a thumbs up.

"Jackals!" Grant yelled, pointing. A phalanx of Jackals steadily advanced down the hall towards them, shields raised and needler's ready. Frost prepared to toss a frag when Macintosh stepped in front of him, holding his flamethrower up with one hand. A tuft of blue flame billowed at the end of the NA4, and he stood in front of the team like a statue.

"Rejoin the others, Gunny. I'll deal with this," he growled. Not waiting for a response, he gripped his NA4 with both hands and fired. Before the Jackals could retreat, they were caught in a cloud of napalm. Screams filled the hall. Laughing, Macintosh proceeded back down the hall, burning everything in sight.

Frost and the others headed to the next floor. Nebiyev and the others had already cleared the TCC and Tholane was busy reactivating the system. He was bent over a terminal, tapping away the keys.

"Come on...come on...there!" he said. "Turrets are live, Gunny!"

Frost went to the broken window and looked out. The olive drab turrets, dormant for years, began swiveling and tracking Covenant targets. Machine gun rounds flew from the triple barrels and incendiary mortar rounds. The AT and AA turrets also pummeled the infantry targets with their own ordinance.

Nodding, Frost turned to the group.

"Alright, Carris, Borko, Grant, Moser, Gabe, Pachis, with me, we're going to hit that tunnel. Nebiyev, dispatch a team to clear the rest of the CP and another to hold this room." He put a finger to the side of his helmet. "Delta, meet us at the entrance of the CP."

"Copy that," Emery whooped, obviously enjoying himself.

Frost led the others back down the CP. They had to step over many crisp corpses along the second floor and down the staircase. When they reached the landing they found the lobby filled with still burning Covvies, some writhing and screaming in pain. An Elite was attempting to raise a plasma pistol to fire Macintosh. Before it could pull the trigger, Macintosh marched up to it, kicked the weapon from its hand, and jammed the barrel of his NA4 into the Elite's gut. Pulling the trigger, flame washed over the Elite and it howled loudly. It appears as though the Hellbringer were standing atop a fireball. Macintosh's armor protected against the heat and flames, and holding his weapon up again by one hand, turned to face the squad. A few tufts of fire clung to his armored legs but he didn't seem to mind.

"Clear," he grunted.

"Oh God..." Grant said, covering his mouth.

"Just hold your nose and let's go," Frost ordered through gritted teeth. "Hold position here, Mac."

"Planning on it."

Outside, Emery pulled up in front of Frost and the squad.

"Alright buddy, this is your stop," he said to Tane, who was quivering in the passenger seat. Sánchez was crouched in the bed and Phan ceased fire to let the barrels cool. They were steaming. Overhead, Triple Seven's chin gun raked the enemy's weakening line near Tower A with constant fire, and Isha could be seen at the rear hatch, firing the ceiling-mounted M247 MG at the warehouses.

Emery shoved Tane a bit. "Move it, boy! Frost, I think this egghead pissed himself."

Frost went around to the other side of the Warthog and grabbed Tane by the shoulder.

"Hey, I need you now. Get out of the jeep."

"Y-yes...yes Gunny," he stuttered, clambering out with Frost's help.

"Keep suppressing the tango's on the left flank," Frost ordered. "Tane, you stay between Grant and Moser, alright? Let's move."

The squad bounded across the courtyard towards the tunnel. A few Skirmishers were dropped with ease. When they reached the tunnel, they activated the flashlights mounted on their helmets or their rifles. "Bishop and I are on point."

The squad delved into the tunnel, moving at a slow but steady pace with their weapons raised. No enemies appeared to be left inside the tunnel. Maybe the remainder had rushed out to fight. Frost took no chances and kept his weapon raise. On and on, the tunnel twisted to left and right, all while going further and further down. Stands with a pink-white glowing orb lit the tunnel somewhat; it wasn't uncommon to see the Covenant planting such devices in poorly lit areas. Onward they pressed.

"Whoa..." Frost looked over his shoulder. Grant was shining his rifle's flashlight onto a section the tunnel wall. A patch of dirty had been cleared to reveal pristine metal, one that Frost had never seen before. It wasn't titanium or steele. It had odd lines moving horizontal and vertical patterns. Grant took off his glove and pressed his hand against it. "It...it feels like it's vibrating."

"Keep moving," Frost said, hiding his confusion. What had the UNSC found down here?

Eventually, the tunnel led into a large circle shaped room, so large that their lights didn't help at all. Walking carefully and keeping an eye on his motion tracker, Frost walked in. Tane followed closely.

"There's something in here, Gunnery Sergeant," he murmured. The two found a metal stand in the room, in front of some device Frost had never seen before. Before Tane could say anything, Frost removed his glove and began reaching for it. A blue orb appeared at the top, with strange markings in each little jagged section of it. Tane knelt beside it, observing.

"I have never seen anything like this before," he said, stupefied. Frost's hand remained suspended over the orb. Taking a breath, he gently grazed the orb with the tips of his fingers. Surprisingly, it felt very solid. The keys, if they could be called that, that he touched, lit up. The room was suddenly filled with a bright bluish-white light, and after lowering his hand, Frost's eyes widened at the sight before him.

"I think we've found the strategic asset."

###

Frost ushered the team out of the tunnel. "Gabe, Maddox, plant the charges."

"Aye, Gunny," Gabe said. He and Maddox took out the explosives and began rigging them up at the tunnel entrance. By now, the gunfire had nearly subsided.

Frost looked up at Tower A.

"How're we looking, Steele?"

"Clear from this angle. Still have some withering fire on our left by I think we're okay."

"Keep an eye out," Frost cautioned. "Everyone keep your heads on a swivel and stick to cover. We're almost done here." How cruel it would if somebody died this close to the end of the operation.

"Charges set, recommend we get to a safe distance," Gabe warned. The squads pulled back to the center of the courtyard, finding decent cover among the rubble and destroyed vehicles. Frost found the slab that he had taken cover behind earlier and got down behind out.

Maddox and Gab got down nearby beside the wrecked Wraith. The former took out a detonator.

"You may want to cover your ears now, louds." His thumb fell on the trigger. The tunnel entrance disappeared into a column of dirt, concrete, and fire. At the same instant, all weapons fire ended. Everyone kept their heads low as the concussion swept over them. Frost was certain he could feel his teeth rattling in his mouth.

When the dust settled, Frost was the first on his feet. The tunnel entrance was collapsed.

"Mission accomplished," he breathed, smiling.

"Nate," came Langley's voice, sounding dreadful over the comms, "contact left."

Frost turned. Standing on the rubble in between Tower A and the CP was a horde of Brutes. The moment prominent was an imposing War Chieftain, holding a gravity hammer in one of its large hands, and a Type-25 grenade launcher in the other. It had sleek, bronze-colored armor but did not wear one of the head crests like other Brute chieftains did. It had a black goatee on its chin and thick black hair that was swept into a high mohawk.

The Brutes did not attack. They did not move. All stared at the tunnel entrance, their animal faces impossible to read. Frost raised his assault rifle, ready to fire. Suddenly, the War Chieftain spoke and turned away. Without firing a single shot or making a sound, the throngs of Brutes, and the surviving Grunts, Jackals, and Skirmishers, followed the War Chiefs away from the base, all before the turrets had a chance to lock on. Their departure was punctuated by a burst of automatic fire from the closest machine gun, right where the War Chieftain had stood.

Standing there, Frost didn't know what to do. Never before had he seen the Covenant depart without a fight. He leaned back against the slab, assault rifle in one hand and the other gripping the rough edge.

"Langley, what the fuck was that?"

"I have no idea. But we have an enemy ship overhead."

Frost looked up. A light cruiser, in atmosphere, was lingering above the base. His heart froze. It had come to this. Humanity's second effort to reclaim a planet from the Covenant, destroyed by a cleansing beam.

Before he could speak, the ship suddenly opened a slipspace portal, and jumped from view.

"What in the holy hell...?" he murmured.

"Alpha One Actual, this is _River Styx,_ " came the comms officers from the titular ship.

" _River Styx,_ can you clarify anything I just fuckin' saw?"

"Enemy ships jumped in, but after an unsecured radio transmission from the surface, _from_ Alpha Base, they jumped away."

The War Chieftain had sent them away. But why?

* * *

Steele walked onto the courtyard of Alpha Base. The entire compound had been swept and cleared, from the warehouses to the CP. Smoke filled the air from burnt-out hulks. Spent cartridges and bullet casings littered the asphalt. Jasper had landed the Pelican and along with his crew was unloading their extra gear and equipment. Emery rolled up in the Warthog to drop off the rucksacks left behind in the woodline. Second Squad was still in the towers, save for himself. Instead of facing the compound, they had turned their guns around and were monitoring the surrounding landscape for the Covenant. Two hours had passed and there was no sign of them. While everybody was still a little on edge, he felt rather relaxed. He wished they had cigarettes; he was dying for a smoke.

He stopped over at the Pelican.

"Hey Jasper, you got any smokes?"

"Why're you asking me?" the pilot asked as he gave Isha a crate.

"Because you got to sit in the Pelican the whole time, so I figured you might have brought some."

"All I have is some loose-leaf tobacco. I prefer to roll mine."

"Do you have rolling paper?"

"I forgot it."

"Well can I have the tobacco then?"

Jasper reached into a backpack sitting on of the seats, took out a small pouch, and tossed it to Steele.

"Knock yourself out."

Steele opened the pouch. Inside was a plastic bag filled with the tobacco and approached First and part of Third Squads, resting in the center of the compound. Some were asleep, others eating or drinking water, and Moser was contented to read his Bible.

"Anybody have some paper for rolling cigarettes?"

"Frost said not to bring anything like that," Grant said.

"Aren't you just a fucking boy scout?" Steele growled, already becoming irritated. "Come on. _Nobody_ has _any_ paper? Seriously?"

"Who rolls fuckin' cigarettes anymore?" Parker asked as he checked his M301.

"Anybody have any paper? Any at all?" Steele pointed at Sánchez. "Saw you had some earlier."

"It's for letter writing. Sorry."

Steele rubbed his forehead.

"I could really use a smoke."

"Hey, nobody has any fucking paper so why don't you shut the fuck about it?" Maddox grumbled.

"Yeah, we're trying to rest," Christianson complained.

"Oh excuse me, your majesty," Steele said, bowing, "Didn't realize you were trying to get some beauty sleep because you're a little pampered twat."

"Didn't you say you should stop smoking anyways?" Carris asked.

"I was jokin' love!" Steele replied, exasperated. "C'mon, doesn't anyone have a shred of paper?"

"Easy Lou," Moser said, holding up his hand. "Here brother, here." Moser proceeded to hold his Bible, pinch a page, and begin to tear. Steele walked over to him.

"Hey, mate, you ain't gotta do that," Steele said, his voice quiet. His companion continued to gently tear part of the page out. A few of the others were watching too.

"It's alright. I'm memorized it," Moser said, handing the scrap up to Steele. "That should be enough."

Steele took the paper from Moser and looked at it for a moment.

"I ought to read it first, shouldn't I?" he said. He cleared his throat, "Uh, it's a Psalm. 'Blessed by the Lord my strength which teacheth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight: My goodness, and my fortress; my high tower, and my deliverer; my shield, and he in whom I trust; who...subdueth my people under me. Lord, what is man, thou that takest-"

"Pack it in, Lou. Don't wanna hear it," Bishop growled. Steele glared at Bishop, then looked back at Moser.

"What does it mean?" he asked. Moser shrugged.

"Means something different to different people," he said, smiling. "You don't have to read it."

"Thanks, Dietrich." Steele sat down and flattened the paper out on his thigh, then spread the tobacco onto it, rolled it up, licked it, and pulled out his lighter. With a contented sigh, he took a long drag. He sat back a little, propping himself up on one hand.

"Man. Like a full day without one smoke, the horror," Bishop taunted.

"Want to try?" Steele asked, grinning and holding the cigarette out to him. Bishop only looked away.

Frost presently arrived, taking off his helmet and putting his rifle on a stone slab.

"Nate-boy," Steele greeted. He got up and the two friends embraced.

"Glad to see you're in one piece."

"You too, bruv." Steele said, but grew grave. "Those Brutes we saw, they went climbing over Ridge L. I think they might have looped around to the north to link up with survivors from Bravo."

"Definitely. They're probably rounding up all their manpower and gear for a counterattack," Frost said, keep his voice low. After a moment, he stepped closer, his voice thick with confusion, "I mean, I saw that Brute, Louie. He radioed the fleet to _leave_ the system, rather than support them. Why would he do that?"

"Maybe because Big Hair wants to handle this himself," Grant offered. Steele looked back at Frost.

"Big Hair?"

"We decided to call it Big Hair, considering that thick doo he had," Frost said, smiling a little, motioning to his own head. Steele shrugged.

"Maybe because they saw you blow up the asset, they didn't want to waste time picking up their troops or dealing with us. Hey, what was it, anyways?"

Frost scratched the back of his head, then waved and started walking. Steele, intrigued, followed. He caught up to him and began walking by his side. "What is it?"

"We didn't destroy it."

"What do you mean you didn't destroy it?"

"I had Maddox and Gabe blow the entrance, not neutralize the asset. It was a gamble, but I wanted the Covvie's to think we had blown up whatever was in there. Looks like it paid off."

"Shit, Nate...what if they find out it's still intact?"

"I doubt it. We won't let them take this base back." Frost stopped, arms akimbo. "The debris that fell in the tunnel is light. The engineers assured me that with a few well-placed charges they can re-open it. I think Waters needs to see what's in there for herself."

"What is it, man? Tell me."

Frost ran a hand through dirty hair.

"I don't know how to tell you, Louie. I've never seen anything like it. I touched some kind of orb and it lit up this weird, holographic projection. I didn't take too much time to gawk because we were still in the middle of a fight, but I know for sure that wasn't Covenant tech. No way."

"If it's not Covenant tech, then it must be our's, right?"

Frost shook his head.

"No. We've been around some of the most advanced technology humanity as to offer. Advanced weapons, advanced armor, advanced ships, medicine, equipment, whatever. We don't have anything like that."

Steele took a breath, folding his arms across his chest.

"Do you think we should let those ONI buggers up there know about it?"

"No," Frost said flatly, "either they don't know what's in there at all, or they already know, because they haven't asked me one damn questions about it. So I'm not going to say a thing until Waters shows up, and I'll let her make that decision. Dealing with tech like that is a bit above our pay grade."

Frost sighed and looked back out across the base. He smiled at Steele. "Let's not think about that now, Louie. Look at what we've done here."

"Yeah, we've made a right mess of the place," Steele said proudly.

"We completed all of our objectives and didn't lose anybody. Not even a scratch."

"Well we still gotta hold this fuckin' place," Steele sighed, looking around. "Hopefully Waters didn't get herself blown to hell. Otherwise we'll be stuck here for the rest of the war."

"No. They're alright. I'm certain. She's coming back for us."

"How do you know?'

"I just do," Frost shrugged, smiling. "Come on, let's crack open that whiskey and have a drink to celebrate. I think we've earned it."

* * *

Carris followed behind Borko into the basement. The slim engineer had the lamp mounted on the side of his helmet activated, casting a white beam of light into the darkness beyond the staircase.

"Tholane got lucky," he was saying, "whoever left this place left in a hurry. The backup generators are still on. If they were dead, he couldn't have gotten those turrets working. Sloppy job on their parts, but good for us, yeah?"

All Carris did was nod. Borko continued, 'but if we want full operational capability, we gotta turn the generator's back on. Not protocol to destroy them, and seeing as how they didn't turn the backup's off, I'm guessing they just flicked the main genny's off."

The two ventured further into the basement. Many large generators stood side by side on their left, with rows of terminals and other control systems on their right. Grease and oily smells filled the air. Many piles of ashes from burned documents and shards of busted data pads littered the floor.

Borko scratched his chin and ran his hand through his thick hair. "Probably at the back. Strange layout," he said. "Wonder if a monster will pop out like in the movies."

She was listening but Carris was checking their left and right for any Covenant that may have taken shelter in the basement. Motion tracker was clear save for the yellow dot directly in front of her but she wasn't taking any chances. Too many times before the Covenant had just been sitting out of sight, waiting for the right opportunity to attack. Slowly, she scanned the room, left to right, right to left, with her assault rifle raised. "Relax. No one's in here. I could smell them if they were. I've got a good nose for Brute hides."

They came to the end of the room and found a large panel of switches, buttons, and screens. Borko set to work, reactivating the terminal and running diagnostics. "I hope Big Hair attacks. His scalp will make for a fine trophy, yes?"

Again, she nodded. Borko looked over his shoulder and quirked an eyebrow.

"You do not say very much."

"Perhaps you talk a lot," Carris responded. Borko laughed.

"I like you," he said, "you don't say much but when you do, it makes me smile." Borko flicked a few switches and tapped at the keyboard. "You know, my papa was a Marine for many years. He was the reason I joined the Earthen Youth Programs. He told me many stories of his time. But I remember one he told that was very distinct."

His tone was very sly. Satisfied that the room was clear, Carris walked up beside him and looked down at him through the visor.

"And what story was that, Sergeant Borko?"

"One day, on some Outer Colony world with a name I can't remember, he and his platoon were pinned down by the Covenant. And I mean bad. No air support, no orbital support, no reinforcements. Thirty men, most wounded, trapped. Down to their last mags." Borko was still smiling as he told the tale, which was odd to Carris. "And then this Pelican comes swooping in, makes a one-eighty, and out comes half a dozen armored figures. Olive drab color, just like yours. And they tear through three hundred Covenant like a scalpel through flesh. And they walk them right outta the hot zone. None of them spoke aside from a few commands and that was it. My papa still talks about them." Borko looked at her with a knowing expression. "Friends of yours?"

"Old friends," Carris answered after a moment.

"Well, I hope we can be friends too."

"We're comrades."

"There's a difference between the two," Borko said. "A comrade is just a somebody you fight with. A friend is somebody you go and get drinks with, have important conversations with, whose a constant part of your life. That's a friend."

"And you want to be my friend?"

Borko glanced at her.

"You seem lonely."

"How can you tell?" Carris said, shrugging to emphasize her concealing armor.

"I just can." Borko said this almost jovially. He laughed a little. Carris hefted her assault rifle onto her back and stood there as he operated the unit.

"So there's a difference between a comrade and a friend. What's the difference between a friend and something more?"

The engineer looked up at her, curiously.

"You don't know?"

"What does that mean?"

"Well, I just figured, because..." Borko shrugged. "...well, it's difficult to explain. My mama told me that love is different for everybody." He thought for a moment. "I grew up in Šibenik. Fine, old city. We didn't have much family there. But our neighbors were our closest friends. They had a girl my age, and we were inseparable growing up. We got into lots of trouble, terrorizing the shopkeepers." He smiled, remembering his home fondly. "Our rooms in the apartments were separated only by a wall. Each morning would be a contest to see who would wake first; whoever was up first had to throw open their window and shout until the other woke." He laughed. "I remember one morning, when we were say about...ten years old...we woke at the same time. We threw open the windows and were absolutely shocked to see each other. Then we laughed. And when we finally caught our breath, we decided we would get married and have six babies."

"Very specific," Carris mused.

"We planned on getting married with court permission at sixteen. But it didn't happen."

"The war?"

Borko's cheerful demeanour departed suddenly. His hands dropped from the terminal and his head lowered. Just as quick it returned and he flashed a wide, toothy grin.

"What I'm trying to tell you is that sometimes, there is very little difference between a friend and someone more." He raised his index finger, pressed a button, and all the lights in the basement flashed on. The generators coughed to life and began humming. Screens lit up at all the stations. Satisfied, he turned around, hands on his sides. "Ha ha! And Borko said let there be light, and there was light! Ha ha!" He laughed, tilting his head back as he did.

"Good work Borko," Frost said over the SQUADCOM, "come up to the TCC. Bring Carris."

###

The turret control room had effectively become their operations center. A table had been assembled just behind the control panels and terminals lining the windows. On it were maps, a small portable computer, and a few data pads. Here, Carris and Borko found Frost, Steele, and Nebiyev standing around the table. All three men had stern expressions on their faces as they gazed down at the maps.

The rest of the Marine Raiders were either on guard duty or resting. Third Squad was situated in the CP and First Squad had housed themselves in the warehouses closest to the tunnel. Second Squad was still on watch.

"Thanks for getting the power back on. We even have some running water in the crew facilities in this building," Frost said. "So that means we can take showers."

"I looked at them, they're thick with grime," Nebiyev said. "Who'd want to stand in years of dust and dirt?"

"I'll wash them out when I get the chance," Frost said. "All the same, thanks."

"It was our pleasure," Borko said bowing.

"Carris, what'd you think of the assault today?" Frost asked. Carris gave him a thumbs up. He nodded, satisfied. "Good, I was hoping we could impress you. Well I'm guessing you're wondering why I brought you here. As you know, the Brutes were not present at Alpha Base; based on Louie's hunch, I asked _River Styx_ to track them. The Brutes, led by one, Big Hair, have gone north to Bravo. They've rendezvoused with what's left of that garrison, so numbers are in the three hundred range. We have the benefit of holding a very defensible positions, especially with the turrets back online. Any infantry attack here will be torn to pieces." Frost picked up one of the data pads. "Problem is, we're not just dealing with infantry." He slid the pad onto the table. Everyone bent over and looked at it. It was an aerial photograph of three Wraiths. "The flyboys decimated that base and destroyed most of their heavy equipment. But those Wraiths managed to survive."

Frost sighed heavily. "This means that they can stay out of range and destroy the turrets from a distance. Without the turrets, they'll attack in force and overpower us with sheer numbers. I hate to say it, but the attack went so smoothly because the Brutes aren't here." Frost tapped the map. "Standing orders are to remain at the base, in defense, until the Pirates show back up. But those Wraiths are a threat to our ability to fend off attackers. I've decided that we need to attack again while we've still got momentum on our side."

He pulled up another image. " _River Styx_ has been tracking the united Covenant forces, and they've moved north of the lake. I think they're trying to establish a new base camp of some kind in the cover of the forest. I think they've caught onto our drone usage. I'll be taking First Squad to on a raid to destroy their heavy vehicles so that if they attempt to attack us, they won't have artillery support. I'll also be taking Borko, Gabe, Parker, Knight, and you Louie. Nebiyev, you'll be in charge of what's left of Second and Third, plus Delta. Macintosh will be staying behind as well; his NA4 will just start a forest fire."

"Fuckin A," Nebiyev mumbled.

"Engineer, demo man, grenadier, and heavy weapons," Steele listed respectively, "I get why you need them. But why me?"

"Our main objective is to destroy the Wraiths and bug out. I'm hoping that in the confusion, you'll be able to squeeze off a shot and eliminate Big Hair, destabilizing their leadership. It's a secondary objective but one that'll have a massive boon for us. Taking out the Wraiths is our primary, though."

"What's the plan of attack?" Carris asked. Frost point on the map.

"We'll take the Pelican at dusk and use the setting sun as cover to move north. Their camp is about a klick north of the lake, so we'll land about half a kilometer east of their position. We'll push west and hit their camp hard, hit the sentries with gunfire then use rockets, grenades, and explosives on the enemy tanks. We are _not_ leaving until we destroy the Wraiths. No matter the case, we have to make the operation quick, because we'll be outnumbered out there and our only support will be Triple Seven. If worst comes to worst, we'll mark the targets for Jasper's ASM's."

"You sure it's a good idea splitting up?" Nebiyev asked.

"We need people here to guard Alpha Base; relying just on the turrets isn't an option. Let's keep this simple: we drop, we destroy the Wraiths, and exfil back to base. Let's brief'em."

###

Not long after a short briefing, Carris was sitting at towards the end of the Pelican, in between Steele and Borko. The later sat at the very end, looking out the landscape receding away from them. Alpha Base seemed very far away now. Frost sat across with them, his face still decorated with his war paint. Borko was asleep, his head tilted back and his mouth open. How he managed to doze off was beyond her. Everyone was else was stoic in the blood tray. She supposed that nobody had thought they'd have to leave the relative safety of the compound after their daring assault.

She hadn't realized that Frost had been attempting to 'impress,' her. Indeed, she was. For years, she had watch Marines fight from a distance. Men and women who were experts at their craft. Yet the Marine Raiders of the 89th had taken it to the another level. Never before had she seen such aggressiveness. Her armored kin were professionals, mechanical, proficient, surgical. These men were more than soldiers; they were warriors. Roaring like barbarians, shooting, stabbing, clubbing, strangling, charging forth with reckless abandon. A certain controlled insanity seemed to take hold of them. They were _magnificent._ If every single footsoldier in the UNSC fought like them, the war would be taking a much different route.

How much more powerful would they be if they were augmented and clad in Mark IV armor, she wondered. Long ago, she remembered snooping around their grounds after they had gotten bigger and stronger. With so much training, so much power, they couldn't be contained. Once, she had overheard Dr. Halsey say something about 'the next step in human evolution.' If there was to be another batch of Spartans, hopefully it could come from experienced soldiers like these, instead of confused and terrified children.

Her head lowered. She could remember so little of her home-her home before Reach, that is. Reach was her true home. The name of her the planet she came from was becoming lost to her. Did it matter? Little came to mind. Wailing school children, barking adults, a men with beady eyes, small glasses, dressed in a fancy suit, pointing and scolding. No parents, no friends. When she tried to think, it was like imagining a broken window, and each shard was a different color. Standing among the camp's grounds upon arrival at Reach, seeing all the sobbing kids, made her heart clam up. If it had to be done, she thought to herself, let it be soldiers, not children.

"Hey." Carris was snapped to attention by Steele. He was leaning forward, trying to look at her visor. "You good?"

She held her thumb up. He grinned and patted the side of her helmet.

"Coming in on the DZ, thirty seconds," Jasper said over the comm link, "I'll stay high in the clouds."

"Copy that, Jasper. We'll holler if we need you."

Moments later, the Pelican came low in a grassy clearing. Gripping her weapon tightly, Carris jumped out after Steele. The squad spread out into the grass with their weapons raised, checking the trees for any hostile activity. Once they were clear, the Pelican lifted off into the clouds above. Ahead of them, the forest was given a distinctly gray look. Some daylight remained but it was receding fast. Mist was beginning to roll in. A notification on her HUD showed that the temperature was dropping and

"Let's get this done quick. Form a skirmish line and move out," Frost ordered, keeping his voice low over the SQUADCOM. Everyone fanned out. Carris was the anchor on the left flank, with Steele as her closest squadmate. They moved forward at a quick trot, weapons still raised, skirting over or around bushes, jumping over fallen tree trunks, and keep low. Carris did her best to keep her eyes front, but she was intrigued by the way they moved. The veteran Marine Raiders moved with a certain aggressive elegance, the way they waved around every obstacle, with their weapons trained on the landscape ahead of them. Nimble, flowing, pinpoint. As the mist rolled in and dusk settled, they appeared not as men, but wolves, bounding through the bushes and hedges, hunting for their evening meal.

They moved fast and hardly broke a sweat before their motion trackers started to show red dots. Christianson, who was ahead of them, raised his fist. All the Raiders stopped. Then he flattened his hand out, held out his arm, and motioned for everyone to get low, then to advance. Frost, moving at a half-crouch, moved up to the tracker and made another signal to move fast. Everyone pushed through the pushes, quickly and quietly. Out of the gloom, they could see the silhouettes of Skirmishers and Jackals, patrolling. Beyond them, the faint outlines of the bulbous curves of Wraiths.

Another indication from Christianson and Frost ordered everyone to stop in the woodline just by the clear where the Covenant were situated. Further down on the left flank, out of their line of sight, they could hear the guttural barks of Brutes. Having spent enough time sneaking through Covenant bases, Carris had become well acquainted with tone. These Brutes were riled and disagreeable. Occasionally a more commanding tone would break the others, but only momentarily. They must have been arguing. Even the most experienced military forces, human or alien, had a breaking point. Cut off, without means of reinforcements or support, the other Brutes must have been giving Big Hair one hell of an earful. Like Frost, Carris too wondered why the War Chieftain had made the call, warding off their allies instead of utilizing their power. Not wanting to jump to conclusion, but she began to think this Brute may have been trying to make things personal.

She looked over to Frost. He and Christianson were behind a natural hedgerow between two trees. Branches and twigs poked out from the sloping mass of grass-covered dirt. Frost had removed his helmet and was peeking just over the hedgerow. Finally, he began to speak over the comm link. "The Wraiths are spread apart; one at my twelve, another at my three, and beyond that one at my two o'clock. Gabe, Borko, prepare a satchel charge. Knight, Parker, move up on my right, behind the boulder, and take out the farthest. Carris?"

He was looking at her, still talking on the comms. She nodded in response. "Think you can take the middle one with a satchel charge?"

Wordlessly, she gave him a thumbs up. "Good. Carris, Borko, Gabe, move up to me. Everyone else, form a line. Stay low, stay in cover. Anyone not targeting a tank, pick a foot mobile and fire when I give the word."

Carris showed up along with the engineers. Everyone else slid up at a tree, rock, or dense hedge. Peeking over, she could see the Skirmishers; for the first time since 2525, she was looking at _distressed_ Covenant soldiers. Pacing, twitchy, nervously checking their gear. Some Grunts were on their knees or sitting down, heads in their hands. No Elites were in sight-the was good. At her feet, Borko and Gabe each were stuffing explosives into satchels. Crude, a tactic dating back to the 20th century, but most certainly effective. A fancy charge could cause a lot of damage-but a bag packed to the brim with high explosives? It was just cruel.

Borko handed her one.

"Give it a good throw," he said cheekily. Gabe was going to throw the other; it wasn't too far. Carris looked to their right; Knight was already aiming his launcher and Parker had his underslung grenade launcher ready. To her left, she could see Steele with his sniper rifle. He was scanning for targets; looking for Big Hair. For a few moments, she stared at him. His helmet was tipped back, his brow sweaty, his cheeks dirty, his scarf was pulled up to his nose. Just then, he glanced at her. Pulling down his scarf, he offered a confident grin and a wink. Carris nodded in response, but she was smiling underneath her helmet. Sometimes she wished she didn't have to wear one.

Frost put a finger to his helmet's earpiece.

"Okay. We his the Wraiths, empty a clip, and fall back to the clearing. Understood?" He paused momentarily. Carris reared her arm back, ready to throw. She didn't even have to see the target to know where to throw. "Three...two...one...fire!"

With a grunt, she flung the satchel charge over the hedgerow. Gabe did as well. Simultaneously, assault and battle rifle opened up on either side. _Whump, whump!_ Knight fired the rockets, followed shortly after by the pipe-sounding _pop_ of Parker's forty millimeter grenade launcher. Several explosions followed. Carris went to the side of the hedgerow and checked. Three Wraiths were busted, broken, and burning.

"Good effect on all targets," she said calmly before emptying a clip into a pack of scampering Grunts.

After the barrage was over, Frost stood up, dumped his clip, and slid a fresh one in.

"Fall back to the LZ!"

Everyone peeled away and began sprinting back the way they had come. Carris turned to run, but stopped as she saw Steele holding position. Without a second though, she charged over and slid up to his position. He emptied another clip, taking down two Elites who had come to investigate the gunfire.

"What are you doing?" she asked, peppering Skirmishers with rifle bursts.

"Do you see Big Hair?"

"No visuals on bravo-kilos."

"Just one more second, he might show up!"

"We're about to get overrun. We have to move!" she urged, dropping another clip and slamming another one in.

"We take out Big Hair and these Covenant won't be able to coordinate!"

"We don't know that!" Carris grabbed him by his pauldron and turned him over. "Dammit, Louis, listen to me! We're leaving!"

Steele let out an aggravated roar before jumping to his feet, rifle in hands, and began running after the others. Carris followed just behind, keeping at his pace so as to not leave him without backup. Blue and green bolts sizzled by, joined soon by pink streets from Type-31 needle rifles and the purple-green rounds of their carbines. As they began to catch up to the others, who were crashing through the woods at full tilt, the orange superheated metal projectiles from spikers began to join the colorful, lighting up the mist like fireworks.

Before Carris knew it, they had broken into the clearing where they had landed. The grass flattened out as the Pelican landed.

"Everybody in!" Frost yelled, turning around with several others to provide covering fire. Carris stopped, crouched, and began firing into the woods. It was getting so foggy that they couldn't actually see the shooters; just different colored flashes. When she spotted one, she'd zero in, fire a five round burst, and move to the next flash. Parker was laying it on with the forty millimeter and for good measure, Knight fired two more rockets into the woods. Grant and Moser lobbed frag grenades at the tree line and Frost tossed a smoke grenade. Suppressed by the explosives, the enemy fire dwindled.

"Come on, C!" Carris heard Grant yell. Everyone else had piled in, and he was standing by the rear hatch. She ran up, following just behind Steele as he clambered in, and pulled Grant in after her. Grant sat on the floor of the blood tray, legs dangling out of the rear hatch, firing his assault rifle into the trees as they took off.

* * *

Steele breathed a sigh of relief as he stood beside Carris. He turned to Frost, who gave his helmet a rough slap.

"Mission accomplished," he said. "Two Raids in one day. How about that?"

"Good enough for UNSC work," Knight laughed.

"Sánchez, call it in," Frost said, clapping a hand on the radioman's shoulder.

"Alpha Three Actual, this is Alpha One Romeo. No sign of Big Hair but primary objective has been completed: enemy tanks destroyed. We are RTB. How copy? Over." Sánchez said triumphantly, smiling. Everyone was grinning and high-fiving one another.

Steele turned around to face Carris. She took off her helmet and looked tremendously angry.

"What the hell was that?" she said, her small pink lips curling into a snarl.

"Whoa, love-"

"Don't 'whoa, love,' me," she snapped, "were you planning on letting the Covenant tear you apart just so you could get the big kill?"

"I was thinking of our position here on the planet," he defended, sheepishly.

"Was it? Or a lack of situational awareness, _marksman_?"

"Hey, you make it sound like a shitty job." Steele feigned offense.

"I expect you to pay attention in an attack like that, sergeant!" She said, poking him hard in the chest. "This isn't just a common line unit anymore; we're spec ops."

"Ow! Fuck!" he said, putting a hand on his chestplate. "I felt that through my armor. I might bruise."

"Better a bruise than a Brute heel on your neck," she muttered. Steele took off his helmet and sighed, scratching the back of his head. That's when he noticed everyone in the rest of the Pelican, sitting and standing, were staring at them, bemused.

"Boy, that was awkward," Borko said, breaking the silence.

"Leave them be," Frost ordered.

Steele looked away from them and back at her.

"Sorry," he said. She sighed.

"I'm glad you're okay," she said after a moment, managing a smile. Steele reached up and bumped the bottom of his fist against shoulder.

"Thanks love." They were passing over the lake. Grant had leaned back slightly, swinging his legs back and forth. The sniper could only chuckle; after a firefight like that, everyone's adrenaline was up. Some shivered it away, others breathed, some had to engage in some activity to shed the extra energy away. Not Grant. For him, it was an on and off switch. On, he was an expert rifleman, cycling his weapon with skill, unafraid to close the distance and draw his knife. Off, he was happy-go-lucky Grant, carefree and youthful, with a big grin on his young face. Nobody knew how he managed it, not even him. Everyone handled combat stress and adrenaline differently.

As they began to get close to the other side of the lake, a warning alarm blared inside the Pelican.

"We've been locked!" Jasper yelled out of the cockpit. "Fuel rod cannon! Brace for evasive maneuvers!"

He could feel the Pelican begin to move to the side but it was too late. Just as Steele grabbed a handle on the side of the Pelican, there was a tremendous blow and everyone was thrown about. For a moment, his stomach lurched as he felt the Pelican bank slightly. "Stabilizing. We've taken a good clip. We can make it back to base."

"Grant!" someone yelled.

Steele looked at the edge of the compartment, where Grant had been sitting. He was gone. Falling to his knees and clawing to the edge, Steele look out just in time to see a splash in the lake.

"He was thrown out!" Steele called in. Frost came to the rear hatch and looked out.

"Did he live? How high are we?"

"Look, movement!"

Breaking through the surface, they could see him gasp for breath and begin to swim for the southern shore of the lake, which was a manageable distance.

"Holy shit!"

"Thank God!"

"Jasper, turn us around! We have to pick up Grant!" Frost yelled.

"I can't!" Jasper called. "We're in no condition for a pick up; we need to get back and make repairs before we attempt a rescue. I can't do any evasive maneuvers right now, so we'll be a sitting duck for whatever shot us."

That's when Steele saw Moser draw his pistol and start storming up to the cockpit.

"You turn this bird around before I put a _fucking bullet in your brain_!" the rifleman shouted. Frost and Steele darted back, joining the crowd of Raiders restraining Moser.

"Jasper, take us back around!" Frost yelled, his voice labored as they tried to wrestle control.

"I don't want to fucking leave him either, but we won't do any good in a state like this!"

"That's my man on the ground!" Frost screamed.

"And this is _my_ Pelican!" Jasper yelled, turning around in the cockpit. "If we turn around we all die and-" his eyes widened. "What in the hell is she doing!?"

Steele turned around. Carris was at standing in the rear hatch, assault rifle on her back, pistol on her hip. Under her arm was her helmet. Her black hair billowed in the wind.

"Carris?" Steele said. She turned slightly. Slowly, she grinned. Then she winked, slid her helmet on, and jumped out.

"No!" Frost cried. He ran to the rear hatch. They watched her land on the sand with ease. Frost got his rifle and prepared to jump, but Steele grabbed him.

"Let her go, she knows what's doing!" he said, smiling.

* * *

"Here I go, lecturing him about doing something stupid. And what do I do? Leap out of a Pelican into hostile territory. Talk about stupid. He's never let me live that down."

-Carris-137

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **What will happen to Grant and Carris? Will the Marine Raiders be able to fix their Pelican in time to mount a rescue? Will the the evil Big Hair get to them first? Tune in next time for the reveal! Oh, also: show of hands, who really likes Borko besides me? Anybody want to see more of Borko?**

 **Okay, announcement time. So I'm officially back at school, and classes start on Thursday for me. I sincerely doubt I'll be able to squeeze in another chapter in that time frame or anytime soon. What I can assure you is that I will take every opportunity I can to work on the story, so while the next update may take a while, expect there to be a bundle of chapters, maybe in the two to four range. Don't worry, I'll still be around and working on the story.**

 **And I just want to thank you all sincerely. Just in January alone I've watched views climb over 1,000. In half a month! That's just...amazing to me. So thank you to the kind folks who take time of their day to message me and leave comments, thank you to all of you who have favorited the story, are following it, and are following me, and thank you to everybody for devoting your free time in such busy, hectic, stressful times, to read my story. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.**

 **Alright, before I get all teary, let's get the comment responses going:**

 **MightBeGone: Well, I can safely say that I ducking love you too, bro. Hey, no, I know what Steele said but this is going to be a long story. Anything can happen; people change their tune, hide their feelings, put on a face, and sometimes deny themselves in this story, just like in real life. Much like how the concept of protagonist vs. antagonist changes depending on our POV character, so too are emotions subject to change. And I really hope this chapter lived up to the hype. Honestly it's been a lot of fun to write; I wish I had more time to edit though, there's going to be errors, rest assured. Like always, thank you for commenting my friend.**

 **Alpha HighBreed: *offended gasp* And who are you, sir, to dictate when two lovers shall get their groove on!? Hm? Hey, if he proposes, there is going to be one hell of a party! I've been to a couple weddings and boy, they sure were...somethin'. *represses memories* Oh, yes, Holst and De Vos have an interesting dynamic between each other, the cast, and their shared and personal histories. It has its peaks and troughs, and I think it'll be an intriguing dynamic to study via her and others' POV's. The past, as you know, is a big part of the I'm Alone.**

 **Gonnakillmeforthatjoke? I'dliketoseeyoutrywinkwink. Oh let's come up with more slogans for ONI! Let's see...**

 **The Office of Naval Intelligence: GOTCHA!**

 **The Office of Naval Intelligence: Knock Knock**

 **The Office of Naval Intelligence: Because Fuck You**

 **...this is fun. Oh, and thank you my friend for commenting, always good to see you.**

 **Well thanks for reading folks, I really appreciate. Take care of yourselves out there, and I'll see you in the months to come.**


	43. Chapter 43: The Raid, Part Three

**Real quick before you read, I've uploaded my first story for my writing class this semester to me DA profile. I wanted to provide a link but it ain't working. So if you want to see, type: deviantart RadiationSoap into the search bar. If the results shows RadiationSoap (Zackary H.) | DeviantArt, that's me. The story is called 'The Homecoming.' Check it out if you want to get an idea of my original work. Thanks all.**

* * *

Chapter 43: The Raid, Part Three

* * *

Carris landed smoothly enough. A cloud of sand flew up around her as her feet dug into the earth. As it settled she rose up and back at the Pelican. It was limping back to Alpha Base and she could see Frost and Steele staring at her. Curling her thumb and index finger together, she gave them the 'okay,' signal.

"Dammit, Carris," Frost said, then took an aggravated breath, "alright, we're going to drop two rucksacks filled with ammo, MRE's, and some clothes for Grant. Grab him, get to the supply drop, and wait for further instructions. How copy, over?"

"Solid copy, over and out."

The Spartan looked out at the lake. Grant had gotten close enough to shore that he could walk along the bottom. He had reached chest level. She began heading in his direction, wading into the water.

"Oh no, don't worry, I can get out myself!" he called cheerfully, waving his hand. Wordlessly, Carris ploughed through the water, which didn't rise past her waist. When they finally reached one another, she put an arm around him and they stood there for a moment. Grant was soaking wet, his fatigues heavy and soggy. All of his pouches and bandoliers were damp. He was panting heavily, most likely having to tread water with fifty pounds of gear. After catching his breath he looked up at her and said, "Hey Carris."

"Hello Grant," she said back. "Are you wounded?"

"I'm good. I hit hard and got the wind knocked out of me, but nothing's broken. We were flying low." He shook his head. "I had to drop my rucksack and some of my other gear because I was too heavy."

"You've kept your rifle," she said, seeing it slung over his back.

"Yep, managed that. A rifle is the one thing a Marine can't go without," he said heartily. The two began trekking slowly through the water, back to the slip of sand that constituted the shore. "You wouldn't believe it, Carris. I saw _fish_ in there! Freshwater fish! What are Earth fish doing on an Outer Colony planet?'

"Probably part of the introduction system," she answered. While many distant worlds had alien flora and fauna, the UNSC had instituted a practice of introducing crops and animals to planets in order to expand their galactic food supply. Horses and cows weren't uncommon sights on agricultural focuses worlds, and freshwater basins were an added boon, as fish were another staple that humanity couldn't go without. With so many planets allowing for the breeding and harvesting of animals, inhumane farming establishments and practices were a thing of the past. Of course, with the war raging on, animals were perishing along with the crops. Some wished to devote space on evacuation shuttles for them, but nobody paid those lobbyists any mind.

Finally at the shore, Grant sat down, never minding the sand that clung to his pants. Carris, not at all winded, looked around.

"Motion sensor's clear," she said, "but whoever fired that fuel rod cannon saw you fall. They're going to return to the main camp and they'll come after us. We need to get moving."

"That really pisses me off, because you know what, it was probably one of them little green heavy weapons Grunts who pulled off a lucky shot," Grant growled. "Alright, I can move."

"Let's get to the supply drop."

The pair of rucksacks were just a quick jog away. Frost had been kind enough to mark them with a waypoint on her HUD. A blue diamond hovered just above the ground with a decreasing distance tracker. Keeping her head a swivel, she approached the two rucksacks. One was stuffed with a set of fresh fatigues. Judging from the size, she supposed it was Borko's spares. He and Grant were about the same height and weight. In the other, there was ammunition, a first aid kit, a bundle of grenades, and MRE's. An added bonus came in the shape of two C12 charges-courtesy of their demolition expert no doubt. "Here," she said, handing the rucksack filled with clothing to him. "Change."

Wordlessly, he began taking off his armor and clothing.

"Shit, is it cold!" he said through his teeth. Carris turned away from him.

"Alpha One Actual, this is Alpha One Three. We've reached the supply drop. Over."

"Good work, Alpha One Three. We're almost back at base. We'll start organizing a rescue party but the people from _River Styx_ may be able to get to you first. Patching you into their comms. Wait one."

A moment passed.

"Alpha One Three, come in, this is _River Styx._ "

"Read you loud and clear, _River Styx._ "

"Twelve klicks to your east is an sat-array facility. Construction had just begun when it was hastily abandoned. At least one building was completed and reports indicate that a weapons and equipment cache was left behind. Until the Marine Raiders arrive, your best bet will be to lay low there. How copy?"

Carris was silent for a moment.

"Interrogative. Can you dispatch your Pelican for a pick up? Over."

"That's a negative, Alpha One Three. Our Pelican is for emergency purposes only."

"We are exposed and have no support out here. I think this qualifies."

There was a pause.

"This is Captain Rundstrom of the _River Styx._ Alpha One Three, we are unavailable to assist you at this time beyond a reconnaissance role. Proceed to the sat-array facility, transferring coordinates to your HUD. Recommend you start moving and make it fast, we're seeing large groups of hostiles heading to your position. Contact us when you reach it. How copy? Over."

Another blue waypoint appeared in the distance.

"Solid copy. Over and out." Carris growled. "Alpha One Actual, Alpha One Three. _River Styx_ is refusing to assist and the Covenant are heading to our position in force. Over."

"What the fuck?" He let out a labored sigh. "Our only option left is to send the Hog, but it'll take some time." Carris knew better. If they waited for the Warthog to arrive, out here in the open, the Covenant would be upon them in moments. She knew she'd come away from the clash alive. It was not arrogance that drove her to such thought. Training and experience, rather. Dozens upon dozens of times, she had staved off attacks from hundreds of mixed Covenant troops. Retreat, fight, retreat, lay traps, ambush, retreat, and keep changing the combination until exfiltration or until they enemy were all dead. Except it wasn't just her out here. Grant was an excellent rifleman indeed and benefitted from six years of combat. But he didn't have Mark IV armor, nor did he have advanced training, augmentations, nothing that she did.

John came to mind. The stone-cold, jack of all trades leader. She knew exactly what he'd refer to Grant as. Snag. Marines to him were snags in the mission, something that held the Spartans back rather than support. Even though she hadn't fought with him all that much, she had heard of his exploits. ONI was tight-lipped. They had to be, being a self-contained force of their own, after all. But being attached to them didn't mean Carris wasn't in the know. Knowing was part of ONI's job, anyways. Any rumor, gossip, or intel they across, Carris had made sure he knew about it too. Spartans hadn't yet been disclosed but plenty of UNSC soldiers had made contact. Many recollected an imposing armored individual, who fought like a machine and rarely spoke. Without a face, without a voice, he still commanded a presence that demanded loyalty and awe. Hero, some had said. He saved my life, plenty had commented. That's what Marines were to John; people to save, akin to civilians rather than soldiers.

Not to her. Not these Marines. These were real warriors. Men who weren't afraid to meet the Covenant face to face like the Spartans. She could trust him. He'd watch her back. And she would watch his.

She turned to Grant. He had changed quickly and had gotten his M52B set back on. Sliding a fresh clip into his rifle, he gave it a smack on the side and flashed her an enthusiastic grin. Carris stared for a moment and made a decision: she would get him out of this alive, even if it cost her everything.

"Negative, hold off on the Hog. We're moving to an abandoned sat-array twelve klicks east in the forest. Sending coordinates to your HUD. Over."

There was a long pause.

"What? This didn't appear on the map when we were briefed on this planet." Again, he paused. "Doesn't matter. Do you really think going deeper into the forest is a good idea? Carris, you should be coming _towards_ us, not away from us."

"Heading south will take us over open ground. Big Hair will catch up with us by then. You'll have nothing to rescue but corpses. Going into the woods gives us cover and the sat-array will be a good place to hole up."

"I'm not sure the Warthog will be able to get through such dense woods. The Pelican may be the only means of exfil."

"I understand, Gunnery Sergeant."

"...I trust you, Carris. Get to that sat-array and don't engage the Covenant unless absolutely necessary. We'll see if there's anything we can do to help Jasper. Good luck, over and out."

"Hey love," came Steele's voice, "don't do anything stupid, eh? Like jumpin' out of a Pelican."

Carris smiled underneath her helmet.

"You can give me an earful later, you long range sniper."

"Stay safe; we'll see you soon."

Carris turned to Grant, who had finished changing into the new fatigues and had donned his M52B armor once more. He checked his rifle and turned to her, smiling.

"You lead, I'll follow."

Carris turned to the east and began moving towards the blue waypoint. She kept her pace to a light jog so that Grant could keep up. For her, it was more like a brisk walk. The expansive forest that would lead them to to the satellite array was not far from the shore of the lake. It would be slow going, but the cover in the thick underbrush would be invaluable and would slow the larger Covenant force down. Before long, they were in the thick of the woods, disappearing into the foliage. With ease, they moved over logs, pushed through bushes, leaped over ditches, and bounded through clearings, and stuck to the shadows. All the while, Carris kept her eyes glued to her motion sensor. No red dots yet, but she knew they were coming. Even though _River Styx's_ special operators weren't coming down to join the party, at least they could rely on the drones.

Why had they refused to come down? What was so important that Rundstrom had to keep the prowler cloaked? Typical ONI bullshit. Something was going on. Captain Waters hadn't mentioned the sat-array. None of the reports the Raiders had studied during multiple briefings stated the presence of such a facility. Being around ONI for a good part of her life, she had hoped they would have become easier to read, simpler to understand. How wrong was she. Years later, she understood them even _less._

Into the woods the pair went. The sun was setting quickly, and the sky was bathed in gold. Rays of light broke through the foliage. If not for her visor, it would have dazzled her vision. Deeper and deeper they went. Creeks meandered quietly, exotic, alien birds called, and wind rustled the leaves. Behind her, she could hear Grant's ragged panting. Both were picking up speed. Still, the motion tracker showed no red dots. But they were coming. She could feel it, like a nagging thought in the back of her head, a chill in her back, an ache that refused to go away. Brutes, barbaric, snarling, snorting, roaring, crashing through the brush to catch them. Each time her eyes glanced across her display, the blue diamond seemed so far away.

As they pushed further into the woods, the more uneven the ground became. Slopes and rises, ditches, mounds, and plenty of thick tree routes covered by fallen leaves that caused her partner to trip.

"I don't think we're going to get there before the Brutes catch up," Grant breathed.

"We don't have any other options," Carris said, "the sun is about to set and the Brutes will hunt us all night if we don't hunker down in a secure position."

Nothing more was said. She assumed Grant agreed. But a few moments later she noticed the yellow dot that had been right on her tail had stopped. Immediately, she wheeled around with her modified rifle ready to fire. Grant was standing at an embankment, looking down at the ground. Carris rushed over to him. "What are you doing?" she asked urgently, taking his arm. "We have to go."

"No, we should hide," Grant said, smiling. He put his hand on Carris's arm. "Look at this overhang," he said, pointing down. The embankment had eroded some, leaving a shallow cutting into it. It was partly concealed by brush, grass, leaves, and plenty of roots from above. Grant pointed behind them to a similar one, just across. Their surroundings were very unvene with similar embankments, cuttings, and more. "If we get inside here, the Brutes will pass us by. They'll go running through the forest all night while we stay put. When morning comes, they'll be on the other side of the forest and there won't be a single baby-kong between us and the sat-aray."

Before Carris could even give the idea any thought, they could hear in the far off distance the roars of charging Brutes. Grant looked over his shoulder quickly, then turned back to her. "Come on Carris, get in!"

Setting her rifle down, she got under the overhang, pushing as far back as she could against the dirt wall. Grant crouched down, handing her the rifle. He put some more leaves over her, some dirt here and there, until he appeared satisfied that she would disappear. In the low light of dusk, they would be hard to spot, Carris thought. Or hoped. Grant slid into the opposite hiding spot, doing his best to cover himself up.

Spartans didn't get nervous. Carris certainly wasn't, but she was more tense than ever before. Plenty of times she had hidden from the enemy. But she felt too exposed, too rushed, too unprepared. If they were spotted, all the Brutes had to do was point their weapons downwards and spray away until there were just too plasma-burned carcasses left. Through her visor, she looked at Grant. Somehow, he knew she was looking and he flashed her a wide smile.

Faster and faster, the sunlight faded. The birds stopped cuckooing and chirping. Every so often, there came a distorted, animal-cry, that grew louder each time they heard it. Darkness was falling fast. Another roar. Carris inhaled. A peculiar rumbling began. Not loud at first, but distant and steady. Closer and closer it came. Soon it grew louder. Then there came the rattle of equipment and armor, the snorting and growling of beasts. An orchestra of monsters, prowling, on the hunt. The motion sensor was now alive with a cloud of red dots. It came streaming towards them, then right over them. Huge, thick, hairy, muscular legs came rushing by. Grunting and shouting, the horde of Brutes, accompanied by the quick legs of Skirmishers and Jackals, and the uncoordinated waddling of Grunt squads, washed over them like a tidal wave. Leaves and dirt were kicked up, twigs snapped in their multitudes. Some leaped over fallen timbers and rocks. Between the flurry of hundreds of legs, she could see Grant's face. Just a hint of it. And his eyes were closed. To her, it was as if he had fallen asleep. He was just so calm. Carris tried to control her breathing, but her finger twitched on the trigger. She wanted to move, to speak, to do _something._ To do anything would result in a quick death. This was when all of her training kicked in. But instead, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Suddenly, as the ground shook around, she felt suddenly detached, as if all the voices and noises of so many terrible beasts were fading, fading, fading away. Fading away until she couldn't hear them anymore.

When she opened her eyes once more, the motion tracker was clear, and there was no a sound to be heard. Across the beaten path, she saw Grant open one of his eyes.

"Let's hold position, for a little while," Carris whispered over the comms as the sun finally slipped away.

* * *

Steele stood at the side of the Pelican, watching as Borko and Maddox assisted Jasper, Pajari, and Isha with the damage. The quintet had several repair kits and a plethora of tools around them. Watching with interest and his arms folded across his chest, Steele watched as they set to work.

"How bad is it?" he asked.

"She took a solid hit," Jasper answered, pointing to the blast. "But it's not too bad."

The blast from the fuel rod cannon had hit the side of the Pelican, just below where the main body of the aircraft met with its stubby wing on the right. Much of the area had been burned by the plasma. The actual explosion had torn a small hole in the side, but it hadn't pierced the armor entirely. If it had, the troop compartment would have been opened up and more than a few of the Raiders would have met a terrible demise. Any higher and the wing would have been shorn off. Either the heavy weapons specialist who wielded the odd looking weapon was a piss-poor shot or they were plain lucky.

"We need to repair some of the wiring, and we have a few leaks. It's why we were losing altitude some at the end," Pajari stated, matter-of-factly.

"Now see why I added the extra armor plating," Jasper said. "Speed is one thing, but we won't be of much use if we get blown out of the sky by one hit."

"The extra armor eats up some of our weight capacity."

"Not much, darling."

"You're insufferable."

"Oh, I think I'm quite charming. Don't you?" Jasper said as he twisted around her, grinning as he fetched more tools.

Steele pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Look, focus on the task at hand. Christ man, you'd have HR on your ass if this was a professional setting."

Borko snorted.

"I thought we were professionals!" he chimed.

"Not that kind," Steele said back.

"Who gives a toss about human resources nowadays?" Maddox asked over his shoulder. "You gonna stand there and gawk, or help?"

"Help?" Steele raised his hands. "You might have me confused with somebody who's good with tools. Or cares."

"Har har," Maddox muttered, "fuck off, English prick."

"Glad to have you back to your normal, miserable, self," Steele jokes. Deciding not to linger, he went over to the rest of Third and part of First Squads. Second squad was still on security.

Considering that the Pelican would take some time to fix and the one Hog couldn't transport enough manpower to be an effective fighting force, they were looking for something around the base that could expedite matters. Somebody had suggested the idea they just pile into the bed of the single Warthog. That idea had been shot down just as quickly as it was raised; throwing nearly ten men into one when there were no bullets flying was fine. Going into a combat zone? Steele had done that once with the squad when they had rescued Carris. Might have looked stylish, the way they all jumped out and started firing. In reality, they had been hanging on for dear life, and more than a few had been simply thrown out by the sheer force of the stop, and by Steele's white knuckle driving.

Despite Carris and Grant being out in the field, everyone seemed to be in good spirits. Steele knew better-that it was just a cover. Everyone was on edge and humor was the only way to fight it. Nobody had wanted to leave the pair out on their own. If they hadn't stopped Moser, he would have put a gun to Jasper's head and forced him to land.

Not the first time Steele had seen something like that had happen. Three years ago, they had helped extract a pinned down Army unit during an evacuation. Just as the last fireteam was closing in, they were hit by a plasma mortar. Three out of the four died instantly. One was left; half his face had been burned off and feet had been melted away. The poor bastard probably hadn't realized that his feet were missing because he had just kept coming towards the Pelican after he got up. One of the Army troopers tried to go out to get him, but the Covenant were closing in. Waiting any longer and they would have been swamped. It took five men to restrained the trooper from jumping back out, as he screamed and frothed. When they got him back in, he ran up to the cockpit brandishing his sidearm, demanding they got back. Refusal was met with even more rage. Try as they might, they could get the maddened trooper out: he shot the copilot through the head. Whether or not his finger slipped, Steele still didn't know. All he could remember was everyone falling back into the blood tray as the strength left the trooper, and blood splashed all over the instruments. Whatever happened to him, Steele did not know.

Seeing Carris jump like that had terrified and amazed him. Everyone thought she was nuts; quite hypocritical, seeing as how the thought had crossed each and everyone one of their minds and they were all too wary to admit it. Yet, Steele hadn't thought her crazy. He trusted her to keep their buddy-and herself-alive. Nobody else was better fit to get the job down.

Everyone was milling around the courtyard, roaming through the rubble. The lights had been activated, bathing the base in a sterile white glow. Wind was picking up, tossing their scarves and single shoulder capes all about. Nebiyev was standing in the center, arms akimbo. Sánchez was standing just ahead of him, placing, hand on his chin.

Steele strode up to Nebiyev, who nodded at the radio operator.

"Boy wonder here is looking for the motor pool."

"Motor pool?" Steele echoed. "There ain't no fuckin' motor pool."

"No, no," Sánchez insisted, "there is. It has to be here somewhere."

"You've looked over the base, twice. If there was a motor pool, I think it'd be pretty obvious," Parker said, holding his assault rifle across his shoulders.

"Didn't you look at the intel reports? I saw a note that there was a motor pool."

"Some of the notes were about planned sections that hadn't been added when the planet was attacked," Boulos offered, "you might be searching for something that doesn't even exist."

"I'm positive that it said complete, or at least partially complete."

"This is a big waste of time, boys," Emery muttered, lounging in the driver's seat of the Warthog, parked nearby.

"Just give him a chance, alright?" Langley snapped, clearly aggravated.

"Patience we can have," Macintosh said calmly, his NA4 held on one shoulder, "the time to be patient, we don't have."

Silence descended on the Raiders. Sánchez continued to pace before he stopped, looking up slightly. Then he dropped to his knees.

"Uh, buddy?" Nebiyev said. "You alright?"

"It's underground! And we're standing right on it! Look!" Sánchez exclaimed. Everyone looked down. Sánchez pointed to a long line on the courtyard. "This is a titanium sliding door. I've seen underground motor pools like this on garrison worlds. It saves space on the surface and protects vehicles from aerial bombardment." He put a finger to his earpiece. "Tholane, can you locate the base controls from your terminal and any controls related to the controls of the motor pool?"

"Give me one moment."

Steele looked at Nebiyev, who was staring at Sánchez. He was smiling. "I've got it. You all might want to step back."

As everyone retreated, the long, rectangular titanium plate lifted up slightly, exposing numerous gears, mechanisms, and supports. It slid back over the concrete portion of the courtyard behind it, revealing a ramp.

"Man, we all should have thought of that," Knight said sheepishly, "considering the amount of time we've spent in bases."

Turning on their headlamps, they head down the ramp and found the garage to be in a state of incompletion. About two hundred yards long and a hundred yards wide, it was hardly big enough to stockpile enough vehicles for a full garrison of troops. The engineers had obviously been constructing as they dug, though. Concrete beams and supports had been added; walls had been shored up with concrete as well and the pavement had been settled. It all ended abruptly at the other side of the cavern, where the pavement stopped just short of the dirt wall.

"Jesus, I'm surprised this thing hasn't caved in on itself," Gage commented.

"You can give the UNSC Corps of Engineering plenty of shit," said Phan, who had come with Emery, "but you have to give them this: what they built, _lasts._ "

"Jackpot," Sánchez stated, unconcerned with the conversation. He had led the teams down and was now shining his headlamp on a transport Warthog, a pair of Mongooses, and three military dirt-bikes. He turned around, beaming with pride. "I think this should be enough."

Nebiyev walked over and clapped him on the back.

"Nice work."

"Glad to see you're not too useless, Dirty Sánchez," Bishop commented, giving him a little biff with his elbow.

"Langley, get Borko over here to give these vehicles a once over. Emery, look to see if there's any jerry cans around here. If you can't find any gas, take a couple spares from your Hog and fill these beasts up." Steele looked around. "Where's Frost?"

"Tower B," Nikodim said. He was accompanied by his brother Konstantin.

"Aren't you two supposed to be up there?" Steele said, pointing at them. "Where's your weapon?"

"Back on the tower. Gunny Frost said he'd take over for us for the time being. He seems serious."

Steele sighed. He decided to check on his friend. Frost was generally a serious fellow, and his comrades had learned to accept that. But when others commented on it, it was not a good sign.

###

After ascending the tower, Steele was confronted by a beautiful sight. Although the sun had gone for the evening, the sky still clung to a fragment of light. Far away, the sky was a rich dark purple coated in bright white stars. Despite not being one for scenery, Steele had to admit it was a pleasant side.

When he looked straight ahead, he found his old friend standing at the edge of the tower, at an open spot in the wall where a blast had ripped part of it away. The wind had picked up when they were away eliminating the Wraiths. While it had settled down some, but not before it had beaten the netting over the top around and thrown into the ground.

Frost, at the opening, was standing at his full height, back straight, body rigid, hands balled into fists and at his sides. His scarf and singlet cape danced to the left, then to right, and back against as the wind twirled and shifted directions. But the sergeant did not feel it. Even when a heavier gust broke up to the moderate breezes, it did not push him in the slightest.

Steele made his way over to him and stopped when he was on his right. He looked out at the land before them, then at Frost. Frost's face was firm, his lips pursed, brow furrowed, eyes angry. He wasn't wearing his helmet, and his hair was tousled by the wind.

"Sánchez found a motor pool under the surface. Reports had been sketchy on it, but it turned out to be there. Something we can rub in Delaney's face."

Frost did not respond. Steele shrugged. "Got us a transpo Hog, couple of Mongooses, and some dirt-bikes. If we can't get the Hogs up through the woods, at least we can use those."

Still, nothing. Steele scratched his chin. "Damage to the Pelican isn't too bad. I think they're planning to weld an armor plate from one of the Hogs onto it and-"

"He's playing us," Frost finally said.

"Who?"

"Big Hair. He's playing us."

Steele hesitated.

"I don't follow."

"He knows we have two people out there. He knows that we're going to go after them. He's forcing us to _react._ "

"Shit," Steele whispered, just realizing that himself. The Covenant knew that the UNSC rarely left people behind it. If an aircraft was shot down, they knew a rescue crew would be sent out. If an infantry unit was encircled, reinforcements would be sent. Having learned from the beginnings of the war, the Covenant used the dedication and loyalty of the UNSC against itself. They'd purposefully trap friendly units, cut them off from the main force. When the UNSC sent in the cavalry, there would be an ambush. Then somebody would have to rescue the rescuers. Then somebody would have to save them, too. It was a vicious cycle that took away the ground strength of local UNSC forces, whittled them down, made them ineffective as a fighting force.

"Big Hair knows we can't _not_ help them. He'll use that to his advantage; he'll wait for us to come out then catch us in the open. He'll make us fight on _his_ terms. Not ours. If we fight on his, we'll all die."

Frost growled and rubbed his forehead. "Fuck!"

"We'll have the advantage of vehicles. The gun Hog will keep them at bay."

"It won't be enough. Being here, with the turrets, where we can dictate the battle, will keep us alive. Going out there into the bush, in the dark, won't end well. Unless we can get the Pelican fixed."

Steele sighed. He wished he had a cigarette.

"You want to know what I think?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Whether or not we have the Pelican, going out there right now will get us all killed. Might not seem like it, but we're all emotional, and going out with just a Pelican ain't a good idea, but neither is going out there with just light vehicles." He folded his arms across his chest. "Big Hair is roaming the woods right now, looking for them. He expects us to go out there right now to extract them. I think the best course of action is to wait."

"Wait? Louie, Carris and Grant are out in the middle of the woods. I just got off the horn with them; they gave the Covenant the slip and are holding tight in the woods. They're waiting for the Brutes to bypass the sat-array before heading there."

"Good, then we have time."

"If Rundstorm would send his Pelican down, we wouldn't need to worry about time," Frost growled.

"Fuck ONI right now, Nate. Listen, the longer we wait, the more frustrated Big Hair'll get. You know Brutes; they're temperamental. We make him wait, the more time he has to make mistakes. We might just be able to even the balance of power out here." Steele put a hand on Frost's shoulder. "And if the jockey's get their bird patched up, then we can roll out in force, pick up Carris and Grant, and we all get back here in time for breakfast."

Frost looked at Steel for a moment, then out at the forest. It appeared a sprawling, black mass covering the earth. After some moments of contemplation, he lowered his head.

"I'll give them a call and let them know we aren't coming tonight." Frost faced Steele and pointed at him. "But tomorrow we'll ride out in force. We'll leave only Katz and Tane here with Tholane, Christianson, and Mori. The rest of us will get in the vehicles and ride in the Pelican. We'll get to that sat-array, pick them up, RTB. Alright?"

"Crystal clear, mate."

"I hope you're right about this," Frost said as he put a finger to his helmet's earpiece.

"Hey, bruvva," Steele grinned. "I've always been right, haven't I?"

* * *

Jasmine walked through the empty halls of the _I'm Alone._ Everyone was back in cryo, save for the same skeleton crew that had operated the ship prior to the raid. It would still be some days before they reached the system again.

Glasses propped up on her forehead, her gaze downward, hands jammed into her lab coat pockets, she wandered aimlessly. Everyone in the infirmary was in order. Already, she had checked their stocks three times. All of their equipment was immaculate. Spending time in the mess hall was always an option, either heading over the rec area to grab a book to read or join the mess staff for a chat. She enjoyed their conversations but didn't like to spend too much time there. Most of the staff were long term veterans who couldn't serve in regular positions anymore. Many had eyes, ears, hands, feet, legs, arms. Naval personnel who had survived so many battles, had been on so many destroyed ships, that they were more machine than human. Plenty of Navy men and women with robotic prosthetics still served, but these were seamen who had taken so many hits, so many wounds, that their bodies just couldn't handle the strain of combat roles. In olden days, they would have been discharged and sent home.

But the UNSC employed many personnel who were wounded beyond service and utilized them as mess staff, orderlies, clerks, administrators, lawyers, and more. Positions that demanded more stress of the mind rather than the body. To an outsider, cooking meals for several thousand personnel may seem taxing, but considering the demands of ship to ship combat or ground duty, it was a vacation. Not to mention that many, at least on the _I'm Alone_ , had taken to their new duties with admirable gusto. Jasmine was certainly happy to see them fitting in so well, feeling like they were still serving the UNSC in some way. Uselessness was the destruction of military personnel. Of course, the UNSC saw this as a way to fill non-combat roles with those unfit for combat. This meant that more bodies could be funneled into combat roles, while veterans, too wounded to fight, could take up the more menial work.

Being aware of that, Jasmine didn't want to spend too much time with them. It just made her feel sad to see them used in such a way. The UNSC could claim they had an ingenious rehabilitation program for their veterans, in which they could still serve the cause. Even as they the UNSC was pressed closer and closer to the wall, they still had to appease a hyper-critical public. Jasmine had been a part of that public once and had been just as hard on the UNSC in her youth. Now that she was in the great game of war, she realized how foolish she had been. Nobody on the homefront could really understand unless their homes had been razed, unless they had see the Covenant war machine firsthand, unless they had to watch people they knew die.

Thinking about tended to stress her. Rubbing her forehead, she breathed slowly. Part of it stemmed from staying with the mess hall staff earlier. They were eating her thoughts. Sitting among the maimed, the disfigured, she had to fight her synthesia. When a man with a robotic leg passed by, her own legs would throb in pain. If somebody with missing fingers handed her a dish of food, they would feel as though thousands of needles were being slowly driven into the bone. Trying to detach herself from her feelings was something she had come to master, but she could only keep it up for so long. Everyone had a limit. When she reached hers, she had to remove herself. Somehow, she thought the mess hall staff understood. They were a kind bunch, good spirited. She was glad they were happy and listened to their plans for after the war.

After the war. When was that going to be? In a year? Five years? Ten? Twenty? One hundred? Would it end? All wars ended. What would she do when it was over and she left the Navy? Open up her own practice maybe, counsel veterans too. Either was fine by her. Or maybe settling down distant and quiet, detaching herself from the world. After how many years she had to endure the war, she would have undoubtedly earned that at the very least.

As she pondered and wandered, she found herself in the barracks. Devoid of life they were, and even after several months she hadn't gotten used to the quiet. Men cursing and joking and laughing, say things so crude they would have embarrassed their mothers. No cigarette smoke, no body odor, no manly scents.  
Suddenly she came to the familiar door of Frost's barracks. At first she was going to just pass it by, but decided to stop. For a little while, she looked at the door. What a shock, she thought, if the door suddenly opened and Frost was standing there with all his friends. Surely, it would be the silliest, most clever prank pulled by any member of the Marine Corps. Fool the entire military to think they had gone on a mission, when they had secretly stowed away on their own ship, in their own room, and nobody was the wiser.

She rubbed her arms then, as if she were cold. Jasmine missed him. Just a few days had passed and she already wished he was back. As big as the _I'm Alone_ was, it was a small ship on the inside. All faces were familiar to her, his most of all. His company had been wonderful as of late. It was new and exciting and to be so inexperienced in whatever it was they were doing, as was he, made it all the more appealing. For once, _not_ being good at something was pleasant.

Hesitating no longer, she opened the door and walked in. For such a raggedy group of Marines, they had left their room quite clean. Immediately, her eyes were drawn to the potted sunflower next to the cot that belonged to Carris. If not for artificial gravity, it would have smashed into pieces and their beds would be covered in dark soil.

Gently, she touched the flower. It was wilting slightly. Pressing her finger to the soil, she felt it was dry.

"Poor thing," she said out loud.

Most other folks would have shrugged their shoulders and left it at that. Not their plant, not their problem. Besides, all flowers wilted and died eventually, no matter how well-cared for they were. Not Jasmine, though. Resolving to take care of it like the very one in her quarters, she picked up the plant and headed into the bathroom. Filling up one of the small, spare cups housed in the medicine cabinet over the vanity, she filled it up with water and evenly poured the water on the soil. Twice she did this until the dirt was even darker and moist, and just a dribble of water spilled into the plate connected to the jar. Putting it back on the stand, she made sure it was a little more center under the ceiling light. Sunflowers craved sunlight, even bending in the direction of the sun. Artificial sunlight was the best the poor plant was going to get. Jasmine was surprised the flowers Steele had bought-well, stolen-lasted this long. Ship environments were not conducive to plants unless designed to support internal gardens. Soon, the sunflowers would wither, die, and the contents dumped off the ship, the jars smashed and trashed. Still, Jasmine made sure it would last a little longer.

"For a second there I thought you were going to smell one of his shirts."

Jasmine turned around to find Vivian standing in the doorway, with a knowing smile on her face.

"I'm not-"

"You're not needy, yes, I know this," Vivian said, walking in. She took a look around and sat down on one of the beds, sighing as he did. Jasmine frowned.

"You shouldn't sit on their cots."

"Says the girl who walked in and started fiddling with their stuff."

"All I did was water the plant."

"Breaking and entering is a crime," Vivian teased.

"Ugh, shut up," Jasmine said.

"Relax, I don't really care," Vivian said, smiling.

Jasmine fixed her coat slightly and walked over to the single desk in the room, leaning against.

"What brings you to this neck of the woods?"

"Just walking around, trying to clear my head."

"What's wrong?"

Vivian blinked, her brow knitting.

"Do I really have to spell it out for you at this point?"

"Oh." Jasmine scratched the back of his head. "If you're having trouble sleeping, I can prescribe you some sleeping medicine."

Vivian shook her head. Taking pills wasn't her way. Jasmine knew this but every so often put the option out to tender. Every time, she hoped the young captain would change her mind. As wily and flexible she could be, Vivian could be unshakable.

Folding her arms behind her head and kicking her legs up, Vivian lay flat on the cot. She looked up at the ceiling. Jasmine walked over, hands in her pockets. It was almost like being in the infirmary when she came to check on a patient; she standing over the wounded individual, who would gaze up at her with hopeful eyes. "Nightmares?"

"Sometimes," Vivian answered casually. "Every so often I see the whole thing over again, and not just when I dream. Other times when I have nightmares, I only hear voices."

"What kind of voices?"

"A man's voice. Distorted, but not...demonic, I suppose."

"What does he say?"

"He says, 'you're no good to me dead,' and then I wake up."

"Can you remember anything else? Feel anything?"

"Cold. Really cold, like I'm outside in the middle of winter." Vivian sat up slightly. "And sometimes I can hear the wind. Feel it. And I can hear this moaning, like trees bending in a winter night."

Jasmine sat on the edge of the bed.

"What do you think it all means?"

"I haven't a clue, Jas. I don't know what to make of dreams. Could be nonsense."

"Well, dreams don't just come from nowhere, Viv. They stem from feelings and thoughts, even fleeting ones. I think dreams and nightmares have something tell us."

"But how much do we take away from them? What's the significance of a dream that's utter nonsense? Like being chased by a big monster or, or, I dunno, something weird."

Jasmine smiled and shrugged.

"Who can say? All you can do is take away as much as you want from it. You can ignore or a dream or accept it."

"Don't get therapist on me," Vivian muttered as she sat up, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Jasmine. She clasped her hands in her lap. After a moment, she looked at the doctor and smiled. "Hey, you doing alright?"

"For the most part. I can't help but wonder if sending just twenty-nine or so people to reclaim a planet was a wise idea."

"Jas, I could tell you a hundred assuring things but all I'll say is this: right now, Mr. Ripper and all his cronies are probably sitting comfortably in that base, bored out of their minds, waiting for us to come back."

"I hope so."

She certainly did. And she certainly hoped her friend hadn't send Frost out there to die. If not for Rear Admiral Travers' reckless nature, the plan would have been laughed out of the room by most other senior officers. Sending a platoon-sized element with two noncombatants in tow to take back a planet from a minor Covenant garrison? Preposterous. Not Travers; he had a flare for the unorthodox. Still, how convenient that the Raiders had been selected for the task despite her antagonism towards their leader, even more so considering they were chosen over the ODSTs. If he failed, or if he died, Vivian would not care one bit, Jasmine speculated. Her better nature tugged her away from such thoughts, though not so much that she concluded that her old friend, from the way she was staring ahead into the wall with a dark gaze, was becoming harder to read.

Jasmine sighed. "I really wish you'd talk to me more about this."

Vivian shrugged.

"It's tough to talk about."

"Of course."

"I know what they were doing was wrong. But...did they have to die?" She asked, looking almost hurt. "Like that? So brutally?"

There was no answer to that. Or at least, not one Jasmine could surmise. Dragging law into a discussion on feelings defeated the purpose. So, she did what she thought was best: answer a question, with a question.

"Viv, why did you join the UNSC?" Vivian seemed startled by the question. Jasmine pressed. "Your friends were killed by a Marine, and then you join the organization he's a part of. Most people, at least I think, would run off and pick up a rifle with the other side."

Vivian thought for a moment.

"They asked me to come with them that night. I stuck to my guns. The UNSC is in the right. I may not agree with all they do, but they're fighting for humanity. That's the side I want to be on. If I joined the Insurrectionists, I'd be going against my own principles."

"Then you'd be willing to do whatever you have to do? To protect humanity?" Jasmine asked. Vivian nodded. "Even if that meant you had to kill another person?"

Vivian's face darkened and she brought her knees up.

"I hope it doesn't come to that. I don't ever want to shoot another person."

"But what if you have to?"

Vivian said nothing. Jasmine put a hand on your shoulder. "Don't hate me for saying this, but I think you need to speak to Nathaniel once more."

"Why?"

"I think if you _try_ to understand his side, if not accept it, you can find some peace with everything."

* * *

With her visor's night vision capabilities activated, Carris scanned their surroundings for the third time in a minute. The woods were dark, empty, and quiet. _River Styx_ had been feeding them reports every twenty minutes on the Brutes' positions. Sure enough, Grant's scheme had worked. All Covenant forces had pushed far beyond where they were currently camped. Even better, they had broken up and were stumbling around the woods, searching for their prey. How long until they gave up and decided to head back, no one could say. When they did, _River Styx_ would catch them.

Despite their refusal to grace the Raiders with their Pelican, Carris had to admit the drone operator, whoever they were, had some real skills. Drones came in all shapes and sizes to meet all manner of requirements by the branches of the UNSC. From unmanned aerial vehicles to pocket sized rotary-craft, they were used in any weather, any place, any time. Liberal usage saw many of the large craft shot down by tenacious Covenant pilots, but the smaller ones had a lower loss count. Which kind they were using she didn't know, but it had some serious stealth capabilities if they were flying so low they could keep an eye on the horde through the canopy. ONI always got the best toys. Or rather, they developed and manufactured the best toys and kept them all for themselves. Everyone else got what was akin to their table scraps.

"Don't worry, they won't be coming back anytime soon. Our sector is clear," Grant said, huddling beside a small fire pit he had dug. It was roughly the size of the average tin can, but with a combination of twigs and leaves, he lit a small blaze within.

"A fire is a bad idea. We should remain dark," Carris advised. "Light travels far, especially in the woods. This glow could be seen for miles."

"Look, I just want to warm my hands up for a second and dry my gloves, okay? Nothing'll happen. They forgot to pack an extra pair and my hands are freezing."

"Make it quick."

Carris remained on watch, anticipating a clandestine raiding party at any moment. She was crouched behind the embankment she had hidden in early. Her armor was now smeared with dirt, and was more brown than green. While she could care less about how it looked, it would make her more difficult to spot. Every so often, she took a moment to glance at the fire. Grant had dug the hole just under the overhang in the embankment, to prevent the light from traveling as much. It cast a minor glow on his face and hands. After heating his hands up, holding his palms over the hole and then rubbing them together, he fed the fire a bit more, sheared away at the sides with his knife so it could grow a little. Then he took a sizable stone, roughly the size of his hand, and placed it in gently, so it wouldn't smother the flames. When it was finally heated some time later, he tried to reach in to grab it, but it was too hot.

"Damn," he hissed, "I think I waited too long. C, can you get it for me please?"

Always polite, Carris mused. Without hesitation, she reached in, picked it up, and set it down beside Grant. He gave her a big grin. "Thanks, C." He spoke very earnestly, she thought. Every single thing he said came with a certain, unique honesty and friendliness. She couldn't help but smile a little inside her helmet. His attitude was infectious and she had seen his demeanor extend onto their squad mates before. They were all good people, and she admired them all for different reasons. To her, Grant was the epitome of amiability.

Grant took out one of his gloves, still damp from the river. Carefully, he laid it out over the warm stone. Steam rose up. Satisfied, he took up another stone and dropped it in. When it was done cooking, Carris scooped it up, set it down, and he put his other glove on it.

He was crouched low on his knees throughout all of this, and when he had both gloves settled on the stones, he wiggled out a little and sat up. "Hopefully this will dry them out some. Last thing I want is to lose a finger to frostbite."

"I don't think it's cold enough."

"You never want to take any chances with cold weather," Grant said wisely as he cracked his back before sliding back into the embankment. Shifting onto his side, he curled around the fire to absorb as much warmth and block the light.

Taking one last look around, Carris sat down entirely, easing into the overhang slightly. She remained more on her back, with her head propped against the back, assault rifle pointed out and ready, just in case. As much as she relied on the motion sensor, she decided to take her helmet off. Setting it down, she moved slightly to the right, closer to the fire, just enough that she could feel some of the warmth on her face.

"I wonder if they can see this from the towers," Carris said, nodding in the direction of Alpha Base. Although a good track of forested land lay between them and the edge of the woods, through the trees she could see the distant towers, small, dark, yet still foreboding in a way. All of their friends were there. Frost had made a wise decision, she had concluded.

"Ah, quit fretting C. Nobody can see the glow. I won't keep it going for much longer."

Carris studied the Marine for a moment. He had grown quite a bit of stubble on his cheeks; it was quite thick around his mouth and on his chin. His hair, which he kept closely cropped, was getting thicker. Everyone in the squad was rather young, and he was the youngest of them all. Despite being through the same conditions as the rest, seeing the same horrors, enduring the same struggles, he didn't look weathered like the others. Even the couple of scars on his cheeks and chin were minor and very faded. All of his youth was still there. He even seemed to be smiling all the time.

"You're very cheerful," Carris said.

"Cheerful is all you can be in a time like this," Grant said, not missing a beat.

"How do you keep it up?"

"Oh, it's easy." That was all he said and for some reason Carris felt like she should know why. Not knowing made her feel somewhat foolish. He seemed to realize this. "When I was a kid, I saw a lot of grownups getting angry over absolutely everything. You name it, somebody was sore over it. Maybe it was just because I was too young to understand it all-bills, mortgages, the government, annoying family members, what have you-but I didn't see the point in getting upset about it. As I got older I made sure to never lose my temper. Sure, I haven't always succeeded but I don't let things get to me. And when you don't let little things get to you, neither do the big things eventually, and you can just go easy and stay happy, you know?"

Carris nodded. Grant rested his head on his outstretched arm, smiling. He sighed, contented. "It's a lot easier to be happy than to be angry."

Some time passed. A report came in from _River Styx_ ; the Covenant were still moving away from them, rather than doubling back. She became more at ease. The fire on her cheeks felt good, and the wind drifting in kept the smoke from filling up their hidey hole.

"Can I ask you something?" Carris asked.

"Mm?"

"Is Grant your first name, or your last name?"

"Oh, you don't know?"

"I don't think it's ever come up. Your fatigues always have a piece of tape with marker pen on them that says Grant, where the tag should be."

He laughed.

"Well, Grant is my first name. I prefer to use it over my last name, so everybody just calls me by my first."

"Why don't you use your last name like everyone else?"

"Because your first name makes you an individual, sets you apart from your family. I like being an individual. There's already plenty of Magondu's. I want to be _Grant_ Magondu. Not just Magondu."

"Magondu," Carris repeated.

"It's a Kikuyu name. My ancestors are from Kenya."

"I thought you were American."

"I am," he boasted. "I was born in California, in a place called Carmel-by-the-Sea."

Carris remembered overhearing him the other night.

"Tell me about your home."

"Oh, it's beautiful. It started as a colony for the arts way back when, and in the 23rd and 24th Centuries there was a big wave of immigrants from Kenya to the west coast of the United States. You see, Mombasa was getting swallowed up by the sea and lots of folks became poor. Not everyone could afford to to travel to the colonies, so going somewhere else on Earth was the only option. My family gave up everything they had and traveled on the boats sent by humanitarian organizations. Because some of them were art teachers, they decided to settle in Carmel-by-the-Sea. It's a big city now, not like it used to be in the old pictures. But those beaches are still white, the there's lots of trees and grass, and plenty of the buildings still look like they did hundreds of years ago."

Grant sighed happily. "I can't wait to see it again. Of course, I love every bit of California. I was surfing by the time I was nine."

"Really?"

"Yep. I was a total badass," he said, grinning wide and jerking his thumb towards himself. "I've probably surfed on every popular beach in the state. I can't imagine living anywhere else but there."

"Is that why you like that song Frost sings?"

"Yep. It's a great, old song. I can never get enough of it. I know all the words but I like it when he sings it, because he tries to sound like an old-timey jazz singer. He's a total dork but I love it."

Carris chuckled a bit. Then she remembered.

"I heard you two talking the other night. You mentioned something about wearing white."

Grant grew misty-eyed then, though he still smiled.

"Yeah. It's an old story passed down through my family. Like I said, my ancestors sold everything they had in Old Mombassa and headed over at the dawn of the 24th Century, just as things started to turn bad. Weather was awful that year in the Pacific; storms, rain, big waves, strong winds. Going by air was too expensive then too. When they finally got to Carmel-by-the-Sea in the middle of summer, they ended up on the beach. Everyone was wearing white summer clothes, oddly enough. I think it's because white clothes was all the humanitarian aid organizations had. White hats, white shoes, white pants, white shirts, white dresses. All of their clothes were white, just like the sand. Anyways, it was a paradise when they got there. Warm, no rain, no dangerous winds. Just calm."

Grant was quiet for a time. "Could be just a story my grandmother cooked up to help me fall asleep as a kid, or to teach me a lesson. I've thought about that; the clothes represent the change in my family's history. Maybe. But I've always pictured the whole thing in my head, you know? All my grandparents and great aunts and uncles, folks who are long gone, standing on the beach, with that feeling like...like they just _made_ it. So when I get back home, the first thing I'm going to do, rain or shine, is head down to the beach all in white, so I can feel the same way as them. Feel like I'm truly home."

He let out a happy little chuckle. "I'm going to bring the guys with me. We're all going to wear white and stand on that beach. And so are you."

"I'm already looking forward to it," Carris said, smiling.

What a dream, she thought, what a dream. How wonderful it would be to feel that way. She couldn't remember a time when she had felt happy to be alive like that. Just the way he said it all made her feel airy her stomach. All she could think about was this place with an odd name, and it's pristine beach. Already, she could see her and the squad, standing together in the sand, smiling, laughing. More than a few would probably kill the mood, strip their clothes, and go charging into the sea. No cares in the world, no war to worry about.

"When should we set out?" Grant asked.

"If there are no changes in the battlespace, we'll head out around oh-four-hundred. We'll use the last bit of darkness to get to the sat-array, locate whatever equipment is there, and hold tight until the rest of the Raiders can pick us up."

"Cool. I'll take first watch."

"No, I'll-"

"C, I've got this. Get some shuteye. I'll wake you up in an hour."

Wordlessly, Carris nodded, reassured by Grant's smile. As he re-adjusted so that he could keep an eye out for the Covenant, she got as comfortable as she could, closed her eyes, and fell asleep, thinking of Carmel-by-the-Sea.

###

Carris opened her eyes at the sound of Grant's voice.

"C! C! Wake up!" he hissed. Immediately she grabbed her rifle and slid out from under the embankment. She scanned their environment for any targets, but found none.

"What is it?" she asked, urgently. "What time is it?"

"It's almost oh-four-hundred."

"You were supposed to wake me hours ago!"

"Look, it doesn't matter. _River Styx_ just radioed me; a Covvie search party is making its way towards us. They're about a klick and a half to our north. If we start heading for the sat-array now, they should miss us entirely."

Carris rubbed her eyes with one hand. She had been in deep sleep when he had stirred her. Her neck was stiff and a headache was setting in, though it was nothing for her. Quickly, she grabbed her helmet, put it on, and took one of their rucksacks. Grant took the other and covered up the dead fire as best he could. If he hadn't worried about the fire earlier, he had to be now. If the Covenant came across it, which they would because the smell of a burned-out fire, however small, tended to linger, they would know they were close. The pair would have to move fast.

Carris led the way, moving briskly through the trees. Grant was hot on her heels, nearly sprinting. Trees and bushes flew by. It was almost as if the forest were folding open on either side of her peripheral vision as she charged for that blue diamond. The distance meter was decreasing with each bound. For some time they ran ahead, bucketing along to avoid the Brute back descending from the north. Even if they were well out of range, they weren't going to slow down.

It wasn't until they were about a klick away from the base that Carris stopped. Grant was panting heavily. Not wheezing, but he needed to rest.

"I can keep going," he said, even as he bent over, resting his now-gloved hands on his knees.

"Take five," she ordered, taking a knee and giving their position a three-hundred-sixty degree scan with her scope. No wonder the going had gotten tougher, they were making their way uphill. She had been so fixated on their destination that she hadn't even realized. It was like being on autopilot.

She radioed the _River Styx._ " _River Styx_ , come in, this is Alpha One Three, over."

"Receiving you, Alpha One Three, send it."

"Are we out of range of the Covenant search party? Over."

"Affirmative, Alpha One Three."

"Solid copy, Alpha One Three out." Carris stood up and waited until Grant was in better shape. He didn't take long to recover his breath. When he was ready, he gave her a solid nod. "Let's not waste any time. I'll take point."

The trek through the woods was slow-going and methodical. Carris decided to treat it more as a tactical patrol rather than an exfil. It placed her and Grant in a better position to react and defend themselves in the off chance of an ambush. Her motion sensor was clear but she kept one eye on it. Motion trackers were a Spartan's closest friend. One had to wonder how the soldiers of old had gotten by, without radar, without sensors, without night vision. Despite the distance that was afforded by 26th Century technology, combat had become more intimate than ever before. Perhaps it was due more to their enemy rather than their strategies. Covenant troops never took much cover and preferred to take the offensive. Swarming and wave tactics were products from a bygone age. Certainly, they could afford it. Not the UNSC. What mind would send human soldiers across open ground against fortified positions in this day and age?

All the same, the trek was lonesome without conversation. Considering they were in no real risk, she decided to strike up a chat.

"Grant?"

"Yeah?"

"Tell me about your fight against the Skopje Rebels."

"Why?" he asked, rather defensively.

"It's seems like it's very...important to all of you."

"Skopje was our baptism of fire. It was a real bloodbath and-" he paused for just a moment. "-well, let's just say it brought out the worst in all of us."

"What does that mean? The worst in you?"

"That depends on who you talk to. Moser can put a bit of a religious spin on it, and Bishop can just reduce it to a they're bad, we're good, sort of argument. If you want to get real philosophical about it, I think you should talk to Frost. He thinks about those sorts of thing. Me, I just think that we all have the capacity to do bad things, and some folks don't know how to reign them back in. Doing bad things is necessary, sometimes. And some soldiers get lost in it. What's the Nietzsche quote? Beware that, when fighting monsters you yourself do not become a monster. Sounds like lunacy, but I've seen it happen."

"You don't strike me as somebody who can do awful things."

"I reigned it back in."

Carris pondered that for some time.

"What kind of things did you see there?"

Just for a bit, he said nothing.

"When we went back up the mountain, we didn't go by ourselves. The 89th, I mean. All of the program units arrived as reinforcements, plus all the Army garrisons on the planet. There had to be more than fifteen thousand troops on the planet. I had never seen so many in one place, even back home. Seeing us marching together, with all our vehicles and air support, that was something else." Grant made a scoffing sound. "Fat load it did us though. A good chunk of the Innies escaped far deeper in the woods that lay beyond the mountain. We pursued but only for a few kilometers before HIGHCOM ordered a general stop to the advance. I haven't seen the other program units since then."

"Do you ever get any news from them?"

"Occasionally. Hayes usually stays in touch with the commanders but he doesn't tell us much beyond a status update every so often. I hope they're okay."

"If they're as tough as you, I think they're alright."

Grant chuckled, but grew somewhat somber.

"Not all of what I saw there was good though," he went on. "There was this one time when the vanguard unit, an Army detachment, got caught in some high fields beyond the mountain. You see, there's this flat area between the mountain and the rest of the forest, and the Innies used it to plant crops. When we went after them, they set the fields on fire with the vanguard in them. When we saw those fields go up, all we could hear was the screaming. Some came staggering out of the cornfields, completely on fire, and their ammunition was going off from the heat. Just popping away, white sparks flashing from their belts. It was bad; the Army had a really bad time of it on Skopje."

Deciding not to press the conversation forward, Carris allowed the pair to settle into silence. Minute after minute passed, until the hour folded. Slowly, far off in the east, the sun was beginning to rise. Just a few slim rays of cold, gray light peeking out over the horizon. Over the flatlands, the light just began to penetrate through the forest canopy and between the trees. All of it was very lovely. Carris was beginning to realize just how much she had neglected to see in her life. So wrapped up and focused on the mission, she had never comprehended how beautiful the places humanity found were.

As the sky began to change from utter darkness to a cloudy murk, they finally began to close in on the objective. At the edge of the woodline, Carris to a knee by a large hedge and motion for Grant to do the same. Ahead was a two story rectangular building made of concrete. To her surprise, it had some titanium armor plating added. While the full extent of the plans could never be realized, it was obvious this colony was supposed to be a powerhouse. Strangely enough, the building had no damage; even the windows were still intact. Perpendicular to it was another long rectangular structure of concrete and steel, but ultimately unfinished. Only columns, beams, and a concrete first and second floor existed. There were no walls save for a few in the center, and the columns lining the perimeter were spaced by about three feet.

Watching her motion sensor carefully, Carris found no movement. She radioed the _River Styx._

"Good work Alpha One Three. According to the remaining records, there should be some weapons and ammunition in a storeroom on the first floor, located in the right wind. Transferring the codes to you now." A four digit number combination appeared on her visor. "Once you've unlocked the storeroom, proceed to the second floor. You should find a large central computer. Ensure that the database has been scrubbed."

Carris looked at Grant, who shook his head in disgust. But she responded in the affirmative anyways.

"What is this? First they won't give us transport and now they want us to do a little Spring cleaning?" Grant asked,doing his best to contain his agitation.

"Typical ONI bullshit," Carris muttered. Grant chuckled.

"I like it when you swear," he joked.

"Come on."

With weapons raised, they headed to the door. There was only one, and it was open. Carris took the right side while Grant went to the other. "Go!"

They stormed in, sweeping their rifles across the room. "Clear right."

"Clear left." They were standing in a sort of foyer, with the staircase directly in front of them. On either side was an open doorway. Grant proceed to the left while Carris went right. It was a sort of living space, with bunk beds and empty lockers. At the end was the door to the storeroom. Carris plugged the code in and the door slid open. In front of her was a tight space packed with weapons, ammunition, and grenades. She nodded approvingly.

"Clear," she said over the TEAMCOM.

"Clear. Backup genny's running. Weird," Grant responded.

When he joined her, the pair moved upstairs. Changing sides, Grant went to the right and Carris went to the left. On each side, there was a doorway that led from the landing. Each small room had many screens, panels, terminals, computers, and other tech lining the walls. Eventually she ended up on the west side of the building, which was the largest, longest room, opposite from the landing. Grant was coming through the opposite door as she entered. In the center, she found a circular command station, made up of numerous panels with switches, keys, and buttons. The middle panel had a terminal.

" _River Styx,_ Alpha One Three here. I have eyes on the central computer. Checking database. Break." Hefting her rifle onto her back, she leaned down, activated the console, established an override, and was soon checking the database. It appeared empty. Just to be thorough, she ran some routines that ONI techs had taught. Some databases had hidden portions, which required special access codes. The routine was referred to as a safecracker. She was surprised to see that some of the data had survived the purge from several years ago. " _River Styx,_ most of the database is wiped but there appears to be some left. Permission to purge the-"

"Negative, Alpha One Three. Repeat, negative." This was the voice of Captain Rundstrom. "On your right, you should see a data storage unit." Carris looked, and there it was. How on earth would they know that?

" _River Styx_...how are you aware of the data storage unit? Over."

"Alpha One Three, copy the data to the storage unit, then purge the system. Out."

Carris looked at Grant, who shook his head once more.

"This is getting weird. This guy is definitely a spook." Spook he may have been, but she had to follow orders. Carris downloaded the files after making a copy and initiated a purge. The data was now entirely cleared from the facility's cache. She unplugged the storage unit and stuffed it into Grant's rucksack.

That's when she saw two red dots appear on her motions sensor.

"Down!" she hissed. The dots were approached from the west. Carris crouched behind the panels while Grant slithered over to the window. He quickly peered over the edge.

"Two bravo-kilos," he whispered, holding up his index and middle finger in a V. "One's coming into the building, the other's exploring the unfinished one. One captain, one minor."

Avoiding them wasn't going to be an option, not with one inside. The finished structure was not as large as the other, and it would eventually come across them. Taking them out quietly would not be easy, and would most likely alert the others to their absence, but it was the only option. Doing so would give them time to prepare. Their position was now compromised and the relief force would take some time to get there.

She made a symbol with her hand, ordering Grant to stay put. Putting the rucksack down gently, she drew her knife and SOCOM, then headed to the door. She remained at a half crouch and stayed away from the windows. Her motion sensor indicated that the Brute was heading towards the stairs now. When she got to the top of the stairs, she stayed as far to the right of it as she could, then leveled her pistol. As the beast came stomping, her hand remained steady. As soon as the minor's head appeared, she pulled the trigger. The round struck the Brute's exposed chin, searing off a large part of its jaw. Unable to roar, the monster staggered back. Carris lunged and raised her knife. The Brute caught her wrist, but was fumbling with its Spiker. It tried to lift Carris off her feet by the one arm, but it was a mistake. She was still holding the pistol in her other hand, and she pressed it against its hairy chest an emptied. Eleven rounds impacted, each with a fleshy _thump_ , corresponding with the _tick tick tick_ of the suppressed weapon. The alien's grip relaxed and Vivian was freed. On its knees, the Brute couldn't even manage a moan as its tongue spilled out from its torn mouth. Wasting no time, Carris plunged the knife into the left side of its throat, and dragged it to the right. Dark blood spilled over her hand as she withdrew; for good measure, she gave it a solid kick down the stairs before reloading her sidearm.

"Bravo-kilo down," she said over the TEAMCOM, cold as stone.

"The captain's making his way to our building. Fast."

It probably heard its minor falling down the stairs. Carris rushed down to meet it at the door. Just as she hit the landing, the captain roared through the doorway. As it try to bring its Spiker to bear, Carris jumped and kicked the weapon from its gigantic hand. Landing just as the monster recovered, she recoiled back to avoid a right hook. Raising her pistols, she emptied half a clip into its unarmored knee, forcing it down. But just as it fell, it primed and threw a spike grenade right at her. Deftly, she stepped aside. The grenade struck the wall just behind her and Carris rolled into the next room over. After the detonation, she stormed back in to find the Brute speaking in its strange tongue. For a moment, Carris was shocked. Slurring, the captain gazed up at her. Blood leaked from its mouth, knee, and from where the spikes from its own grenade had embedded into its chest. A last ditch effort to take her with it, she realized. Then, it came to her that it wasn't talking at her; it was radioing for help. Waiting no longer, she marched up to it, jammed the barrel of the SOCOM into its maw, and fired away. Six rounds tunneled into its thick skull; the final round exited and flew through the doorway into the dirt.

"Fuck," was all she said, angry at herself for not realizing sooner. Years of training overruled by her own curiosity.

Grant came jogging down the stairs.

"Did that thing get a call out?"

"Yes," Carris answered. "Wouldn't matter anyways. They would come looking. We need to dig in."

"How?"

Simple, Carris decided. She explained that they were going to move all of the equipment upstairs to the second floor. Having the advantage of four, long windows in each direction gave them an excellent field of fire in case of an attack. As well, they could rig tripwires on the stairs and at the doorways below. Shotguns were in plentiful supply; security personnel preferred them for facilities such as these due to the close quarters nature of them. They'd position these in strategic, easily accessed spots throughout the second floor. With a little extra manipulation on the facility control, they could shut the doors as well. While these could easily be blasted through by whatever explosives the Covenant had left, it would stall them. Everything revolved around time; they needed to hold out as long as they could.

It did not take them long to prepare. Within twenty minutes, tripwires were laced, doors were locked, and ammunition and weaponry had been placed. Carris knelt by the window, checking her weapon. Grant was beside her and he gave her a confident grin. She gave him a thumbs up in response.

Looking out the window, the sun was now rising further. Clouds were breaking. She took a deep breath.

"Alpha One Actual, this is Alpha One Three. Our position has been compromised. Request immediate assistance. Over."

* * *

As the sun took its place in the sky, the Marine Raiders approached their little convoy. Emery, Phan, Konstantin, and Nikodim were in the gun Hog; Konstantin, riding shotgun, was crouching in his seat and had secured the machine gun on the top of the windscreen. Bishop and Knight were taking one of the Mongooses, while Moser and Parker took the other. Military-issue dirt bikes were just as sturdy as they were fast, and could carry two people. Frost and Steele were on one, Maddox and Borko on the second, and Gabe and Boulos on the third.

Langley and the rest were in the transport Warthog. She slid a fresh clip into her rifle as she marched towards the vehicle with Sánchez at her side. He was smiling.

"You've been strutting since you found that hidden garage," she said, elbowing him.

"I feel like I'm really earning my keep," he responded.

"No need to prove yourself," Frost said as he flipped his helmet right side up and put it on. He was standing beside the dirt bike. Steele, straddling it, looked at though he were aching for a smoke. "You're a Raider."

Langley and Sánchez bumped their fists together before climbing up and sitting in the rear of the transport. With a few agile movements, Frost jumped onto the hood. "Alright, everybody listen up. Let's keep this simple. Bikers will serve as scouts, Mongooses as outriders. Hogs, stick together but maintain an interval. Jasper, you ready?"

The Pelican was sitting a few meters away from the ragtag convoy. Scouring the garage for parts, they had managed to splice together enough material to create a makeshift patch over the exposed part of the craft. It was rough work, as all field repairs were, and they wouldn't be able to cruise at full speed. Unable to operate at peak efficiency, a quick exfil was out of the question. Pushing the Pelican at this point was dangerous. Only if the situation deteriorated would they use it for a dust off. Just to lighten the stress on the aircraft, the troop deployment pod had to be removed. At the very least, they could provide air support. They still had some rockets left, plus the chin turret and ceiling-mounted MG in the compartment would be excellent at thinning enemy ranks.

The pilot gave them a thumbs up. He and his crew had worked in one-hour two-man shifts; two worked while one slept. Thankfully, none of the trio were overtired. Pilots passing out at the controls was becoming a problem in drawn-out war zones.

Frost nodded. "Alright. We'll proceed to edge of the forest nearest to the sat-array facility. While the bikes should be able to negotiate the terrain, the Hogs won't be able to due to tree density. The Warthogs will stay behind with a security team; this will consist of part of second and third squad. Nebiyev, Konstantin, Nikodim, Sánchez and will remain with Emery and Phan. With the turret and the M247, you should be okay until we get back. ATV's will dismount, so that'll leave Pachis, Knight, Bishop, Moser, Parker, Langley, and Macintosh on foot. The riders will push ahead, harass the enemy position, while the team on foot extracts Carris and Grant. Riders will stay to stall the Covvies; once the foot team is clear, we'll fall back under the cover of the Pelican, regroup with the Hogs, and then we'll return to base together. Understood?"

"Aye, Gunny!" Everyone shouted.

Frost jumped down, climbed onto the back of the dirt bike, waved his hand in a circle, and the convoy started off.

Langley was amped. She was eager for a fight. They all were. Gone was the anxiety from the night before. All of the Raiders were ready, most carrying an extra weapon; an SMG here, a shotgun there. Grins all around, exchanging high-fives, fist bumps, casual elbow jabs, and shoulder shoves. Energy was up. Watching the bikes accelerate, weaving around the convoy like horsemen of old in a Cantabrian circle. Only they weren't going to be tossing javelins today.

Out of the compound and onto the flatlands, the wind was whistling. Over the wind, they could hear the distant sounds of explosions. Langley couldn't see it, and the noise was so faint and the wind so loud she could hardly hear it. Conversations quickly abated as everyone strained their ears. Over the SQUADCOM, Frost's voice filtered through.

"Stay focused everybody. Stay focused. Langley, patch into their comms, if you'd please?"

Please? Odd, Langley mused. There was no need to be polite. All the same, she did as she was asked.

"Alpha One Three, this is Alpha One Romeo. Do you copy? Over."

"Copy!" Carris responded. In that brief moment, she could hear gunfire and plasma.

"Keep your channel open. Keep us updated. Over."

"Solid copy, we're holding fast-Grant keep your head down! Down!" With the channel open, they could hear everything being said between the pair.

"We've got Skirmishers making a run for the stairs!" Grant cried.

"Let the tripwires deal with them." A series of muffled explosions followed.

"Needlers, watch out!"

"Don't let them lock on. Stay low, stay low...keep cycling that weapon, rifleman. Keep up the fire."

"Thirty hostiles coming out of the woods to the north; they're flanking left. I'm changing positions."

There was an explosion. "Oh, man, they're through the first door." Another explosion.

"Come back to me, we have to deal with the doors...they're coming through!"

Langley exchanged a look with Sánchez, who looked very pale.

* * *

Carris ducked behind a console as a stream of blue plasma flew over her head. She was in front of the blown out door leading into the main room. An Elite was standing in the center, holding two plasma rifles. When she heard the two weapons overheat with a loud hiss, she jumped up and let out a long burst of automatic fire. Within moments, the Elite's shield blinked away and the last rounds of the clip buried into its chest. Gurgling, it fell backwards, dropping both weapons.

A Skirmisher attempted to dart through but Grant had just jogged up and he cut it down with an accurate three-round burst. Another tried to scramble through but Grant was advancing to the left side of the blown out door. With another rifle burst, it was down. He stacked up and tossed a frag grenade through.

"If the Brutes get in here, we're fucked!" He yelled before blind-firing through the doorway. Carris's motion sensor was clouded with red. They were swarming the building, slowed only by the fear of numerous tripwires. She slid over to the window and looked out; Brutes were approaching, one of which was a Chieftain wielding a gravity hammer. Not Big Hair, but a threat nonetheless. Changing strategies was their only option.

"Push through the door," Carris ordered as she reloaded. She stormed through the doorway, firing. Grunts and Skirmishers fell. When an Elite tried to swing an Energy Sword at her, she nimbly dodged to the right and pivoted around it. Drawing her knife simultaneously, she jumped and jammed it into its neck. That was enough to bring it down. Withdrawing it, she turned and whipped it into the gut of a Jackal that had made the mistake of lowering its shield gauntlet in the attempt to squeeze off a shot. Many Grunts were in the room and with death of the Elite they panicked, trying to run back out. By now, Grant had run in and was raking them with rifle fire. All the surviving Grunts were blockaded at the door as Jackals and Skirmishers tried to push through. It was a shooting gallery. Both Carris and Grant emptied clips into the throng of Covenant troops. When they kept coming, clawing over their own dead, they switched to their pistols and began popping them off. M6 rounds, no matter the model, made quick work of the light body armor the Covenant cannon fodder donned.

A pile of bodies accumulated. Many fell as their compatriots attempted to push through. All of the Grunts had been slain. Then, there was a roar and the bodies burst forth, revealing a Brute captain. "Cover!" shouted Carris. Grant doubled back while she rolled to the right. She had stowed a shotgun against the wall and she snatched it up. Brutes were tough, but a shotgun blast at close range made quick work of them. As it charged, brandishing its bladed Brute shot, she ducked and fired a shell right into its gut. Blood spilled from its belly, and as it sank she finished it off with a headshot, which blew away its helmet, faceplate, and most of its face. Advancing to the door, she shot down a minor, then another, and another, and before she knew it, she was on the other side. Grant was hot on her heels. "Take cover behind me," she ordered, crouching down as she moved. The rifleman placed one hand on her shoulder and held his rifle with the other. Skirmishers and Brutes attempted to funnel through the door on the other side of the room. Not bothering with cover, the Brutes smashed through terminals and consoles, paving a way for themselves.

Minors and captains fell with each pull of the trigger. Scores of Skirmishers fell under the barrel of Grant's rifle. Soon, the Covenant weren't advancing, but falling back towards the stairs. The duo pushed on, and on, firing and reloading, pausing only to reload and throw frag grenades. Bodies piled up in front of them, behind them, on either side. Blood slicked the floor and stained their armor. When they approached the door that led to the landing, a captain appeared and fired its Brute shot at them. Deftly, they took cover on either side of the door and the round passed straight through. Grant again fired blindly before tossing another frag grenade. The captain went back down the stairs, covered by a minor. In their own tongue, the Brutes began shouting. While they always sounded monstrously angry, it seemed to be directed at the pair.

Carris checked her weapons while Grant continued to fire. When he withdrew to reload, he had a fire in his eyes.

"We're going to harvest you for fucking pelts when we're done with you!" he screamed. More alien roaring came at him. "I'll get a good price for them too!" For good measure, he drew his pistol and fired at the corner of the stairs.

They had the initiative. Carris nodded at him.

"Let's take and hold the landing. I'll take point."

"No, I will!" he said and rushed on.

"Grant, wait!" But he was through. Carris was right behind him. The Captain appeared, trying to slice her comrade up with the blade on its grenade launcher. Grant was faster and dodged, leaving the beast exposed. Carris cut him down with a single shell, then proceeded to kill two minors that were coming up after them. As they tried to move up, there was a deep roar and thudding steps up the stairs.

"Look out!" Grant cried, jumping back just as the end of a gravity hammer appeared, slamming down on the landing. The concrete floor sagged slightly, cracking in numerous directions. Then it came up, tall in its foreboding black and bronze armor, eyes aflame. It locked on Carris. She only had time to squeeze one shot off, which hit it in the leg. That didn't stop it. Swinging the hammer without the kinetic pulse, it knocked the weapon from her hands. In the next instant, it leveled the staff horizontally and it bashed Carris with it. Stumbling back, she latched onto the staff with both hands and attempted to wrench it from the chieftain. But it was strong, and instead of pulling it away from her, it was pushing it down. Slowly, Carris was forced onto her knees, then nearly forced onto her back. Saliva from the chieftain's maw dripped down onto her visor as it snarled.

She hear the tell tale sound of a pistol firing. Carris had been pushed down in the corner of the landing, wedged to her right so she could see just around the creature. Grant was firing his sidearm into its back, point blank, but the chieftain didn't seem to notice. When he was out, reloaded the pistol then went his rifle, firing thirty-two rounds into its back. Nothing. Drawing his knife, he charged forward. He jumped on its back and began jabbing the knife repeatedly through its thick hide. With each strike, the chieftain only grunted, focused only on crushing Carris. The staff was now against her throat, and she could feel the weight on her windpipe.

Suddenly, a group of Jackals and Skirmishers darted up the steps. One of the latter jumped on the chieftain's back and wrenched Grant off. Grant landed hard but was able to draw his pistol, killing the quick alien in two hits. They began to swarm him. "Come on mother fuckers!" he yelled, shooting another, then another. He bashed a Jackal, kicked at a Skirmisher, but it caught his leg and tripped him. Two Jackals descended on him, but Grant killed one with his pistol. The same Skirmisher latched onto his wrist, pointing the sidearm away from it. Grant flailed, kicked, headbutted, screamed, and bit. As soon as he knocked one away, another took its placed. Eventually, one Jackal took him by the left arm, another by his right, a third took his left leg, and the Skirmisher took his right. No matter how much he struggled, they had him, and they began carrying him down the stairs.

"Carris!" Grant yelled as he fought. "Fuck, Carris! Help me! Carris!" A fifth came up and began pounding him in the center with its plasma pistol, squawking.

"No...Grant..." Carris wheezed. He disappeared, still screaming, still calling her name.

A rage began. Heat built up in her belly, traveled into her chest. She could feel her heart, her lungs, then all of her muscles swell. Grunting, gritting her teeth, feeling a redness cloud the edge of her vision, Carris began to push the shocked looking chieftain off of her. With a defiant cry, she rose to one knee, then headbutted the creature. _Crack!_ The impact cracked its exposed fangs. As it stumbled, she wrenched the gravity hammer away from it. Swinging it three hundred sixty degrees, she buried the hammer into its gut. Snapping it on her knee, she took the lower half and ran it through the chieftain's center like a lance. Howling in pain, it fell back. Carris pounced on top of it, grabbed top of its jaw with one hand and its lower jaw with the other, hooking her thumbs so her grip was firm, she began to pull in the opposite direction. Kicking and screaming, the Brute could only watched as Carris dislocated and unhinged its jaws. She let go, letting them flap loosely for a moment, before reaching down, grabbing its tongue. Then, she proceeded to tear it out. Blood splashed her visor as it snapped free. Breathing heavily, she stepped off, grabbed the shotgun, which only had on shell left. Holding it with one hand, she leveled the barrel with the chieftain's brutalized face. Flowing from its mouth and nose was dark blood; the monster couldn't even muster a single sound. Carris pulled the trigger and dropped the shotgun. _Grant._

Wheeling around, she charged down the stairs. Grant, being carried by the pack of bird-like aliens, was almost at the bottom of the stairs. Carris barged right into the group, who all dropped Grant. She picked one of the Jackals up by the neck. It kicked at her blood-covered chest, clawed at her gauntlet-ed wrist, making a sound like nails being dragged across a chalkboard. With a single, tremendous squeeze, she crushed its windpipe and the beast fell limp. She tossed it aside like a used handkerchief and slapped another to the side, grabbed it by its ankles, and smashed it against the left wall, then the right, twice, three times, four, five, until it was a broken mess. Throwing it down, she punched right through the chest of the Skirmisher, her fist appearing on the other side. When she withdrew, there was a large, grisly hole, and it tumbled down the stairs. Two more. One of them tried to run but she tripped it on the bottom step, then curb stomped it. All that was left was a neck.

Turning to the last, she saw that Grant had grappled it to the ground. His rifle had remained slung over his shoulder. He now had it in his hands and was beating the Skirmisher who had hit him. Strike after strike had opened its head, caved in its skull, and brain matter was exposed. Carris grabbed him by the shoulder. "Come on, Grant," she said. Grant stopped brief, his eyes wide as if he had gone insane. He was breathing loudly and heavily. When he lunged for the Skirmisher again, she had to restrain him. "Come on!"

They went back up the stairs. Grant dropped down and slid into one of the corners, tossing another fragmentation grenade down the stairs before leveling his rifle. "You good?" Carris asked him as she ducked into the next room, retrieving another shotgun, ammunition, and grenades.

"I'm, I'm good," he answered shakily. He glanced at the corpse of the chieftain. "You?"

"Ready," she said, crouching beside him, shotgun in hand. Still, her motion sensor showed red. "They're coming."

A stream of Skirmishers came rushing up the stairs, but were shot away with Soellkraft eight gauge shells and seven-six-two millimeter rounds. Both Carris and Grant rose to their feet, firing at the seemingly never-ending horde. Bodies tumbled down the stairs. Carris realized then that the pair were advancing down stairs, shoulder to shoulder, firing and reloading. Green plasma bolts hit her armor but it didn't phase her, even as she felt the heat. Grant's M52B took a few hits, but he was strong, it was nothing. Their adrenaline was spiking. Brutes tried at them, but each was cut down by her shotgun. Ditching her empty shotgun as Elites came through the main entrance, she drew her modded assault rifle her back and riddled their shields until they fizzled away. As they cleared the first floor, they found themselves standing in the doorway, side by side, shooting into a throng of mixed Covenant soldiers advancing on them. As they reloaded one last time, the horde made a charge for them.

The revving of engines and shrill war cries stopped everything. Carris and Grant looked to their left. Bursting from the tree line was an olive drab dirt bike, followed by another, and another. Firing away with SMGs and rifles, they cut a swathe through the Covenant mass. It was too much for them, and the aliens began to break and scatter. Relieved at the sight of their comrades, Carris and Grant could only stand as the bikers harassed the retreating Covenant. A squad of Grunts was making for the tree line. But there was a hiss, then a _whoosh_ as they were engulfed in orange flame. Macintosh came charging with the rest of the Raiders, firing into the remaining Covenant troops. Some Brutes and Skirmishers attempted to take cover in the unfinished building, but to no avail. Knight fired a rocket, taking out a group. A forty millimeter round from Parker's grenade launcher scattered them, and Macintosh finished them off, filling the half-finished structure with fire. As he let loose with the NA4, he let out a deep, long, guttural war cry.

The Covenant disappeared into the woods but withering fire continued to come in the direction. Compared to what they had seen, it didn't concern any of the Raiders. One of the bikes rolled to a stop in front of the pair. It was Frost and Steele. Both looked utterly shocked to see Grant and Carris. Soaked in blood, surrounded by bodies, they must have looked a sight. They made have stayed there for some time, gazing foolishly at one another. But it was Carris who broke the silence.

"Thank you for coming," was all she said.

"Knight!" Frost yelled. Knight and the Raiders who were on foot gathered up nearby. "Take them back through the woods to the vehicles. We'll chase the Covenant for a bit and wait for the Pelican to cover us."

"Right. Come on, let's go," Knight ordered with a wave of his hand. Carris began to follow, trying to get into formation, but she realized that Grant had an arm around her. He was shaking slightly. She could have asked him if he was alright, but she didn't need to. Putting an arm around him, they began jogging away, the rest of the Raiders circling around them. A sigh of relief passed through her lips.

"All Alpha vectors, return immediately to the vehicles!" Sánchez's distressed voice flooded the comms. "We are under attack." The squad stopped. Carris looked at Frost; he and Steele hadn't gone off yet. A look of horror crossed his face, then anger.

"No..." he said quietly, then he yelled, " _No!_ Everyone double-time it to the Warthogs!"

* * *

As Langley broke out of the woodline, she spotted the Warthogs just a few yards away. Phan was on the gun, firing the M41 chaingun. The treeline was shaped in gradual curve around the two trucks and the ATVs. Both Warthogs were facing the eastern woods, and on their left was the northern tree line, just one hundred yards away. Brutes, Elites, Skirmishers, and squads of heavy and special operations Grunts were advancing on them. Emery was taking cover behind his and Phan's Warthog, firing a rifle. Instead of hunkering down behind the transport Hog like Nebiyev, Sánchez, along with the brothers Nikodim, and Konstantin were in a ditch a few yards ahead. Phan was firing over their heads. Much of the terrain was pockmarked by ditches and small rock formations, and the returning Raiders quickly dispersed among these.

Langley slid up to a rock perpendicular to the ditch Sánchez and the brothers were in. She began to return fire but with each enemy she dropped two more took their place. Green, red, and blue plasma sizzled all around the Raiders.

"Frost, where the hell are you and the bikers!? We need you to break their advance!" Nebiyev shouted.

"Hang on," came the reply. The three bikes appeared from the tree line, storming through the ranks of the Covenant. These attackers knew what they were doing though, they were prepared. Instead of immediately breaking for cover, they circled up-Brutes, a few remaining Elites, and Grunts, all together-and began firing at the bikers. A captain almost took off Steele's head with its Spiker's bayonet.

"We have to pull back, we're taking too much fire! Steele shouted.

"Fall back to us," Nebiyev ordered, "covering fire!"

Langley cycled her weapon and continued to pour fire into the enemy. But they were closing in.

"Let's get the hell out of here!" Emery shouted, "everybody mount up!"

"No, there are fuel rod cannons out there. They're waiting for us to pile in to hit us all at once!" Frost yelled. "Anybody with battle rifles, take out the Grunts with the cannons!" Langley continued to suppress encroaching Grunt formations. Reports from battle rifles rose above the cacophony of weapons fire.

"Sniper! Watch out!" someone cried. Instinctively, Langley ducked down.

"Phan, get down!" Emery shouted. Langley watched as Phan jumped from the back of the Warthog just as a line of purple whizzed by, right where his head had been.

"Where's the Pelican?" another Raider shouted.

Langley looked back and was horrified to see ten or twelve Grunts charging the machine gun position.

"Sánchez, you're about to get overrun, right flank, right flank!" she yelled before letting loose with her rifle. She watched as the brothers dropped their machine gun, fixed bayonets on their assault rifles, and began fighting off the Grunts as they leaped into the position. Sánchez also slid his bayonet onto his rifle, locked it, and joined the fray. Just like in basic, he lunged forward with his rifle, shooting as he did, and drove the bayonet right through the skull of a marauding Grunt. MA5's were of the bullpup design, and although bayonets had become outdated some centuries ago, that didn't stop their design and manufacture. When push came to shove, a bayonet ensured a modicum of distance, which is what most line troops needed when facing the Covenant, even if they looked silly on the end of their assault rifles. Instead of being mounted under the stubby barrel, the actual blade was on the right side of the ring, keep it slightly to the right. Skirmishers joined in the melee but the trio were holding their own. Borko, who was crouched beside Langley, dropped his rifle and drew a tomahawk from his belt.

"Let's go!" he yelled and ran forward. Automatically, she yanked out her bayonet, slid it over the barrel, locked it firm, and rushed after him. As they attempted to close the distance, she watched as a squad of Brutes lobbed grenades forward. The spike grenades, about seven or eight, landed in a perfect line in front of the pair. "Down!" Borko yelled, giving her a shove before diving to the ground.

Just as she hit the dirt, the grenades went off. Hot spikes landed all around her and the concussion tossed her some feet away. The air was knocked out of her and she gasped for breath. Her ears were ringing. A cloud of dust had been thrown up by the blast, and in the haze she could see Borko, who was suffering just like her, holding his ears. As she rolled from her back onto her left side, she could see the ditch where Sánchez, Nikodim, and Konstantin were. In the brief moments from the detonation, a few others had joined the rush. As the Grunts and Skirmishers retreated, a huge figure came out of the dust, charging at the ditch. It was Big Hair.

Although her hearing nearly gone, Langley heard someone shout, 'Scatter!' Everyone in the ditch clambered out and ran for their lives as Big Hair appeared in full, wielding a Brute shot. Everyone got clear, except Sánchez. As he turned to flee, Big Hair swung the weapon; the blade caught Sánchez below his knee and cleaved off his entire calf. Crying out, he fell down. Just as quickly, he rolled over and thrust his rifle forward. His bayonet sank into Big Hair's side, but all he did was slap it away as if it were nothing. Crawling away from the ditch, Sánchez drew his pistol and fired up at the war chieftain. Rounds bounced off his black armor like spitballs. Hefting his grenade launcher onto his back, he smacked the pistol from his hand, then with both massive paws, grabbed Sánchez's right arm. Langley, feeling around for her weapon, unable to find it, watched as Big Hair proceeded to rip Sánchez's arm off from the shoulder. Blood gushed, Sánchez screamed, and Big Hair began to use his own arm as a club, bringing it down on his chest, his stomach, and face. In moments, the arm became deflated, the bone turned to dust, and Sánchez was hardly moving.

Taking a moment to stare at his prey, Big Hair let out a triumphant roar. Then, he set his eyes on Langley. It was then that Borko managed to stand. He came over to Langley, hooked his arms under her shoulders, and began dragging her away. Gunfire from behind the pair struck Big Hair's armor and the Brutes rallying around him. As they began to march towards Langley and Borko, her hearing returned, and what she heard was the engines of a Pelican.

Looking up, Triple Seven appeared, firing rockets into the Covenant forces behind Big Hair. Isha appeared in the rear hatch, and began firing the M247 down at Big Hair. Several of his minors were killed. Someone had gotten back on the M41 and was firing at them as well. Seeing that he was outgunned, or satisfied with the assault, Big Hair withdrew as quickly as he appeared, falling back into the tree line with his surviving forces. The gunfire continued to follow them, even as no plasma came back at them. Eventually, Frost and Steele rode up on their dirt bike, the former waving his arms as the firing finally stopped.

"Corpsman! Corpsman!" He shouted as he and Steele rushed over to Sánchez. Everyone began running forward, except for Langley and Borko. He stopped, knelt, and picked her up bridal style.

Langley's eyes remained fixated on Sánchez. She was too shocked to say anything. But just as he was about to set her down in the transport Warthog, she began pushing at him.

"Put me down!" she yelled. "Put me down! _Put me down!_ "

"I need to check if you're wounded, stop!" Borko responded.

Langley didn't care if she was or wasn't, she pushed him aside, got on her feet, and sprinted back to Sánchez. She pushed through several of the Raiders and knelt on his left side. Boulos and Moser were at his shoulder, Pachis at his leg.

"Plug it with as much biofoam as you can," Pachis was saying as he inserted the nozzle of the canister into the bleeding, torn flesh, making Sánchez scream. "It's a miracle that he's still alive."

Sánchez screamed as the biofoam filled his wounds. It was a ragged shout, choked with blood. He was soaked in it; it was all his.

"Don't give him anything for the pain yet," Boulos said as he took a bayoneted rifle, drove into the ground, and established an IV. "He needs plasma and lots of it."

Moser had removed the M52B armor and was feeling his torso.

"Ribs feel broke."

"Blood pressure is extremely low, he's getting pale," Boulos went on. He looked over at Pachis. "He may have internal bleeding."

Langley knelt close to Sánchez's head.

"Do you have abdominal pain?" she asked, her voice quivering. Sánchez, gritting his teeth, blood leaking from his mouth, nodded. Her heart dropped. "Something may have ruptured," she said, "his spleen maybe."

"We don't have anything out here to tell."

"Are you sure we can't give him something for the pain?" Moser asked.

"No, we can't risk it. If he falls asleep, he'll die," Langley said. Suddenly, Sánchez reached up and grabbed her by the collar of her armor.

" _Hermana_ ," he whispered, " _hermana_..."

"I'm here, I'm here Martín."

He didn't say anything else. When he let go, he pointed to his shirt pocket. Langley unzipped it and pulled out a photograph of his fianceé, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders, smiling wide, eyes glistening; the type of beauty that leaped from the photograph. Langley felt tears in her eyes. "Here, here Martín." She slid it into his fingers and propped up his head up on her helmet. He placed his hand on his chest with the photograph so he could see it. Nebiyev took away the helmet and rested Sánchez's head on his lap.

"Hang in there buddy, hang in there, we've got you, you're going to be okay."

" _Hermano..._ " he slurred.

Frost came up on Langley's left. She looked up at him. Everyone had gathered around. Boulos looked up at him.

"He's wounded, Gunny," he said in a business-like tone.

"He's _dying_ , Gunny," Borko said, stoic but eyes wide.

"It's sad," said Grant, timidly, almost like a child.

"Shh," Frost said, almost soothingly to the others, "what can we do for him."

"We don't have anything to help him," Boulos said. "He's lost too much blood, he has internal bleeding, multiple broken bones."

"How long does he have?"

There was a short silence as the two corpsmen exchanged a grim glance.

"Minutes," Pachis said. "If that."

Langley looked at Sánchez's face. He was sputtering and coughing, groaning from the pain as he stared at the photo. Everyone was looking down at him. A few couldn't, and averted their gaze.

Sánchez suddenly coughed.

"Pain," was all he said. Frost leaned forward.

"Do you want something for the pain?" Sánchez nodded. Frost's eyes were the color of titanium armor plating, but empty, devoid of any light. Sadly, he looked down, gave a small nod, and reached to his belt. He retrieved his first aid kit and produced a white syringe.

"I'll do it," Langley said, the words leaving her mouth before she even finished her thought. Frost didn't argue; Langley knew he could tell by the look on her face. She knew what they were going to do. He handed her the syringe. After checking it briefly, she gently pushed the needle through his sleeve and into his bicep. Sánchez nodded at her and she tossed it away.

" _Hermana_ ," he whispered, " _hermana, hermana, hermana._ " With that, he fixed his eyes on the picture.

"Give him another," Frost said gently. Langley reached into his first aid kid, taking out a second syringe and repeating as she did before. Sánchez's breathing slowed as he lay, eyes locked on the photo. He seemed to be smiling, but his face was so pulverized and bloodied, she couldn't quite tell. After a moment, she reached back over to the first aid kid for the third syringe. But Frost closed the flap. She looked up at him and he shook his head, then nodded forward. Langley looked back.

Sánchez was dead. His eyes were closed and his head had nodded off to the side, towards her. His hand went limp, but the photo remained in his grasp. Langley stared for a moment, sinking down further on her knees. Everyone was quiet, except for Nebiyev. He was cradling Sánchez's head and sobbing into his cheek. All they could hear was the wind, gently playing with Sánchez's hair.

Frost stood up. He spoke very quietly, very calmly, very gently. "We're not leaving him out here. Pick him up and put him in the back of the Warthog. Easy boys, go easy." After removing the IV, Boulos, Pachis, Moser, Borko, Knight, Grant, and Carris all carefully lifted him up and began, slowly, taking him back to their vehicles. Langley stood up, watching them go. She bent over and picked up her helmet. For a moment, she turned it around in her hands as tears rolled down her cheeks. When she put it on, she felt Frost's heavy hand on her shoulder. "We're not leaving him out here," he said again, firmly this time.

For a moment, she was confused by this. Then she saw Sánchez's crumpled arm and calf sitting on the edge of the ditch. Frost turned, picked up Sánchez's helmet and clipped it to his belt. Second, he picked up his rifle, slung it over his shoulder, then finally picked up the arm. Langley hesitated for some time before she managed to force herself over to the ditch. Slinging her rifle over her back, she bent down and picked it up, holding the leg by the ankle, before heading back to the Warthog. She had to ride back to base, sitting next to Sánchez, holding his leg.

* * *

"Sometimes, when I'm just lost in thought, I'll look down at my hand. Doesn't matter where. I just look and for a moment, just for a moment, I think I'm holding it again."

-Nora Langley

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Well, that happened. If I sound a little depressed, it's because I am. This was not a fun chapter to write, for obvious reasons. But I'm still glad I was able to get one out during this tumultuous last semester. Things are crazy folks, but I'll have a little bit of time in the week after this, because it's Spring Break. I'll get one chapter out, I promise.**

 **On the subject of bayonets, I know they don't appear in the games or the books, but considering contemporary bullpup rifles can still utilize bayonets, I thought it fitting to add, even in the 26th Century. At the very least, I would consider it fitting for the 89th Marines due to their capacity of closing in for melee combat. Take that for what you will, cite me for being a little less accurate/true to the games, but I think it adds a little more barbarity to the combat scenes in the story.**

 **Let's get on to the comment responses. Again, if I sound a little blue, it's for obvious reasons. Bear with me folks.**

 **TheCarlosInferno: Well hey, that makes two of us. Carris is fun, if not interesting to write. She's so experienced in so many ways, and yet she's missed so much because of her occupation. Having her experience things we all have before adds some humanity to the story, I think. Thanks for commenting, brother, and I appreciate the pickmeup the other night.**

 **MightBeGone: Things got a little close there, but she's okay. I thought that scene, with a half-asleep Steele, could provide some good vibes just before the assault. People say all sorts of crazy stuff when they're sleepy. And I don't want to spoil anything, so I think I'll just keep my lips sealed on this ship. And thanks for the encouragement my friend.**

 **Chase8999: Thanks for the good luck wishes. Trust me, I need'em. And...should we be worried about that? I mean Macintosh has just been introduced but I think it's very telling about what kind soldier he is. If we hand an NA4 to your brother, what will happen? All the same, thanks for commenting my man.**

 **Caver Floyd: Thank you my friend, I appreciate that. I just wish I could crank out more chapters; I really don't like making people wait. And I actually considered that; how much of a difference does 1000lbs of armor making. Considering that the Pelican can carry at least 35 tons without losing speed, Carris takes away half a tone, so that leaves 34.5 tons. I think considering the weight of the troop deployment pod, which I haven't been able to find an exact weight for, still isn't enough to slow it from what I've gathered, I agree that the impact on stability would have been light. But you never know; I wish there were some answers to the little questions but I've been surprised how often I have to fill in the gaps myself. Anyways, thanks for commenting, I always appreciate it.**

 **UNSC-Helljumper: I'll keep that in mind. I appreciate your patience and glad you're digging in the new developments. I've said it before but this is going to be a rather long story, and many characters aren't just for the background cast; what people do, how they act, and their pasts, have impacts and developments, and there will be multiple little plots in this that will add up to a large amount of character development. And you raise many important questions, which I will strive to answer...eventually. *winkwink* And thanks for commenting brother, thank you. And just hang in there with high school, knuckle down and get through it brother.**

 **Alpha...Primaris? AlphaHighBreed, that you? Well who else could it be. AlphaPrimaris: Humanity shines in where it can, brother, even before an op. Oh and keep an eye on that exchange; it'll come back up later. When? I'll never tell... Well, frankly, no, Frost is not a reclaimer. You might say that it's a spoiler, but it's not. I never planned for him to be, because that shit's for John-177. But as the Halo games have shown us, humans have the ability to activate and interact with Forerunner tech (like Ellen Anders on the Shield World, Sergeant Major Johnson on the Ark, and John-117 like...all the time.) And yep, Big Hair came back, in the worst of ways. And yeah...guess that wedding to remember is on hold. Er, no need to be my slave. We good, we good, we bros. It's always good to have a comment from you my friend, thanks for commenting.**

 **BloodyAngelWolf: I'll respond to all four of your comments in one big scoop. Firstly, thanks for reading and commenting; means a lot to me that you're taking the time to read my work. Secondly, I can understand your dislike towards Vivian despite her being one of the protagonist; trust me when I say that's rather on purpose. What you see, how characters act, what they say, none of that is come up with on a whim. I spent an entire year before even posting a chapter just coming up with characters, how they speak, how they move, what they look like. I can think of only two or three that I added post-planning stage. Trust me, your feelings aren't unjustified and at the same time, Vivian's lack of development is self-inflicted and integral to the story and the dynamic between her and other characters. If she just got over it, my story would be over in about twelve chapters. I should also mention I write slow-burning stories, not super slow, but by no means fast. It's a long story and development will be slow for some, faster for some, but each will have repercussions and can be subjected to change. Geez, this is long, sorry it's late. Basically what I'm saying is, it's a long, slow story, and everything single thing is planned. Trust me my friend, there will be a hell of a payoff-and just as a little hint, you'll be seeing some of what you said real soon. But as I said, thanks for reading and commenting me, it means a lot.**

 **Qzak501: Your words are extremely humbling. I'm just happy to be able to provide some good reading. Really, the thanks go to you and the others. And I'm glad that all my major notes have resonated. When I went ahead with this story, I wanted to make it long and slow-burning, because I've read a lot of great stories on this site but they just ended too soon. And I'm not going to knock those authors because they're absolutely fantastic, but I know many readers on the site like long stories, and I wanted to make one, but a long story gets boring if it doesn't engage you on multiple levels. So to hear that it's working out, that means I'm doing something right.**

 **Thanks for reading and commenting folks. Your investment in my story and patience means the world to me, because I know we all have a lot on our plates, so you lads and ladies taking the time out of your days to read is amazing. Hang in there, there's more on the way.**


	44. Chapter 44: The Raid, Part Four

Chapter 44: The Raid, Part Four

* * *

In the center of the compound, the Raiders stood around the body of young Sánchez. A spare blanket had been placed over him. Some canvas had been found and cut up. In this, they had carefully rolled his arm and leg. The bundle was set beside him and his rifle placed vertically on his torso, as if he were a king bound to be buried with his royal sword. On top of the rifle, was his helmet with his name inscribed on the back. Only his pale face, drained of all that made him human, was exposed to the biting wind. Lingering above him was Frost, arms by his side, shoulders sagging, face emotionless. Slowly, he went to one knee and gently removed his dog tags. He held the chain by the end, the tags hanging low. When the next gust of wind came, it tossed the two metal discs back and forth. The chain grated and the tags clinked against one another.

For some time, Frost looked down at the tags. Everybody was looking at them. Sadness had fastened itself onto every feature of each face present. Even an hour after he had left them, that anguish endured. Eventually, he slid one of the tags off the chain and held it up with his other hand. Pressing it to his lips, Frost shut his eyes and wished he could muster some words for the departed. Unable to, he slipped the tag into his shirt pocket, the one over his heart, and gave it a firm tap with his palm. Then he pulled the blanket back some and unzipped Sánchez's pocket. A folded piece of white paper lay within. Hesitating for just a moment, First gingerly pulled it out before placing the chain and tag in. After zipping it shut, he finally pulled the blanket over the radio operator's face.

Standing back up, he held the paper with both hands. Gazing at the faces around him, he could see fatigue. People wanted to rest, they wanted to walk away. Nobody could. When a soldier died, everything suddenly became trivial, almost trivial. Even taking the time to take a leak seemed wrong. Some sort of reverence had to be held for the fallen. What a miserable excuse for a veneration it was. A somber assembly of dirty, bloody, exhausted, armored Marines. No eloquence could filter into their words. Any kind of finesse would fall apart, shattering like a broken window.

To everyone's surprise, it was Macintosh who broke their silence.

"I did not know him well or for all that long," he said, his voice as gentle as the dying wind, "but he seemed like a good boy."

"He was going to get married," Nebiyev said bitterly, his grime-covered cheeks stained with the paths of tears long fallen. His brow was knitted in anger. At who? The Covenant, no doubt. Himself, more likely. "He was going to marry his childhood sweetheart and fix his hometown and do great things." And he was dead. Nebiyev didn't have to say it. All present knew that it was the only punctuation that could serve.

"What was his girl's name?" Katz asked, so dejected that he couldn't even lift the camera that always seemed glued to his hands.

"Lucila," Langley answered. She was standing directly across from Frost, at Sánchez's feet.

"Aye, that's pretty, that is," Bishop said quietly.

"Lucila Sánchez," Knight put in, "I like that."

"Well it won't happen now," Nebiyev cut them off angrily. "Now he gets to go home in an ice box to a weeping widow. Who's going to tell her what happened, hm?" Not waiting for an answer, he turned around and stomped away towards the Warthogs. He took off his helmet and whipped it across the grounds before bracing himself against the side of the Warthog and sobbing into his arms. Everyone watched him for some time. His weeping could be heard even from where they were.

"Did you see the way he handled that bayonet?" Nikodim asked his brother.

"I did," said Konstantin, "like a pro."

"He was 89th through and through," Borko stated. "I hope they bury him like a Marine."

"Didn't go down without a fight, either. Brass balls," Steele said, his sniper rifle balanced over his shoulders.

Frost didn't listen all that much. As the conversation continued, he opened the letter, which remarkably hadn't been bloodstained. His eyes read over Sánchez's words to his dear Lucila, the girl from the photograph. How lucky he had been to have been with such a kind woman, and she with a man of dedication. Despite everything he had endured, he braved heavy fire to retrieve a comrade. And he died trying to escape from some crummy ditch at the edge of the forest with no name on a half-scorched planet that nobody back home cared about. Yes, he had fought for that patch of earth. In the letter the UNSC would send to his loved ones, it would probably state how he refused to give up his post to buy time for his fellow soldiers to escape. How well such a tale of heroism could placate his family he didn't know. Frost hadn't been on Earth in years, nor had he lost any family, so he hadn't a clue what it was like to get that letter. One day he'd go to the place Sánchez called home and deliver the truth to his Lucila, his dear Lucila. She deserved that much, no matter how horrible the reality was.

 _This war is like a tunnel. Dark. Cold. Unknowable. Frightening._ Frost nodded as his eyes fell back on the words again and again. _It made me feel helpless. Out here, I sometimes feel helpless._ Frost inhaled. Only the dead could speak such truths, he found.

"Rest well, Martín Sánchez," was all Frost said, "The war is over for you now."

"God be with you," Moser said, and crossed himself. "And with your beloved."

Frost stepped around the body to Langley. He placed the letter into her hands.

"I'll write his sweetheart," he said.

"No," she responded firmly, "I will." She took the letter and began walking away, towards the CP. He watched her go. Langley flattened out the letter and began reading it. Eventually, she started to cry again. With one hand still holding the letter, the other went to her helmet. She took it off and dropped it on the pavement, taking only a few more steps before dropping to her knees and bending forward. Her forehead pressed against the ground, and she began to sob.

Frost went to her, going around her side, then kneeling in front of her. He leaned forward; at this angle he couldn't hug her, so he tucked his head beside hers. They stayed that way for some time, doubled over on their knees, she sobbing, he with the side of his head against hers. Eventually he pulled her into a sort of hug.

She was still crying. "I killed him. I killed my best friend."

"You ended the pain for him," Frost said gently, speaking right into her ear. Sánchez had struck him was a good soldier, if a bit timid. As awful it was to admit it, Frost had thought him a bit cowardly when he had first glimpsed him those months ago. Defending him from Nebiyev's reluctance to accept new blood came more from backing up Langley. But twice he had defied his assumptions, and a third when he made that decision that no man ever wanted to make. He had to have known there was no coming out of that one alive, otherwise he wouldn't have asked for it. Even then, soldiers clung to life, to that pinhole of hope, that misguided belief that survival was possible. On Skopje, Frost had once shot a retreating rebel in the back. Thinking he had killed him, he had pressed on. When they had to come back down the hillside, having run out of ammunition, he found the boy still alive. With medical supplies exhausted, he offered to end the poor bastard's agony with a swift dagger blow to the heart. But the ragtag rebel had refused, so Frost went on. During the night, he had heard the wounded boy's moaning. In the morning, the 89th had gone back up the mountain. Still, that boy clung to life. Overcoming his surprise, Frost had called for a corpsman. Before he even heard a confirmatory shout, one of the Army troopers with them fired a slug into the boy's head. And like that, they advanced.

Sánchez hadn't played games with himself, Frost said to Langley. He was fading, and he knew it. Listening to the corpsmen, he knew that survival was impossible, even as they struggled to save him. As much as he had to live for-the woman he loved, his comrades, his family, his home-enduring the pain for an inevitable demise was pointless. Because she had given him that medicine, he had been able to fall asleep and go in peace. As difficult as it was to say it, he reminded her that most soldiers didn't get to meet a fate as kind as that.

Hundreds, even thousands of times, Frost had seen friends and fellow soldiers die screaming. Blown apart, ripped to shreds, torn limb from limb, killed in the slowest and cruelest of ways. His mind receded to a snowy hillside on Skopje, of heaps in the bloodstained snow. Bare legs, blue from the cold, quivering forms in the wind.

Langley choked out another sob.

"We can't just leave him like that, just out on the pavement."

"It's the best thing for him," Frost said, wincing. Decomposition would take a bit longer to set in due to the cold. It wouldn't stymy it completely, but enough so that his body didn't look too distorted when they finally put it in the proper facilities back on _I'm Alone_. It was almost as if he were a hunk of meat that need to be frozen, or else it would spoil.

Borko came over and put a hand on her back. For once, his cheeky tone subsided and he spoke more soothingly.

"It was a kindness, Nora. You should feel no guilt."

This made Langley sit up with rage. She turned, eyes red with tears, lips curled in a snarl, and shoved him.

"I'll be damned before you tell me how I should feel! Taking me away from a wounded man-you're a bastard!"  
Borko looked hurt. He glanced at Frost, who remained grim.

"I just-"

"Get away from me!" Langley shouted, slapping his extended hand away. Frost shook his head and Borko, looking even more saddened, turned away. The others with dispersing, some returning to the towers to watch the perimeter, other to the CP to rest. Moser remained over the body with Nebiyev, who had returned. They would keep a vigil, and Frost would not deter them. It was their choice, one of diligence and respect. Besides, Big Hair wouldn't try anything that day or in the night. Glaring at the distant forest over his shoulder, Frost was certain Big Hair was standing just behind the tree line, gazing back. Yes, he wouldn't try to make a run at the base. That sadistic Brute was going to let the loss sink in. What he had done wasn't strategic or tactical. Big Hair's entire plan was to send a message; even without support, with limited supplies, and dwindling numbers, he could still reach out and snatch the life from one of his Raiders. And if he could kill one, he could kill another, and another, and another until they were all dead.

Already, even as he knelt on the pavement next to a tearful Langley, Frost was contemplating strategy. If they tried to hunt Big Hair, even with vehicle, air, and reconnaissance support, he could lead them deeper into the woods. Some soldiers operated better as the mouse, rather than the cat. Frost was sure that being the mouse was now more advantageous in dense woods such as these. Ambushes and traps would ensare the Raiders, and he could cut them off if they operated in teams. As one force, they would be shredded by snipers. Big Hair and his troops were alert now; without a base, they had been forced into the bush, and they would be on constant watch. _River Styx_ wouldn't send down her special operators, but even if they offered Frost would refuse. While a calm man, not often drawn to pride, he didn't want the arrogant ONI troopers sharing in this victory; he simply could not abide highly trained men sitting out the war, partaking in missions of their own design a few times a month. And for more pay, too.

Holing up in Alpha Base wasn't going to solve the problem either. Big Hair had proven he wasn't stupid. He wouldn't be sending a coordinated attack against the perimeter. Any punitive assaults would be spotted on the plains before they began. Even if they did reach the base, the turrets would do all the work. But turrets could only defend a base so much. As they were stationary, they made for easy targets. A decoy or a runner would draw its fire, and a few fuel rod blasts would knock it out of action. What's more, Alpha Base did have another weakness; the high ridge to its west. While seated right against it, gaining a great modicum of protection, if Big Hair wheeled his forces around the ridge, they could avoid visual detection. Triple Seven wasn't going to making another flight anytime soon, so picking them off from the air was out of the question. If Big Hair managed to get his marksmen up on the ridges, then they could turn Alpha Base into a shooting gallery. Keeping the towers pinned down and the defenders firing in two directions, an attack from open ground would cause more damage. Placing men on the ridge prementively may solve the problem, but those still in the base wouldn't be able to support them and the turrets range didn't reach that far.

As much as it knotted his stomach to even entertain the thought, Frost knew he would have taken the Raiders back out to engage Big Hair and eliminate his entourage. Somehow. Being caught between a rock and hard place, quite literally, was something that the young leader of the Marine Raiders struggled with. In fact, it infuriated him. One thing that Frost hated more than anything was losing control of the battlespace. When control was wrested from his grasp, that's when people started dying. Sánchez had already paid for his failings. Losing anyone else was out of the question. His Raiders were not expendable, but he couldn't foresee any way of regaining the initiative without losing more lives. How fitting were Sánchez's words now.

Frost stood Langley up.

"Don't take it out on Borko. It's not his fault."

"If we hadn't been stopped by those grenades, we could have gotten to him," Langley sniffed. Frost squeezed her shoulder.

"And if you had, you'd probably be dead too. Think about that." He did not speak unkindly, but remained firm. As much as it tore at his heart to see Langley, their little sister, fractured from the loss of her friend, he needed her mind focused. "Get something to eat and drink, rest if you can. You'll relieve Tower B in two hours. Understand?" She did not speak. Frost jostled her, just slightly. "Understand me, Airman?"

She nodded. Frost gave her a few pats on the shoulder. "Alright, get going."

As she departed, ducking low to pick up her helmet, Steele sidled up beside Frost. He set the stock of his rifle on the ground, holding it vertically by the barrel. He sighed, almost in tandem with Frost.

"You alright, bruv?"

"Nobody's okay right now, Louie."  
Steele shrugged.

"Sulking ain't fittin' for you, mate."

"I don't need this right now."

"Folks see you sagging, morale will drop. Keep your head up, bruvva."

Frost turned.

"Do you realize the position we're in? We stay here, we die. We go out, we die. Big Hair's fucking playing with us."

"How defeatist of you. Not the boy I know who nosedives on to Scarabs and-"

"Fuck you," Frost said, waving his hand dismissively and walking towards the CP. He felt Steele's head clamp on his shoulder and turn him around.

"Your job is to see us through this alive; mine is to keep your head on straight. So you are going to stand there and fucking listen to me right now." Frost's expression was indignant, but not another word left his lips. Steele poked him in the chest plate. "Let me give you a sitrep: Sánchez is dead, help ain't coming for at least four more days, a busted Pelican, a war chieftain with a couple hundred grubs playing in the Hundred-Acre-Wood, and no smokes. You're emotional and so is everyone else. So cool, the fuck, off."

Frost inhaled sharply. Steele was looking him dead on, his eyes filled with determination.

"So what do we do?"

"We regroup, clear our heads, have some chow, and come up with something later," Steele said, his tone shifting from forceful to nonchalant. He offered a smirk. "Until then, why don't you follow through on that favor, huh?"

"What favor?" Frost asked, confused.

"I recall somebody telling me the other day they were going to scrub the shower stalls so we could get a quick wash, seeing that we've restored power to the base. And I need a shower. So come on, let's go find some mops and get to work."

###

While the majority of the high-end, combat gear had been evacuated years ago, all of the non-critical supplies had been left behind. Cracking open a janitorial closet, they found it filled with industrial cleaning liquids, mops, brooms, and more. Not enough to give the entire CP a good wash down, but enough to give the small barracks unit within a once-over and the shower stalls a vigorous cleaning.

Frost and Steele, having removed their body armor, stood in the shower room with the sleeves of their fatigues rolled up. There were ten stalls in total; while Frost scrubbed and mopped the floor, Steele worked on the stalls. They worked in silence; all that could be heard were the bristles of the push broom Frost was using for the dirtier parts of the floor and the squishy sponge Steele was using. It all looked much worse than it was; much of the dirt and dust came off quite easily. Soon several buckets that had been filled with soapy water had been dyed brown and dumped out the window, refilled, and set back down. A pile of used sponges sat on one of the benches.

The room itself was shaped like a long rectangle. The only entrance was at the far left, and on the far wall were the stalls. Everything was tiled, the coloring beige. A series of benches ran the entire length from the room. On the wall adjacent with the door were lockers-dirty, rusty, and peeling. Both sergeants had decided not to clean them, as they wouldn't be used. Although they had found some soap bars still in their packaging, Frost had reminded Steele they couldn't use it. If they were to go out into the bush, they needed to smell the part. At the very least, standing under the hot water would wash away the filth on their skin and take the chill out of their backs.

To an outsider, it may have seemed strange to see two soldiers having returned from a mission that had gone awry cleaning. This was not lost on Frost or his companion as they worked their way down the stuffy shower room. But all soldiers needed a distraction in times of strife. Whether it be cleaning their rifle, checking their kit, standing watch, fiddling with equipment, sleeping, preparing food, digging foxholes, burning feces, or shedding their duties to do a little cleaning, they needed to stay busy off the battlefield. Unoccupied hands made for poor soldiering. All soldiers were peculiar beings. Once, during a lull in an urban battle in the Outer Colonies, somebody had gotten a television running in the garrison canteen. Although Frost couldn't remember how it came about, association football entered the conversation with the GI's, and the channel was switched to an Earth-based game. It was between Germany and Italy, so Moser and Teo were absorbed immediately, cheering until the Covenant renewed their assault on the city. Without hesitation, the squad had dropped their food and ran out to meet the enemy. When the battle was over, Moser and Teo ran right back to the canteen at full tilt, bursting through the doors shouting, 'Is it over!? Who won!?' It was almost as if the skirmish hadn't occurred.

Pushing the broom back and forth on rough patches and swirling the mop on easier spots reminded Frost of their days in training. He had been a model trainee, excelling at every course they put him through. All of his equipment was immaculate, his bedding perfect, his skills advanced, and his discipline unshakable. On the other hand, his bunkmate, one Louis-Henry Steele, could have cared less for the constant inspections and exercises. All he wanted to do was swipe other soldiers' weekend passes so he could sneak off base and try to weasel his way into the cathouses in the city beyond the wire. Most had been wise to the young teenage boy trying to get in, but more than a few times, the sniper had successfully lied his way in. Constantly cited as un-soldiery, achieving average scores in nearly every single course _on purpose_ , compiling massive amounts of infractions, Steele spent some days cleaning latrines, scrubbing floors, washing out garbage cans, and worse. To teach him a lesson, the drill instructors had levied the same punishments on his bunkmate, Nathaniel Frost. While Hayes often tried to intervene, Frost accepted the punishments and toiled beside his friend. Even when the instructors decided to zero in on Steele alone, Frost had joined them. Such behavior was tolerated but once they had sat him down and told him that being friends with Steele would be detrimental to his career. 'Marines are supposed to stick together,' was all Frost had said. Oddly enough, none of those citations ever appeared on his CSV. Steele's remained rife with them, however.

Drawn to his memories, Frost thought little of Sánchez now. Part of it was his training, when he was told to persevere and push past it. Some of it came from the old hands, like Hayes and Royce. As boisterous as the former was and as cold as the latter could be, they understood the hardships of losing a man. A void was left, and what remained was guilt and sorrow. More so, came a tremendous loneliness. Death reminded soldiers that they were mortal; that one day it could be them lying dead instead of the man on their right or left. In that space where their friend had once sat, slept, ate, dawdled, bantered, and wrote, was utter emptiness. Once the precious contents of the footlocker were sent to the loved ones and the rest divided among the survivors, then the man was gone forever, committed only to the memory of those left behind. Everyone had to get over the hollow vacancy or else they would wallow in it, and would be unable to function. Frost had seen it with his eyes; men who had lost their spirit as they yearned for the company of comrades long dead. Still, they fought, but the light was gone from their eyes.

Frost had to recover his thoughts. How silly of him, he mused, to think of how he was just starting to offset the hardships when he allowed more to seep back into his mind. He was human, he reminded himself. Training could shut off only so many facets of his past life.

"Bugger me," Steele said, breaking the silence.

"What's that?"

"I was just thinking about all the bodies we found at that sat-array. Just Carris and Grant did that. There must have been sixty, seventy bodies around, maybe even a hundred."

"Imagine if we all had armor like that."

"Bruv, we would have stomped the Covvie's homeworlds by now if we did."

"That'll be the day."

"The day we come back to Earth will be a party, though. I hope they make a statue of us."

"Statues are for dead men."

Again, came the melancholy silence. Frost could have kicked himself. What was the point of distraction if he allowed his mind and his mouth free reign. He stopped swabbing for a moment and put his weight on the broom handle. Suddenly he felt very tired. Turning to Steele, who was in the stall just beside him, he watched him work for a few moments. Eventually, the sniper stopped looked back.

With a weary sigh, Frost said, "Think we did everything we could back there?"

"You really want to do this, mate?"

"How can you _not_ do this?"

"Fuck, Nate. We hardly knew him."

"Doesn't matter. He was one of my Raiders."

Steele sighed.

"Hey man, there wasn't much we could do. You and I were fishtailing on the bike, we hardly even saw what went down. By the time we realized the MG was overrun, it was too late. Everybody was either pinned, hightailing for cover, or stunned. He didn't get away in time, that's the whole of it, mate. Just the way it played out."

He tossed a sponge, too dirty to be of any use, against one of the lockers. Then he shrugged and got back to work. Frost stared at the wall for some time.

"How do you just get over it like you do? I gotta know."

"Fuck if I know, bruv," Steele said. Frost frowned.

"How can you not know yourself?"  
"Well not all of us are like you," Steele said, not too sharply, but enough that it cut into Frost. After a moment he poked his head out of the stall, as Frost had moved on with the mopping. "Shit, sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

"I know, brother."

"I'm not saying that it doesn't affect me, but...I dunno. Putting the shit that goes on in my head into words ain't exactly one of my talents."

"You don't seem to struggle with the stories about all the whorehouses you visit," Frost joked. Steele snickered.

"They're good stories."

"Short stories."

"Until you've finally put the pipe to the Doc, I'll politely remind you to fuck-right-off."

"Shut up."

And like that, they were off, bickering and joking and prodding, minds

* * *

Carris was sitting on a slab of concrete near the entrance of the CP. Her helmet was off and seated beside her. On her back was her rifle. Although the wind was dying down, it was getting chillier by the moment. For her, feeling it dwindle away was something she wasn't used to. What a difference her armor made. Cold was nipping at her cheeks and the wind was playing with her black hair. She liked it.

Her eyes were drawn to the blanketed corpse on the other side of the compound. Moser stood by solemnly, his rifle slung over his shoulder. His posture remained sharp, as if he were on guard duty. Kneeling next to the radio operator was Nebiyev, a blanket wrapped around him, clutching the ends under his chin. Seeing him there reminded her of the aftermath of their first meeting with the Covenant. Sam-034; good old Sam. Talkative and humorous, one of the only Spartans who could force a laugh among their teammates, and the first to die. When John and Kelly returned without him, the morale of the Spartans' plummeted. So many had been lost to the augmentations, and then they had to lose him during their first confrontation with the true enemy. Hearing the report straight from John was like getting punched in the gut. At the time, Carris had been jealous of the others. Such pettiness was to be avoided among their ranks, but she couldn't help it; John, Kelly, Sam, Linda, and Fred had been able to conduct the Spartans' first mission. Everyone was thrilled with their success, but everyone had wanted to go. All of her animosity left when she realized that frigate exploded with him on board.

At least there was something left to bury, she thought. Still, it left her wondering the same way she had pondered over Sam's death. What did a soldier think before they died? Not those who died immediately; how could they even know what hit them? No, the ones who chose to, the brave ones who willingly sacrificed themselves, marching into the maw of death. Surely, as he fought to the end, Sam had to have thought _something_ , felt _something._ Sánchez had asked for the medicine, had asked to be put down. Had he been frightened? Or was he choked with despair, knowing he would never see the love of his life again? Perhaps he had made his peace and was happy to go. He had said not a word, and thus they would never know. Unable to know what had been on his mind, Carris found, made her morose.

She struggled to remember what was racing through her mind as she was pinned by the chieftain. Try as she might, she couldn't recall. The most that came to her was how helpless she felt as Grant was dragged away and the primal fury that had ignited within her. In a way, it was awful. No family to remember, to warm her heart at the last fleeting gasps of life, no home but the cold expanses of Reach to recall. Just the Spartans, and the squad around her. Resolving then, that if she ever was to fall in a way like Sánchez or Sam, she would close her eyes and think of these Marines, these wonderful few, who had shown her so much.

Just then, she heard a pair of trudging feet approach. Grant appeared on her left, looking glum yet managing a reserved smile.

"Can I join you?" he asked quietly. Carris nodded in response. The young rifleman took a seat beside her and stared ahead. For some time they stayed quiet, which was fine by Carris; she had learned to appreciate it in her time. "Thank you," he said out of the blue, "for pulling me out of there."

"You're welcome."

"I tried to fight them off, I really did. I mean, you saw-"

"You didn't let me down," she assured him, half-smiling. Grant nodded.

"I have no idea why they were taking me. Or where. I've never seen them try to take somebody before."

"Who can say? Even after so many years, they continue to surprise, don't they?"

"I hate surprises."

"Really?"

"Well, no. If it involves the Covenant, than yeah."

Carris chuckled, but her eyes returned to the far off body.

"He died for us."

"We were already saved when he died, C."

"He was a part of the mission to save us."

"You've got a point there," Grant shrugged. "Whenever one of us dies, it's for somebody. Whether it's for someone whose dead or alive, it's always for someone."

Carris looked over at him, slowly, curious.

"Who?"

"Hm?"

"Who do soldiers die for?"

"Depends on who you talk to."

"I'm talking to _you._ "

"I don't have a straight answer for you, C. Some people believe we die for our buddies, others for our families, more still for all of humanity. In a way, they're all right." Grant leaned back slightly. "And they're all wrong, too."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Ask Steele. If you ever want to get a lesson in reality, talk to him. He knows how to kill the mood." He stood up and stretched. "Don't let Sánchez way down too heavy on you. What happened to him, it's not because of us." As quickly as he had arrived, he walked off. Then he turned to face her, walking backwards. "By the way, Frost sent word down. Showers are all cleaned up, and the water's hot."

Showers did sound nice. But Carris was in no mood for it. Grant had left her more unsettled than at peace. Instead, she headed into the CP where they had set up another makeshift barracks in the control room-just rows of sleep bags-and sat down nearby. Nobody was really there, either heading to the showers, eating, or on watch. Sitting there, she tried to sleep, but was pestered by thoughts of death.

Nobody knew of the Spartans. Even the men she was serving with didn't know the official name of her unit. Plenty of UNSC personnel had caught glimpses and heard stories. But did the people on the homefront know? Certainly not. Refugees were the only ones who had seen them, and at that, usually during a siege. Those on Earth or the Inner Colonies would likely dismiss their sightings for grand tales, trying to make the war look worse than it was. If only the civilians far from it all knew just what the war was like. Being around ONI had put her in touch with the propaganda civvies in the homelands were subjected to. Propaganda only got a people so far. Truth, the bare truth-that unless the full might of humanity was put into action, they were all going to die-would win the war. That would never happen though, not until the war arrived on their doorstep. Only then, would they know of the Spartans.

If the average civilian didn't know the Spartans, and the typical line infantryman didn't know the Spartans, and the majority of HIGHCOM wasn't even aware of ONI's project, then who were they dying for? What meaning did death have if those who were saved by sacrifice didn't even realize it was happening? Carris dwelled on this for some time, trying to piece it together. Hours passed. Sometimes she drifted off, dozing in her solitude. When she stirred, her eyelids remained heavy. Occasionally, booted feet stepped into view, and just as quickly stepped away. Voices murmured, low and ghostly. The thoughts persisted, pursuing her into her dreams. She saw Spartans, marching, marching, marching somewhere she did not know, nor cared to. Looking away from the tramping super soldiers, she saw the Marines, her friends. All looked sad. Tears in their eyes, anguish in their faces. Why? Standing around a body, they covered their eyes and wept. Strangely, she could not see the body. Moving forward, even though she could not feel her legs-it was like she was floating-she passed between them. Trying to speak, no words passed her lips. Clutching them by the shoulders, she tried to shake them, attempted to turn them so they could see her. But none budged, no matter how she tried to scream their names. Pushing through the crowd, fear rising in her chest, tears threatening to cascade down her cheeks, she went to the body. Instead of finding one of their party there, she saw herself, and her comrades' weeping filled her ears.

Carris awoke with a start. Looking around, she saw herself in the sorry excuse for sleeping quarters. Some of the sleeping bags had been disturbed, and a few were occupied. Bishop was snoring, and Borko was as sprawled as he could be. Looking out at the window, she saw that the moon had risen. It was very late. She hadn't realized how tired she was. Picking herself up, she decided now was a good time as any to take a shower. Trudging to the floor where they were located, she could hear water running. Passing through the dilapidated barracks that led to it, so messy and unfit for habitation. All of the cots were torn apart and no doubt infested with some manner of parasite. Opening the shower room door, she found that the room was filling up with steam.

Frost and Steele had done quite a job on it. By no means sparkling clean, all of the filth was gone and it smelled pleasant-as pleasant as industrial cleaning materials could get. Steam was hung over her head and the sound of water was rather loud. She frowned; she had hoped to have the room all to herself. Just to have quiet-peace of mind-as she washed away the day's battle. Luckily, it was Steele she found on the bench. He was shirtless, in the process of taking off his black boots. His dog tags hung from his neck and the movement was causing them to toss to and fro, bouncing off his chest. Steele was a lanky man, but did not lack for strength. Marked by quite a few scars from surgery and numerous firefights, his upper body was toned and defined.

He smiled at her.

"Hey love," he greeted.

Carris smiled. Steele kicked off one of his boots and sat up straight to get a better look at her. His brow furrowed. "You okay?"

"Yes."

"Gonna be able to get out of that armor?" He asked, pointing at her.

"There's a special apparatus that helps take it off, but we've learned to strip it ourselves. Takes a while."

"Need help?"

Carris hoped he didn't notice her blush.

"No, I can do it."

"Well, start running the water now. It takes a bit to heat up. Thank goodness the water's still clean. All that work would have been for nothing." He chuckled as he began taking off the other boot.

Following his advice, she went to the nearest stall and turned the dial. Water streamed out of the showerhead. Then she began taking off her armor. Occasionally, she stopped to sneak at a glance at Steele. For once, he was keeping quiet. Each time she took a look at him, she made another observation. The V-shaped scar on his side. His lack of body hair; perhaps he made up for it with that thick blonde mop. A birthmark on his right, just above his waistline, the color of coffee with cream in it, nearly fading into his skin, shaped like a jagged crescent moon.

After a long, tedious effort, she had finally removed the armor, leaving her in the black suit that covered her all the way up to her chin. When she next looked at Steele, she caught his glance and looked away, feeling her cheeks go hot.

He cleared his throat. "I can, you know, step into one of the stalls or something."

Carris smiled over her shoulder, quirking an eyebrow. Looking embarrassed, he raised his hands. "Just being polite over here."

"I've heard some of the other Marines talk about you. According to them, if you can't drink it, smoke it, fight it, or sleep with it, you're not interested." It was Steele's turn to blush.

"Ah, that's an old joke."

"From what I've seen, it's true."

"I was just trying-"

"Doesn't matter to me," Carris said with a shrug, "we're professionals, aren't we?" Steele rolled his eyes.

"Whatever." He stood up and began to undo his trousers, turning his back to her. Carris looked away as well.

"Grant told me to ask you who soldiers die for?"

"Pah. Why?"

"Doesn't matter why. Tell me."

"Soldiers don't die for anyone, love. They just die."

Carris frowned.

"But-"

"Listen to me," he said sharply. "You want to go through this shit a little easier, forget about dying and focus on keep yourself alive. Stay in the present, stay with your mates, and fight like a devil."

Carris stiffened her lip and the let the words resound. To anyone else, Steele may have come off as a callous and detached man. But to her, he was a rock, grounded in truth. Perhaps he was the wisest of the bunch, perhaps he was not. It did not matter, as she understood that he could be rough, he could be unsoldiery, he could be crude and surly, and he was not above playing dirty to get his way, but when he was honest, brutally forthright, you _felt_ it. His words pierced her like a sword and her plague from earlier vanished.

"Thank you," was all she could say as she slipped out of the suit. As she turned to enter the stall, the room now filling with steam, she caught a glimpse of Steele. He lacked any clothes and was going for his own shower. Standing just at the threshold, his eyes were a bit wide and he was blushing. Carris felt her pale cheeks turn pink. She hoped that she would do something instinctive then, that some innate part of her would take over to make the situation less awkward. Alas, the pair just stood on either side of the room, before their stalls, gazing at one another, stark naked, blushing as goosebumps rose all over.

Steele cleared his throat.

"Can I tell you something?" he asked, sheepishly.

"Yes," Carris said quietly.

"You have a very fine figure."

"Thank you."

With that, they both ducked into their stalls. Carris felt positively foolish and folded her arms across her chest as the chill faded from her body. The hot water felt pleasant but she was more flustered than calmed. Soldiers were professionals; men and women in the military were accustomed to being in such circumstances. They fought together, slept together, ate together, and, depending on the posting, changed and showered together. Frontline troops didn't have much choice. Even on ships, when everyone stumbled out of cryo, they saw each other as naked as the day they were born. Now, here she was, making herself small as she stood under the water, cheeks still burning, eyes a little wide, lips pursed, feeling absolutely stupid.

Letting some time pass, she waited to see if he would leave first. As far as she could tell, he was still showering. Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes. Contented, though apprehensive of what would happen when she stepped out, she shut off the water. Peeking out, her hair soaked and clinging to her brow, she saw that he was still going. She should have figured as much; he liked to take long showers, much to the annoyance of the squad. Stepping out, she realized there were no towels.

Rubbing her forehead, she loudly asked, "What are we supposed to use to dry off?"

"Air dry!"

"Very funny."

"Use one of the spare blankets on the bench!"

She took one up and wrapped it around herself. The floor was cold on her feet, steam filled the entire room, and the dim lights gave it a warm glow. Sighing, she sat down on the bench, her back to the stalls. Closing her eyes, she inhaled slowly and deeply, finally feeling a sense of calm. A horrible day it had been and she didn't need to top it with such an awkward encounter. That hope was dashed as the running water abruptly shut off, and Steele padded out. Averting her eyes, she heard him snatch up another spare blanket, which were somewhat smaller than the average, standard-issue stock. He sat down beside her. Hardly an inch separated the two.

Outside, the wind was picking back up again. They could hear it pushing against the old concrete, making the sturdy CP groan. Swirling and howling, the wind danced and died, until the quiet was replaced by another hearty gust. Other than the dripping from the showerheads, it was quiet. Steele released a contented sigh. "Nothing better than a thick wall between you and the cold," he said.

"It's nice," Carris said, nodding, water dripping from her hair, "it's peaceful."

"Only thing that would make it all better is a smoke," he chuckled. "And maybe a proper bed, some hot chow, and a couple hundred less Covenant mad men trying to kill us."

Carris smiled.

"Those too." She looked at him, and he flashed her a grin. His hair was a tangled, damp mop and he looked a bit silly. It was impossible not to laugh, just a little. They sat for a time, a long time, backs to the wide stalls, eyes parting and landing on the crumbling lockers.

Again, she looked at him, curiously this time. "Did you mean what you said the other night?"

"Gotta be more specific, love."

"Before the assault, when we were dug in for the night. You asked me to always be in your foxhole."

"Oh." Steele blinked, looking a little confused. "I was tired that night." He rocked his head side to side, almost as if he wasn't sure what to say. Eventually, he clicked his tongue and looked at her. "Did you know that Frost wasn't always my partner on the field?"

"I assumed you didn't operate by partner systems, seeing as he's a rifleman and you're a marksman, not to mention-"

Steele raised his hand.

"Just say you didn't know."

"I didn't know."

"Well, we had a fellow in our squad by the name of Wright. He was our corpsman. Teo always had us in a foxhole together; good old Teo thought that my friendship with Frost could disrupt priorities during a mission. Shows what he knew. Anyway, Wright was always looking out for us. Ended up getting hit in the gut on Skopje, and he bled to death. Right in our foxhole. Biofoam didn't do a damned thing. Since then, I don't like having anyone in my foxhole, not even Frost."

"That's very sad," she said, unsure of what the proper words were, "I'm very sorry to hear that."

"Didn't think I could depend on anybody in my foxhole. Or they could depend on me. So, I made sure I got my own every time. Teo understood eventually."

"I know you're dependable."

"Oh, I am. I thought just in that one scenario, I couldn't be. Ridiculous, huh?" Carris shook her head and smiled kindly. Steele scratched his chin. Carris was about to speak, about to reassure him. But he flashed her a warm smile. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, it's bloody nice having somebody like you around. You make me feel a bit safer, a bit more confident than I ever was."

Carris felt a throb in her chest. Something pleasant, making her feel lighter where she felt heavy, and she found that she was not so abashed of the blush that crept upon her cheeks.

"I'm glad," she said quietly, finding it was all she could manage to say. Steele smiled and nodded, chewing on the side of his lip. He looked happy. Eventually he slapped his knee and stood up, keeping the blanket it around him.

"Well, I think I'm dry enough," he said, "think I'll get dressed and sod off."

Carris said nothing and looked away while he dressed. But just as he buttoned his pants, she stood up, still in her own blanket, and stared at him. Looking quite surprised, he looked back.

"I think you have a nice figure too!" she blurted.

The marksman's eyes darted away for a moment. He almost looked daunted. Carris found herself nearly towering over him, thrusting this compliment directly into his face. Smooth, she thought. But he smiled again, very sweetly.

"Thanks," he said. They stared at one another for a moment. He stepped up to her then, and raised his hand. It hovered just a little bit away from her face. To her, it seemed that Steele wanted to do something. What she did not know. Whatever it was, he decided against it. His hands dropped slightly, and nearly shrugging, he squeezed her blanketed shoulder. "Let's finish up and find Frost, and see if he has anything for us."

He turned around, collected his things, and made for the door. "I'll be right outside." Just before he left, Carris turned, feeling her heart thumping, her thoughts racing.

"I could use some help with the armor."

Steele stopped and looked back. Carris smiled bashfully. "Please?"

And he smiled.

"Sure, love."

* * *

Frost sat atop Tower B, sitting by the machine gun that belonged to the brothers. Nikodim and Konstantin were both under a heavy blanket, heads resting atop the other, snoring loudly. He didn't mind. Both were quite tired and he knew they had been rattled by the mere inches between them and Big Hair.

Sitting with his legs over the side in a break in the barrier, he looked out at the grasslands and the forests beyond. The moon was high and it was a clear night, so far. A man could see for miles. In the far of distance, the woods swayed in the wind. When he listened close, he thought he could hear the thousands of trunks groaning, though he was probably fooling himself. Out there, Big Hair and his troops were on the move. _River Styx_ reported that they were heading back to their original position, north of the great lake that sat at the edge of the forest. Likely, they were returning to restock and rearm. Any level-headed and savvy leader would move everything useful to another position, using the forest for concealment, and start setting up observation posts.

With his mind cleared of their individual casualty, he had returned to the business of the mission. Big Hair had to be eliminated, but all of the options had already been exhausted. Frost had never felt so stumped in his life. A plan, that's all he needed, just the foundations, and then he could do _something._ Until he concocted a scheme, all he could do was sit there on his hands like an idiot. How could he mop up this operation without losing anyone else? One death was too many for him. He needed a plan, one where they held all the cards.

Behind him, he heard hands and feet on the ladder. Turning, he saw Steele's face appear, followed by Carris's armored form. The pair looked cleaner and rejuvenated; Carris wasn't wearing her helmet and her hair was still a little damp. It glistened in the moonlight. In the few moments it took for them to join him, he noticed something. Something off, in a good way. Both were standing a little closer together, and their body language was similar. Glances that met and parted frequently, coy smiles that came and left in seconds. At one point, he thought he spied her gauntlet brushing against the back of his gloved hand. Trying not to smirk as they strode up to him, he knew he'd have to ask Steele later on.

"How goes it?" he asked.

"A warm shower does everybody some good," Steele remarked, knocking his knuckles on her chestplate.

"I'm sure it does," Frost said slyly. Carris and Steele exchanged a quick glance. Before either could offer some embarrassed excuse, he nodded out to the flatlands. "He hasn't broken the treeline, but he's on the move."

"Hopefully ONI won't lose them," Steele grumbled. "Did an inventory on the way over. Had the boys haul as much Covvie equipment as we could; a few spikers and plasma rifles, an armful of carbines, a Brute shot, oh, spike grenades, a few bundles of incendiaries, and-"

Frost's eyes widened.

"What?"

Steele paused, a bit startled.

"What...? What, what I say?"

"Did you say _incendiaries_?"

"Yeah, we've got around twenty-five or so incendiary grenades from the Brute corpses we looted before we left the field."

Just then, in that moment, Frost had a plan. He finally had a plan.

He sprung to his feet and headed to the ladder. "Mate? Where you going?" Steele asked. But Frost was already at there. Quickly, he scrambled down. Carris, Steele, and now the brothers, stirred by the commotion, followed him down. Frost looked around the compound, not waiting for the others to catch up. Near the parked Warthogs, he saw all of the Covenant weaponry laid out on a tarp. Right in the center was a pile of incendiary grenades; orange cylinders with black bottoms and caps. Falling to his knees and spreading them out, he counted them. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five. Yes, twenty-five! What firepower! Just as the others walked up, he hopped back onto his feet and headed to their own supply cache. Steele slung petty jokes and insults; Frost ignored them all. Many of the others around the base had heard or spotted them, and were now joining the crowd. Buzzing rose; what was he up to, they all asked.

Frost had a plan.

Cracking upon one of the small supply crates, he took out the contents. A dozen C12 charges. On top of that, numerous fragmentation grenades and other explosives. These he lined out on the ground, counting, taking stock. Once he had totaled the amount of firepower they had, he stuffed everything back into the crate, picked it up, and carried it all the way back to the Covenant cache. Again, all present followed him. After setting it down, he jogged back to their spare gear and picked up as many spare rucksacks as he could carry. Then he ran back to the supply cache and began stuff them full of grenades, charges, and incendiaries.

Steele grabbed his arm. "What are you doing, man?"

Frost, excitedly, smiled at him.

"I have a plan."

He turned to the others. By now, nearly everyone had arrived. "Borko, Maddox, Gabe, front and center!"

The three engineers came forward. Frost took out the paper copy of the map, took everyone over to a nearby slab of concrete and laid it out. At each corner he placed a handful-sized piece of stone. Taking out a red pencil, he began to circle specific parts on the map. "Listen, if I give you Christianson, Mori, and Parker, can you take these satchel charges and plant them at these locations."

All three men simultaneously bent over the map. Taking a few moments to study and mumble among themselves, they turned back to him.

"Sure, Gunny," said Borko, "but why?"

Frost didn't answer. He faced the crowd again.

"Macintosh!" The Hellbringer came forward, his weapon held by his side. "How much fuel do you have left for your NA4?"

"Enough to scorch two whole battalions," he answered, almost darkly.

"Excellent, excellent. You go with them then," Frost pointed to the engineers. Pushing into the crowd, he latched his hands on Emery. "Fill up the Hogs, the Mongooses, and the bikes. We need them tonight. Give the rest of the fuel canisters to the sappers."

"What for?" red-bearded Emery asked, absolutely confused. Frost step by him and called to the Pelican crew.

"Jasper, do you think you can manage one last flight!?"

"I wouldn't recommend it!" the pilot hollered back, holding a hammer in his hand. "Our patch isn't as airtight as it could be!"

"Tighten it as best you can, we need your cannon!" Frost turned around, so eager and excited that his hand trembled as he scratched and rubbed his chin, like an intellectual pondering some question. "Need the gun," he said, "need the the chin turret, need as much firepower. M41 isn't enough. Just one gun run. East to west? No, no, south to north." He put a finger to his earpiece. " _River Styx_ , this is Alpha One Actual, come in. Over."

"Alpha One Actual this is _River Styx_ , receiving. Over."

"What's the forecast for the rest of tonight? Over."

"It appears that the wind will continue until early morning, and a fog bank is moving in from the east. Over."

Frost's smile widened.

"Thank you _River Styx_ , Alpha One Actual out." He made his way back to the map and looked at it again.

"Nate!" Steele exclaimed firmly. "Do you mind telling us what the fuck is happening?"

But Frost, still smiling, looked at his friend.

"I have a plan," was all he said.

* * *

The night was dragging on. Wind whistled through the trees, not quite howling, but certainly loud enough. Fog came with it, obscuring the distant parts of the forest, intensifying the putrid darkness it cast on the inhabitants. At a ruined campsite, populated by bloating corpses, wrecked equipment, and the burned out hulks of Wraiths, moving through the trees and what remained, the remaining Covenant troops picked up what was useful. A plasma rifle there, a few grenades there, half a dozen cartridges for a carbine. Silently, they moved around, picking up whatever could be scavenged. Quite literally, it was Grunt work, but in their state, all joined in. Skirmishers and Jackals, Brutes and Elites, all bent over and collected anything that could be of use.

Some stopped when they heard peculiar sounds that came with the wind. Was it a voice? Humans spoke in such shrill tongues one could be led to believe that it was impossible for the creatures to hush themselves. Yet those who had fought with them many times knew better. While many of the unclean race broke and ran, others were stronger. Even worse, they could be wily and cunning. Sometimes they led the Covenant into traps, shattering their ranks with clever but ultimately dishonorable tricks. Long range riflemen would pick off the officers, and those with automatic weapons and grenades would finish off the rest. Other times, they would slip away and become the hunter, and watched like hungry pack animals. If they were out there, and a brave soul with good eyes looked hard enough, they might glimpse two green circles floating in the darkness. With those goggles they could see in the darkness, and it struck fear into the less ranks.

But the worst to face were the ones who feared no death, and not just the demons. Even the ones without the strange green armor, whose faces were exposed to all that lay under the sun. Ferocious individuals who did not retreat, who did not hold their ground, but _advanced_. They would fire their weapons until they were out of ammo. Surely then, they would return to resupply. No, they would draw their blades of metal, heavy clubs, axes, even shovels, and would chew through the shock troops. When they counterattacked, it came with such an unimaginable fury that it could decimate even the most courageous, vigorous, and honorable of the Covenant. Survivors had seen their Sangheili overwhelmed by dozens of the olive drab little monsters, plunging daggers into them until their chests were pulverized.

Only a few stopped at the strange sounds they heard at first. How could there be murmuring out in the fog when the filthy cowards quivered in their base. Wind played tricks even on the wisest of warriors. Yet all of the Covenant grew more wary. When a twig snapped, they all stopped and looked around. Was it one of them, or something beyond the perimeter? Visibility was awful due to the fog. Another twig, and another. How far off was it!? Eventually, to quell his troops, the great war chieftain stepped forward and barked a command. He reminded them that the humans would not survive for long. Once they had moved on, they would take back the territory they had lost and dispatch a message for all the Covenant to hear. While the true purpose of the planet was lost, it would show that even when the humans attempted to attack, they would always fail. Yes, they would fail; the chieftain was sure of it. For him, it was personal, it was his duty, it was why he had been born. To extinguish humanity, and these few ragged, caped marauders would be no different.

Suddenly, to the north, they heard a great shout. A war cry; a human cry. All turned to face it. Long and loud, it carried throughout the woods like a thunderclap. Before the war chieftain could issue a command, they heard a strange hiss, and in the distance they saw flame burst towards them. Then a series of explosions billowed up out of the forest and into the night sky. Some were close, others farther away. Fire billowed in lines, racing from east to west, west to east, on their flanks, north to south, south to north. Looking around, the war chieftain was entirely confused. These trails of flame soon grew into walls, consuming the underbrush. Gusts of wind fanned the fires, fueling them, causing them to grow taller. Soon trees were aflame, their branches and leaves roasting. Burning leaves began to fill the air, mingling with sparks carried on the wind. An orange-yellow haze lit up the night; mixed with the fog, it created a ghastly glow.

To the north, there was another stream of flame, sweeping in a wide semicircle. As it parted, as the ground caught fire around and the rearguard were engulfed, a tall, bulky figure came into view. The war chieftain knew of this kind, those who wield terrible weapons that spewed flame unto the earth. With flames dancing and billowing on either side, the figure, shoulders heaving, the weapon in hand, a tuft of flame flickering at the nozzle, seemed to lock eyes with him. Although his face was shielded, he unleashed another great roar and began marching towards them. Then jogging, then sprinting. On either side, the strange, trim vehicles appeared. On each were two men, and they began firing their weapons. Bulkier ones followed, each with a man on the rear. One fired rockets, the other launched grenades.

They were speeding right towards them, with the flame trooper still racing along. Already, the forest was engulfed in flame. Heading west or east would lead them into death, and north would see his troops gunned down by the ambushers. Making the decision among his panicked troops, the war chieftain ordered them south. Their only refuge would be the lake! If they made it there, they could move out onto the grasslands beyond.

As they began stampeding south, many dropping the extra weapons and equipment they had collected, the war chieftain roared. Anger was all he could feel. Indeed, the human's leader was as devious as he was brutally effective. Unable to meet them in a fair fight, he would burn them out of the woods. Running and urging the troops to the lake, he could hear whooping and calling and more war cries. The men on the fast vehicles shrieked like animals to the others, but the chieftain had learned some of their tongue. Although some words were lost on him, and others lost in the carnage of flames that seemed to line either side of their path, he could hear jeering and insults and threats. Laughter broke their shouting. Only such wretches as these would enjoy such slaughter. On either side and ahead of him, the war chieftain watched as his troops were cut down by gunfire or blown apart by explosives. As they closed in on the lake, more explosions thundered and walls of flame appeared. The air began filled with smoke, it became hard to breath. All oxygen was being sucked away by the greedy, growing flames.

Eventually, they burst from the trees, escaping the fire that was right behind them, and found themselves at the edge of the lake. They were on the right side, and the forest that populated their left were already burning. On their right, the trees that went on past their position were on fire. Seeing no alternative, the war chieftain led his troops to the thin strip of sand. Many, burned and wounded, plunged into the water. Eventually, the humans on vehicles appeared and tore along the shore, forcing them all to start slogging through the shallow water. They were harassed with automatic fire and explosives once more.

The fire was moving faster than they were. It circled around the lake on either side, create a small window for them to escape. If they could push on, just keep pushing through the water, they would make it. But as they neared the southern shore, which led to a grassy incline, their hopes were dashed. Stopping dead in water up to their knees, they watched as charges detonated, and a wall of fire rose up on the tiny incline. Just as it was about to close entirely, one of the big trucks raced through and stopped at the edge of the beach. Then, and only then, did the Brute war chieftain realize what had happened. They hadn't been escaping; they had been led into a trap. Rising like ghosts, figures burst from the sand and began firing. With a whir, the turret on the rear of the truck began firing. Swooping overhead came one of the dropships, its chin mounted turret pounding away. Dozens upon dozens of his troops fell as bullets rippled across the water. All he could do was fire back with his spiker, but the humans were moving fast, and the intensity of the fire made it impossible to aim. As the dropship passed, its rear-turret ripped even more of his troops apart. Everything and everyone began to fall apart. As he heard engines once more, he turned. Barreling along the shore came the fast vehicles, and a voice that cried, "Charge!"

* * *

As Steele tore the dirt bike across the shallow water, Frost watched the Warthog's gun fall silent and the Marine Raiders charge the fifty or so remaining Covenant in the water. Bodies were floating all around, and those that survived were wounded. Some couldn't even raise their weapons. Emptying their weapons, the Raiders stormed into the water, brandishing their melee weapons. Hooting and hollering and screaming, they cut down Skirmishers and Jackals, Grunts, Elites, and Brutes. Nikodim and Konstantin tackled an Elite and began beating it to death with tomahawks. Bishop felled quite a few with his shotgun. Grant, getting his payback, grappled a Jackal down and forced its head under water. Those not locked in melee combat gunned down the rest. Even Katz was there, filming with his helmet camera and taking pot shots with his camera. Tane was beside him, although he was taking cover behind a rock. Even those on ATV's or bikes dismounted and charged into the fray.

Frost's eyes were on Big Hair. The leader of the extinguished Covenant force was standing apart from the rest, stupefied, hardly raising a finger to fight.

"Pull up in front of that bastard!" Frost shouted. Steele did so. Water sprayed from the wheels as they ground to a halt in the shallow part of the lake. Jumping off Frost raised his rifle, ready to squeeze off a shot. Yet something held him back. Steele stood beside him, letting the bike fall on its side into the water. All three stood there, the two Raiders with their weapons raised, Big Hair with his arms limp at his sides. Around them, the entire tree line was burning fiercely. Thick, black smoke rose into the night sky. The flames cast eerie reflections on the darkened water, and the yellow fog rolled over them. Branches cracked, burning leaves fluttered all around, and trees began to fall into the lake.

Suddenly, Big Hair did something that Frost hadn't expected: he spoke. Most of his words were lost on him. Without translation equipment, it was just typical Brute chatter. Menacing, beastial, and snarling. Exchanging glances with Steele, who looked just as perplexed, Frost surprised even himself.

Lowering his rifle slightly, he yelled over the cacophony of screaming men, flames, and gunfire, "It's over! This planet is ours now!"

Big Hair stopped. Then he tossed his spiker away, and took the gravity hammer from his back.

"Fuck..." Steele muttered under his breath. Holding his hammer in both hands, Big Hair began marching towards them.

"Only if you kill me..." he growled.

Before Frost or Steele could feel the shock of hearing a Brute speak, Big Hair swung the hammer at them, roaring. The two Raiders rolled in either direction. Water was thrown up all around them. Recovering first, Steele raised his sniper rifle, ready to fire at point blank range. Big Hair was faster, swinging its huge fist at him. While able to step back in time, the blow knocked Steele's weapon away. Going to the SMG clipped to his leg plate, the sniper began peppering the war chieftain. Grunting as the rounds sank into his side, Big Hair stomped towards him. By now, Frost was on his feet and firing short, controlled bursts into the monster's side. The seven-six-two rounds were ripping into his flesh and chewing up his armor, yet Big Hair was not deterred. Breaking away from Steele, he made multiple swings at him. Narrowly, Frost evaded each, ducking and dodging back through the water. Each miss seemed to infuriate Big Hair even further. Eventually, he reached out and snatched Frost by the chestplate. Dropping his rifle, he drew his knife and sliced the blade along Big Hair's wrist. It was enough to make the beast release him, but Frost couldn't find his rifle anywhere in the water.

Just as he was about to bring the gravity hammer down again, Steele lunged forward and drove his own combat knife into Big Hair's side. Unleashing a roar, Big Hair attempted to elbow Steele away. But the sniper withdrew just as quick, darting through the thigh-high water. Circling behind Big Hair, he stabbed him multiple times in the lower back, then took a hold of his armor and climbed onto his back. Before he could bring the knife down into the war chieftain's neck, the Brute shook violently, trying to shake Steele off. As his friend clung on for dear life, Frost charged into Big Hair. It did little to stop him, but a few strikes to the gut with the knife slowed him. Bleeding from the back, side, wrist, and from numerous gunshots, he had to be tiring now.

Big Hair would not go quietly. Dropping his hammer, he shoved Frost so hard that he was taken off his feet and thrown several feet across the water. It was so sudden that his bandolier was torn off and his helmet skipped along the water like a stone. Despite having the wind knocked out of him, Frost managed to get on his feet. In those few moments of recovery, he finally saw Steele dismount, dodging numerous blows. Running back, knife in his left hand, Frost rejoined the fray. Water splashed all around them, and a tree fell nearby. In the flurry of limbs and war cries, Frost stabbing blindly into the monster, he suddenly saw Steele fall away from the other side. Turning, Big Hair once more grabbed a hold of Frost and threw him against the fallen tree. Hitting on his left side, Frost felt his arm break, and he cried out in pain.

"Nate!" he heard Steele yell. As he jogged over, Big Hair swung with his large fist. It connected, just barely, into Steele's side. Thrown to his side, helmet flying off, Steele fell under the water. Big Hair, growing weaker, stumbled back for a moment. His second wind would return in moments, Frost knew. Making his way over, his broken arm lame at his side, he picked Steele up.

"Come on, Louie!" Frost said, taking one of his arms over his shoulders. The pair began hobbling away towards their dirty bike. They needed to get their equipment from the nearly submerged vehicle. Only a few steps were taken before Steele fell; Frost turned to see that Big Hair had snatched him by the leg and was holding him upside down. Ever defiant, Steele drew his pistol and fired several shots into the chieftain's chest. The heavy impact caused him to stumble, giving Frost an opportunity. Having recovered his knife, he darted forward, went low, and buried the blade into Big Hair's knee. Roaring, he swatted Frost away like a fly with the knife still in his knee.

Going for Steele once more, the sniper waved him off.

"Get the grenades!" he yelled as Big Hair staggered for them. Not wasting another second, Frost got over to the bike and retrieved a rucksack. Within were three spike grenades all tied together. Spinning around, he saw Steele sitting in the water, arm raised, pistol in hand, firing into Big Hair, who loomed over him. Summoning what strength he had left, Frost ran as fast as he could. Just as Frost closed in, Big Hair faced him, bringing his heavy fist down for a killing blow. Sidestepping it and priming the grenades in the same motion, Frost stuck the grenade bundle to Big Hair's bicep. Then he dove and covered Steele as the grenades detonated.

After a few moments, Frost stood up and turned. Big Hair was standing nearby, gazing at the stump where his arm used to be. His puny eyes were wide and his body was riddled with steaming hot spikes. Blood leaked from multiple wounds.

Frost helped Steele up.

"You okay?" he asked.

"My leg's fuckin' dislocated and I think half my ribs are busted. Peachy, otherwise."

"Lean on me, Louie." Frost turned around, allowing Steele to slump onto him, his left arm coiling around and latching onto Frost's chestplate. Both drew their pistols in their right hands. "Let's finish this."

Limping forward, exhausted, soaked, as the fires licked the shore of the lake, they pulled the triggers, slowly, deliberately. Bullet after bullet struck Big Hair, in the stomach, in the chest. With each blow, he lurched backwards. Blood drained from his arm, long dark droplets spinning in the wind. Closing in, they reloaded as best they could, Steele sliding a clip into Frost's M6C from behind. Again, they fired and fired. Eventually, they were near enough to touch the war chieftain. Shouting, the two friends threw all their weight into them. Pain coursed up and down Frost's arm, and Steele let out a second, pained cry. All three tumbled into the water, Big Hair on his back, Frost on his right, and Steele on his left. He released a miserable groan, landing on on his injured ribs.

Scrambling, Frost rose to his knees and latched onto Big Hair's neck, forcing him under the water. Steele, getting up as best he could, also push down on the beast's head. Still resisting, Big Hair attempted to keep his face above the waterline. Frost and Steele stubbornly, grunting, swearing, gritting their teeth in effort, kept it under. Despite his wounds, Steele was putting pressure on Big Hair with about half his body. Suddenly, Frost remembered the knife. He reached down and removed his serrated, black-hilted knife from Big Hair's knee. Holding it in his right hand, high over the war chieftain, he brought it down right where his heart was. He put all his weight on it, groaning as he strained his muscle. The hide was thick. Steele let go of Big Hair's head and put both hands on Frost's, and pushed the blade deeper until it had sank all the way up to the hilt.

When they looked at Big Hair, they saw his eyes were dead. He was entirely still. Blood spilled from dozens upon dozens, perhaps over a hundred wounds, seeping into the dark water. Around them the fires raged, but the fog lifted and the wind died away. Letting go of the knife, they both sat back, panting in the water. Looking back at the others, they saw the Raiders finishing off the last survivors of the Covenant forces. Bodies littered the water.

He and Steele looked at one another. Words escaped them in their fatigue, so they only smiled a little. Taking off his long, wet scarf, Steele wrapped it around Frost's neck and tied it, making an improvised sling. Carefully, they slid his arm into it. Frost mumbled in pain.

"Thanks," Frost finally said. "I think...Carris ought to put your leg back in."

"Oh, that'll be fun," Steele said with the roll of his eyes.

Nodding, Frost stood up and helped Steele; the marksman treated his dislocated right leg as carefully as he could. Throwing one of his arms across his shoulder, Frost helped him back to the others, who were standing the water. Everyone was spent, standing limply in the water; they were wet, they were tired, and the ash filling the air was beginning to cling to their faces and armor. When they saw their two wounded friends, they slowly rallied around them. All were panting and looking at him expectantly.

Frost knew what they wanted to hear. What they needed to hear. Putting a finger to his earpiece, he hailed _River Styx._

"Alpha One Actual; is the area clear? Over."

A minute passed.

"Alpha One Actual...affirmative. No Covenant forces remain on the planet. Over."

Perhaps they would have cheered, they would have embraced, they would have celebrated. Instead, they all remained quiet, looking at one another, smiling sadly, more relieved than jubilant. More so, a feeling sank into them. Something nearly indescribable. For the first time in a decade, a planet that had been lost to the Covenant, had been reclaimed by the UNSC. They few, utterly drained, bloody, ashen, drenched, had been able to do it. Without a fleet, with hardly any support. Through determination, loss, and feat of arms, a planet was now back in the fold of humanity. No grand speech, no fragile words, could surmise what they felt. Yet no one had to speak. As their eyes met, they all knew it, and silently paid their respects to the man who had given his life for such a triumph.

* * *

 _Several days later..._

As the _I'm Alone_ exited slipspace over Bartholomew X, Vivian was standing at the front of the bridge. Relief flooded her chest as she found no Covenant vessels floating over the planet. Ahead was the UNSC _River Styx_ , out of her cloaking. That had to be a good sign. Jasmine was beside her, still tense and her face concerned.

She ordered Tsang to scan the planet and to provide real-time imaging on the large operations screen. That same relief disappeared as she saw a blackened mass where the northern forest had been. Much of the vast woods that stretched around the lake had been reduced to a black husk. Bare, scorched tree trunks jutted from the land. Even the grasslands south of the lake were now barren. Jasmine looked at her, visibly distressed. Vivian held up a hand.

"Alpha One Actual, this is _I'm Alone._ Sitrep, over."

Silence claimed the comms. Vivian closed her eyes. "Alpha One Actual, this is _I'm Alone._ Sitrep, over."

Seconds dragged by.

" _I'm Alone_ , this is Alpha One Actual. Bartholomew X is secure. Over."

A wave of shock passed over all present on the bridge. Jasmine clasped her hands on her chest as she heard Frost's voice, and she smiled at Vivian. Everyone looked at one another. Nobody seemed to believe it. Vivian, withholding a smile, broadcasted the conversation throughout the ship and the fleet.

"Alpha One Actual, clarify: the Covenant have been eliminated? Over."

"Affirmative _I'm Alone._ No Covenant presence remains on the planet. Mission accomplished."

Cheering erupted throughout the bridge. Personnel hugged, shook hands, and high-fived. Outside the bridge, she could hear the same. Thousands of men and women throwing up their arms in victory. Vivian couldn't help but smile.

"Good work, Alpha One Actual. I think I'll have a look at Alpha Base."

###

When the Pelican landed smoothly at the edge of Alpha Base with the rear hatch open, Vivian was surprised to see how ruinous it looked. Although the towers and the main building appeared sound, there was so much concrete rubble laying about. Much of the building materials had been left behind and some of the first buildings had been demolished by the Covenant or blasted by evacuating UNSC troops.

She had come alone, as Hayes and Holst were rounding up the ground troops for a mass landing. Normally, a landing force could deploy very quickly as they came in waves. However, this was involving all of their vehicles and field materials, it would take some time. Alpha Base needed to be fortified until Travers finished putting together a fleet to bring the engineers, equipment, and supplies to start rebuilding the installation.

Standing on the towers, on piles of rubble, or on the pavement, were the Marine Raiders. Firm gusts of wind tugged at their scarves and shoulder capes. All were still, watching her from so many different angles. Some wore balaclavas, others goggles. The men's beards had grown quite a bit. Everyone's uniforms were filthy. Near a stretch of metal wreckage on the right side of the base was a pile of rotting Covenant corpses. When the wind blew it brought the stench of decaying flesh. Over yonder were the vehicles, more than they had deployed with. Just past those was the Pelican, looking somewhat beat up.

Atop one of the warehouses was Carris, clad in full armor. Leaning on the M41 turret of the Warthogs was that engineer, Borko. Side by side at one of the Mongooses was Knight, hefting a rocket launcher, and Bishop, his shotgun balanced across his shoulders.

Frost was at the entrance of the mine, which was buried in stone. The way it had all fallen formed a sort of chair, if it could be called that, just high enough that he could sit comfortably. His left arm was in a makeshift sling and in his right he held his assault rifle under the barrel. He wasn't wearing a helmet, and his brown hair was blown about by the wind. Sitting there with his weapon in such a way reminded Vivian of a barbarian warlord, sedentary with his weapon, observing his horde gathering for war. All that was missing was fur cloak, a warhammer, and armor of an age long behind them.

Beside him was the head of a Brute with thick hair. Its eyes were faded and its tongue hung limply from its mouth. Carved into a hefty but flat piece of stone, no bigger than a tray, that the head sat upon, read the words, 'HERE LIES BIG HAIR. ALL BRUTES SHALL DIE.'

Vivian grimaced as she stopped in front of him.

"Quite a grisly trophy, Sergeant."

Wordlessly, Frost set his rifle down, leaning it against the stone. Then he stood and saluted. Vivian returned it and nodded at his arm. "How did you bust your wing?"

"Fight with Mr. Big Hair, here," Frost said, motioning to the head. "You should see the rest of him."

"I need a full report of the operation, if you'd please."

He hesitated, biting his lower lip. Vivian quirked an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"Have you spoken to that ONI captain yet?"

"Nothing beyond a hail."

"Hold off any communique with him. I have much to tell you. But I have to show you something first. Walk with me."

Walking at his side, Frost led Vivian to the nearest warehouse. As they entered, she felt the draft and shivered. Her tunic was not the best protection against the chill in the air. A great deal of Covenant equipment cases sat within, as well as some of their own gear. In the center, on three crates lined up and pushed together, was a foot sticking out from under a blanket. For a moment, Vivian was confused. Her eyes widened as she drew closer. Stepping towards the other end, she hesitated to pull the blanket back.

"Who is it?"

"Sánchez."

Vivian closed her eyes.

"Did we lose anyone else?"

"No."

She looked at him. Frost's head was low, but his eyes were cast upon the body.

"How did he die?" Frost did not answer. His silence was infuriating. Glaring, she turned to face him. "Dammit Sergeant, he was one our men, one of _your_ men. How did he die, surely you saw-"

"Vivian...please," Frost said, closing his eyes and shaking his head. This gave her pause. The last time she had heard her own name pass between his lips, it had been a mockery. Here, it was different. Filled with sadness, gentle as a summer breeze, and ultimately weary. While it normally wouldn't stop her, she understood loss, and buried the beration she had been building. Morosely, she turned back to Sánchez and shook her head.

"Poor Lucila," she eventually said, "this will tear her apart."

Frost looked surprised.

"You knew about his girl?"

"Of course I did. I spoke with him many times."

"You did?"

"You may not notice, Sergeant, but I do my best to speak to as many of my personnel as possible. Sánchez was no exception. He told me all about his sweetheart, his family, his home, his plans for after the war." She smiled. "He was a good man. It was too bad he had to die."

"It was. I wish I had known him better." He cleared his throat. "Nora Langley wants to write the letter to Lucila. I said she could. Do you have any problems with that?" His tone was not defensive.

"I think that's for the best. She knew him better than anybody else. Her words will have more weight."

Leading her back out, Frost explained everything. Retaking Alpha Base had been a good fight, though a reinforcement fleet had arrived. Strangely, Big Hair, as the Raiders referred to the commanding Covenant officer, had called them off. Perhaps, it was out of overconfidence, arrogance, pride. Any single one worked. Once they had taken the base, there had been no time for rest. The air strike had been successful but the heavy vehicles hadn't been eliminated. Carrying out a hit-and-run op, they had destroyed the Wraiths. A snag came when the Pelican was damaged and Grant was thrown out. Carris had gone after him, plucked him from the lake, and proceeded to take him overnight to a satellite array facility that had been barely finished. Once there, they had held out against overwhelming odds until the rest of the Marine Raiders had come to their aid. The rescue had come at a price; Sánchez had been mauled by the war chieftain and, knowing his wounds were too great, asked to die. Afterwards, they recovered until a stroke of genius swept onto Frost. He downplayed it, of course. But he had used a combination of incendiary grenades, explosives, spare fuel, a flamethrower, and even the wind to set the forest on fire. Using the dirt bikes and ATV's, they had harried the Covenant towards the lake. Trapped inside a ring of fire, the Raiders eliminated the remnants and he had personally killed Big Hair with Steele. Since then, they nursed their wounds and waited for her arrival.

Two questions remained unanswered. Heading back to the tunnel entrance, where some of the Raiders were gathering, Vivian looked at him curiously.

"Did you think to ask _River Styx_ for assistance when your two Raiders were out in the field?"

"We did, and we were refused. Captain Rundstrom said that his Pelican and operators were unavailable. What's more, he knew that there was data on the serve unit at the sat-array, and there was an external storage unit at the main terminal. To me, it stinks."

"I'm inclined to agree with you," Vivian said, even though it practically pained her. More so, she was angry. Putting aside her animosity towards Frost, these were still her men. Rundstrom answered to her now and they were all supposed to work as a cohesive unit. Why had he refused? How could he just leave two soldiers on the ground as the Covenant closed in around them. "Do you still have the data?"

"Yes. Why plugged it in here but we couldn't make much sense of it. Not even Tane could put a finger on it. It's peculiar data for a sat-array facility."

"There aren't any satellites."

"Exactly. As far as we can, this data is related to the planet. It's measuring...something, I don't know what. If I was to use a term, I'd say energy readings. We still have the data storage unit if you want to take a look. I just wanted to make you aware of all this before you spoke to Rundstrom."

Vivian nodded. She would deal with the ONI officer eventually, face-to-face.

"Another thing," she said, "you haven't mentioned what the strategic asset in the tunnel was."

Frost stopped and said nothing. Vivian raised an eyebrow. "I assume it was in the tunnel, seeing that it's collapsed. So what was it? I'm curious."

"That's the thing, Captain. We haven't destroyed it."

Vivian's brow furrowed.

" _What?_ "

"Instead of burying it, we just blocked off the entrance to the tunnel to make it look like we had destroyed everything inside. Big Hair wasn't a dummy, but he fell for it. I think it had something to do with why he sent the fleet away."

"You defied my orders."

"You weren't here and I had to make a judgment call. What's in there is more important and useful to us undamaged than destroyed. I'm telling you: this could be a game changer, and I wanted _you_ to see this before ONI did. Please, let me show you."

As infuriated as she was, she inhaled slowly, closed her eyes, calmed down, and nodded. When she opened them back up, Frost had turned to his Raiders. "Alright, Gabe, Borko, Maddox, clear the rubble!"

After stuffing Big Hair's head into a sack and taking the inscribed stone away, the three engineers placed a series of charges and began blowing away at the rubble. It was slow-going and it took some time. They had to ensure that the rest of the tunnel didn't come down, and they had to use spare beams scavenged from the wreckage pile across the compounding as makeshift supports and beams just to keep the tunnel entrance open. An hour was dragging on by the time there was no fear of collapse. Off in the distance, the first Pelicans were landing. Vivian watched Frost as they descended. Instead of seeing pride in his face, there remained a melancholy. It did not bother her in the slightest to see him unhappy. Yet a voice in the back of her head compelled her, drawing on the kindness she was capable but tried to withhold. She offered to him that Jasmine would be coming down soon, she just had to organize which medical equipment were needed planetside. Expecting at least a smile, he merely nodded and inquired to her well-being. He said he was glad to know she was well.

Sánchez was weighing heavily on him, that much was evident. A part of her wanted to say something comforting, encouraging, something that assuaged whatever anguish he felt. But that was a line she was unprepared and unwilling to cross. Whenever compassion dared to enter her heart, she was quick to turn it into stone. Anger, that anger, that acidic _anger_ , that burned within her soul, reminded her of five girls torn to shreds. So she waited in silence beside the man who had taken them away, taken them so horrifically, who had snatched their lives.

Toiling onward, the engineers finished the first phase of the reconstruction. Once there was no fear of collapse, they dug with entrenchment tools at the dirt that had fallen until they had managed to clear a path back into the undamaged stretch of the tunnel. Borko handed Frost his helmet, and he turned on the flashlight attachment. Moser kindly slung Frost's rifle over his shoulder for him. He passed through the entrance and stood just out of the darkness. Then he turned to Vivian. "Are you coming?" he asked.

"Right behind you."

Frost took a loud, long breath and proceeded down the tunnel. Vivian gave him an interval of about three feet. At first, as they descended, it appeared like the average mine. As they went deeper, she heard a humming. It wasn't like a purring engine, something more pure. Patches in the dirt revealed shining, smooth metal that she had never seen. Blue lights in long lines that went up, down, left, and right in so many patterns bloomed and faded. Eventually, they ended up in a wide chamber. It was dark.

Vivian strained her eyes. "What is this?" She could make out dim blue lights coursing along the floor, the walls, and something oddly shaped in the center.

"Over here."

She joined Frost by a pedestal of sorts. He shone the headlamp on it. "Touch it."

"Why?"

"Trust me." Then he chuckled. "Sorry, forgot who I was talking to." Vivian looked down at the pedestal. Frost then held out his hand. "Give me your hand."

Against her better judgment, she allowed him to gently grasp her hand and press it down on the pedestal. Suddenly, the chamber filled with brilliant white light, enough that it hurt her eyes. Covering them, she heard a surge of energy all around her. When she lowered her hand, she saw the bulky object past the pedestal: a silver, circular object with white light shining in the center. On the ceiling was a similar object, just a bit wider, also emitting white light. Both were projecting an image that filled the entire room. As Vivian looked around, she realized that they were looking at the entire Milky Way. She was standing in it, surrounded by numerous clusters hovering and floating around her.

"What is this?" she said, eyes wide, amazed, her blonde hair shining in the light. Frost flicked off the headlamp, smiling. Vivian turned around and around. "Wait, I know this one." When she reached out and touched it, her handed didn't pass through it. Instead, the cluster expanded all around her, taking up the space the entire galaxy had before. Now appeared a system. "That's Sol!" she exclaimed, reaching out once more. The images around her changed and she saw all the planets revolving around the sun. Earth was so large she could cup her hands around it. Each image had a certain weight to it, and when she touched the one of Earth, holographic text appears beside it, running in short paragraphs.

She studied it for a moment. "What is this language? I've never seen it before."

"Neither have I," Frost grunted as he stepped up beside her. They were both in the center. "Here, check this out." He raised up his good hand, with his palm open, then closed it. Suddenly they were back within the cluster, and when he did it again, they were looking at the galaxy again.

"Wow, this is incredible," Vivian said, gazing around again. But as she walked around, looking at so many familiar clusters, she saw peculiar orbs. Closer inspection revealed them to be planet sized elements: rogue planets. And then there were brown dwarfs, and red dwarfs. Vivian couldn't believe what she was looking at. And systems, seemingly habitable systems, were appearing as well! Ones that she had never seen or heard of before. She looked slowly at Frost, her jaw agape. "After centuries and centuries of study, all of our technology, we still haven't discovered everything out here. There are still planets that could be colonized, resources to be tapped. This is showing us...everything."

"Who made this?" Frost pondered.

"I haven't a clue, but I can see why the Covenant wanted it. This is definitely going to change the way we fight the war. We can evacuate populations to clandestine systems, maybe set up facilities there to harvest minerals and rebuild the fleet. Hell, we might as well pack everybody up and take them to these places. What are the chances the Covenant will find them?" Vivian said. She smiled as she gazed around. "I think I've just found my post-war job."

"What's that?"

"Ferrying the new wave of colonists to these places. Why bother terraforming old planets when you can inhabit new ones? I'll have my own ship, my own crew, and we'll go out to places that humanity never thought they could find. Help build new cities, bring people to new beginnings, crack open planets and reap the plunders. It'd be quite the adventure, wouldn't it? No battles to fight, no enemies to fear. Just pure, _pure_ exploration."

She was surprised by his silence. When she looked at him, she saw his scarred face was quite hollowed. It was almost as if he had seen a ghost. Not necessarily fear, but a certain apprehension. Curious, if not concerned, Vivian stepped closer to him until they was hardly any space between them. Her emerald eyes burned into his gray ones, broken by shards of icy blue.

"War is the only adventure," he said solemnly, "and I can't imagine living in a world without it."

He turned around, head low, and began heading back towards the tunnel. Vivian was shocked. Presented with the future, bestowed with hope, and yet all he could do was lament. To her, he was still a mystery. Several months felt like years, and she reminded herself that there was still much to learn about him. Damned if she would learn anything _from_ him. Rage crept into her bosom, and Vivian stormed after him.

* * *

"You always need a plan. And while it make take a while, Frost could always come up with one. Frost _always_ has a plan."

\- Louis-Henry Steele

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **With that, we conclude, 'The Raid,' arc. I hope you enjoyed it. I would have gotten this chapter up a bit sooner if it weren't for the power outages during the storm over the weekend. It set me back quite a bit actually. I know some of us are expecting a big convo between Frost and Viv but that'll have to wait for next time.**

 **I want to say on the subject of death, or rather the reaction of the characters, I wrote this from my experience with death. All of us here have lost somebody, whether that be a friend or family member, and in any number of ways. Not to be too transparent, but I'll admit I've lost a few people dear to me and I've found that, in the aftermath of their passing, people talk. And often, not about the person who has passed, but rather about themselves and each other. In a strange way, death paved a way for self-inspection, conversation, learning, and more, and that's what I tried to do here with Frost and Steele and Carris. So if it seemed tonally off, this is why.**

 **Enough of that, let's get on with the comment responses, and a hearty thanks for all those who have! Just finished editing this bitch so I'm in a damned good mood!**

 **AlphaPrimaris: No wedding? Check. Traumatization? Check. Catalyst for conversation or aggravation? Check. Starris teasing? Check-Check. Should I put a check down for 'Betrayed the Trust of the Readers for Killing a Rising Character? That aside, I hope the death of Big Hair was as rewarding for you as it was for me. And yeah, a lot is going to happen, and now a lot** _ **isn't**_ **going to happen. And yes, I know you've gotten into that WarHammer phase. I'm looking forward to seeing more of your work turn in that direction, because the piece I read was solid, bro.**

 **TheCarlosInferno: This was the last part. We'll be moving on to the next stage, which may or may not be the fulfillment of another arc, plus the start of a new arc. Who knows? You know at first I wasn't going to do any arc type chapters like this, but I decided to because I think it creates a more episodic feel to the story, like a 'tune in on next time' vibe. I think it helps keep a story engaging and accessible. I dunno, thoughts?**

 **MightBeGone: Oh you've known there was a death coming. And he didn't deserve it, but that's just the way it went down. Big Hair is a brutal fuck and and he went down just as grisly, so revenge is ours! *high five* And it's good to be back but don't get your hopes up for another chapter this week, or for while. I have to get started on a term paper as well as a research paper. Tons of fun...**

 **BloodyAngelWolf: Oh, dude, it's not nagging. Believe me, I get it; she's one of the characters that we want to see change but it just won't happen. Don't worry, I think the eventual payoff will be big and satisfying for everybody, especially me. And thanks, I've been trying to get better. Honestly I think chapters one through thirty need a good overhaul, because I never devoted the proper amount of editing to them. Even some more recent chapters need to be cleaned up. I'm planning to do a big fixer-upper at the beginning of the summer, which will cut into the new chapters time but I think it'll make the story more accessible for new readers.**

 **UNSC-Helljumper: Ah, I knew it was you man! I can pick out your style even when your name ain't there. And hey, at least it wasn't hell-humper, that would...hurt, I think. And yeah, hopefully it was able to get some emotion out of the readers. I think I've said it before, I try to write scenes in my stories that solicit an emotion for me, because if I can't be bothered to feel sad, or happy, or angry when I'm trying to write a respective scene, how can I expect readers to entertain those same emotions too? It was a tough scene to write, even if we didn't get to know Sánchez too well; I think the tragedy in it comes from the fact that it was sudden but more so that he was receiving more development and it just ended like that. We don't get to see his future, we don't get to see him change; he's gone. If you ever want to get an intimate picture of death, though, read Dana's** _ **Two Years Before the Mast.**_ **A section details the death of a sailor aboard a sailing vessels and the grief that comes with it, and overall it's a wonderful book.**

 **Qzak501: That was sort of the goal: we see the process of death from start to finish. It's an unbreaking series of events that occur very quickly and the only breath we get is when Borko carries Langley away for that brief moment. If you've seen the film,** _ **The Revenant**_ **, the bear attack scene just doesn't stop and even when the commotion stops, there's tension. It's sort of the visualization of this; you as the reader/viewer are glued to your seat and you HAVE to endure it, start to finish. I think glossing over or not paying much attention to death loses the impact, and even the realism. Granted I'm not shooting too much for realism all the time, but you get my point. Illustrating death from start to finish carries greater weight, and carries the message that you've quite eloquently stated: it can happen to anyone at anytime, out of the blue and without dignity.**

 **Hellsing450: Thanks for leaving a comment, Hellsing! I tried to keep space combat simple but engaging; get across the action without bogging readers down in terminology and all that. And that's what I gleaned as well from studying way back when, when I was planning this story up. Of course, the conflict point comes in where those who are essentially the asset, don't like being the asset, they don't want to be the asset, and this will cause some friction for lack of a better word, which we'll see next time. We'll definitely see that next chapter. And I looked up that D &D class; not much of a player myself but it certainly sounds like a bonafide badass; I like the dynamic in which that some instability comes from it, and that drawing on that power causes damage to the self. It's an interesting tradeoff that maximizes results but has high risks. I think it fits perfectly. But hey, I know I already said it, but thanks for commenting and taking the time to read, it means a lot that you picked up the story. Thank you. **


	45. Chapter 45: Knee Socks, Part Three

**EVERYBODY NEEDS TO GO TO DEVIANTART RIGHT NOW BECAUSE THE WONDERFUL Fail4Fun HAS POSTED TWO PIECES ON I'M ALONE. DON'T KEEP READING THIS, GO TO DA, LOOK UP Fail4Fun, and LOOK FOR THE PIECES CALLED 'That good ol' California song!' AND 'Unbalanced.' Unbalanced has the mature warning on it I think so you might not be able to see if unless you have a profile and you meet the age requirement BUT THEY'RE THE FIRST OF MANY SO GO SHOW HER SOME LOVE, THEN COME BACK AND READ THIS FAFF AND NONSENSE.**

* * *

Chapter 45: Knee Socks, Part Three

* * *

 **United Nations Space Command**

 **Special Operations Assignment Offices**

 **Rear Admiral Byron Travers**

 **Log #1**

 **Subject: Waters**

 _About time I put pen to paper about this project._

 _Captain Vivian Waters has proven herself more capable than expected. Just a few months out of OCS, and she's rescued an entire military outfit, broken several sieges, crushed a mutiny, attacked Covenant infrastructure and captured their materials, destroyed dozens of ships. And the icing on the cake? She's reclaimed a planet with minimal force and clever tactics._

 _I knew she was right for the job, but she's exceeded even my original expectations. Aggressive, unorthodox, intelligent, cunning, brave. More importantly, brazen and unwilling to be shackled by the parameters of her mission. Already, she's thinking outside the box of what I dictated to her when she first walked into my office. If there any doubts left about the 'Dread Pirate Waters,' they're about to be extinguished. Just think of how much more progress we would have seen if HIGHCOM had let me promote her to captain right out of the gate. Of course, those two-legged bags of liver spots cling to the old ways; they can't see people like I do. Oswald was just a placeholder-I knew he wasn't up to snuff and would break at the first sign of trouble. I knew Waters' rep; unafraid to challenge authority and extremely stubborn. When Oswald buckled, I knew she'd step up and HIGHCOM would have to sanction the promotion. Those bastards should know that when I want something, I get it._

 _With this base of operations, she'll have near-total autonomy. Which is exactly what the war effort-and this project-needs. The Oversight Committee won't bother us anymore; she'll be too far out of their reach. Of course, there's ONI. Section Three-Special Projects-has a habit of snatching up any successful initiatives and programs. I was worried that I wouldn't be able to fend them off. What a stroke of luck that Captain Kelly and Rik Rundstrom are old pals. I couldn't believe it when Waters sent me the message!_

 _Prowler Corps may be a component of ONI, but Rik isn't the typical lapdog. Not above their bullshit methods, but not exactly aligned with their overall goals. I know he'd like to see the Prowler Corps break away from ONI and become a branch of the Navy instead, instead of being a subsection in a subsection. If he keeps up his end of the bargain, I'll make sure that happens. With him there, he'll be able to keep ONI at an arm's length. Of course, he'll have to give them some bread crumbs from time to time, but he'll make sure it doesn't fall into their hands._

 _With the Oversight Committee and ONI off my back, I can focus on the next phase. Waters has already given me quite the list. She'll need plenty of men and material to rebuild the colony, and she'll get everything she needs. Her plan is audacious, and HIGHCOM loves it. As for me, she needs more ships and more men, even if she doesn't think so. And not just any Marines. I need experienced, crack troops like the 89th. Well, I think with the success of Waters' operation, HIGHCOM will be willing to start a new offensive and open a new front on nearby captured planets. I think with a little pushing, the right men just might end up_ _having_ _to join her._

 _I've gotten approval to redesignate her battle group: the 1st Corsair Battle Group, or 1st CBG. Typically command falls to a rear admiral, but times are desperate. So people think, anyway. I'm sure the boys and girls of the CBG will like that._

 _Rear Admiral Byron Travers_

* * *

A cold chill ran down the tunnel. Supports moaned and creaked. Some dust fell from the ceiling, falling onto Vivian's shoulder as she passed by. Hands balled into fists, shoulders hunched as if she were about to tackle someone, she caught up to Frost. Angrily taking him by the shoulder, she spun him around. Indignant, he smacked her hand away.

"Just what is your problem?" Vivian seethed. "Why are you always like this? It seems like you always have some cryptic saying for me. Can't you just speak plainly?"

"I was just saying something that crossed my mind, alright?" he said, rather defensively, almost rashly. She didn't believe him.

"Tell me what's going on in there," Vivian demanded, pointing at his head. "I want to know why you're always spewing some confusing babble."

"Since when did you ever care what I think?"

She ignored the jab.

"I'm not blind. It's because of Skopje; everything comes back to Skopje. Just...tell me what happened, please!" Vivian changed her tone. "Did you ever think that whatever you have to say might have some pull with me? That things might change if you actually told me what happened? Maybe, just maybe, if you work past that strange code of yours, you and I may be allies? Not just by uniform." Like acid, the words rose and left. As much as they burned, Vivan was earnest. Hopefully he would see that. Having nothing else to say, she squeezed her eyes shut and simply said, "Please."

Frost seemed stunned for a moment. Perhaps it was the urgency, or even the mention, of the word, 'please.' His eyes broke from her's and his lips moved a little, yet no words came. As his gray eyes met her emerald ones, he almost seemed distressed. Formulating a single word seemed impossible. It seemed as if he wanted to speak and he simply couldn't. Eventually, head lowered, eyes downcast, he shook his head.

Vivian took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. "I'm sorry about Sánchez . I know it's hit everyone hard, and the last thing you'd want to do is dredge up the past. I'm just asking that you try."

"Captain Waters, Skopje is..." he hesitated for a moment, "...it's not that there's just a code. What happened on Skopje is a very complex, complicated matter for me, and the entire 89th. You're asking me to tell you about something that is distinctly _our's._ " He sighed. "You'll always have the enemy at an arm's length. When you attack a hostile ship, you don't see them, hear them, smell them. You can't reach out and put your hand on them. Combat on the ground is..."

"Intimate," Vivian said. Frost chuckled.

"Quite so. You don't have the context for it. You wouldn't be able to process what I have to say. You ain't been on the ground and you weren't on that mountain when we were. Even if you did, fighting the Covenant is different than fighting men."

"I have some idea," Vivian said solidly, remembering her five friends. The smell of gunpowder, hearing the thudding of bullets into flesh, hearing the quick, garbled cries of pain, the terror of watching a shadow fire an assault rifle. And the terrible noise, the pounding boots up the steps, the screaming, the gunfire. For a moment, she felt her catch the breath rising in her, that fear, so familiar, threatening to bring tears from her eyes. Frost seemed to understand this.

"I'm not trying to take away from what happened that night, but it's not the same."

Vivian felt anger rise again but she swallowed it. Frost continued. "You might think that if I tell you everything that happened things might change. I worry that it'll just make things worse."

He sighed unhappily. "Lots of things I've done have been in the shadow of Skopje. I always thought the past just wasn't going to let go, but Jasmine helped me realize that it was me who wasn't letting go." He placed his hand over his heart when he said this. Vivian blinked, surprised to hear him say so. In that moment she sized him up in that dim light and found him to be a very sad looking man. Perhaps it was fatigue, days of anxious waiting, wondering if the fleet would return. Had he thought that she would just leave him there? Dirt clung to his cheeks and his beard had grown. His gray eyes were melancholy and misty. How often they changed. All he said was sincere. No mockery, no malice. It seemed as though his voice was fragile, like delicate glass. Right then, she couldn't help but feel more sympathetic than angry towards this man.

Frost shook his head. "I almost executed a man who was trying to help his family, any way he could. I can't fault him for that. He may have been a thief, and once he was a rebel, but he was not a terrorist, nor a murderer. The real killers were on Skopje and, well," he shrugged, 'we took care of that. Or at least, I hope so."

Before Vivian could say anything he gave her a curious look. "Tell me, what did you hear about the battles on the mountain?"

"What do you mean?"

"We didn't stay long enough to find out how, but they managed to keep the entire colony from figuring out what happened up there on the mountain."

"Well, I know there was a long battle, and the UNSC won." Vivian could remember seeing the fires burning on the mountain from their high rise apartment.

"Seeing someone as persistent as you still in the dark about the whole affair, I'm positive." Vivian could have chuckled.

"Can't you tell me anything about what happened?" Vivian asked. "It happened on my homeworld."

Frost hesitated.

"It was a bloodbath."

Vivian gave him a look, asking for more. Frost sighed. "I learned an important lesson there, one that I still believe in. That sometimes to do good things, you have to be...evil. It's a sacrifice you have to make for the greater good."

Vivian found herself growing angrier. Vagueness was something she hated. Closing her eyes briefly, she took a breath. Controlling her temper was the only way she'd get anything out of him, no matter her disposition.

"I saw those photographs," she said. "You answered crimes with crimes. How can that be justice?"

Frost grew indignant for a moment.

"Moral absolutism doesn't have a place in the military, Captain." Then, his eyes softened. "What the rebels did was more than a mere atrocity. It was a crime against humanity. No court, no due process would see proper retribution meted out against the guilty." He stepped closer, making Vivian take a step back. "You look at people and you see humans. I did too, until Skopje. I realized that the people who committed these...unspeakable acts...had no souls, no humanity."

Another chill ran down the tunnel. Frost loomed in the dim light. "We were mad as hell, filled with an awful hatred. So we tore them apart in ways you couldn't imagine. It was the only way to see things put right. And yes, we'll have that blood on our hands for the rest of our lives, but it was worth it."

"How can you be in the right if you bring yourself down to their level?" Vivian asked.

"They didn't _have_ a level," Frost stressed. "And in those pictures, you might see evil men. Believe me though, what we did didn't hold a candle to what the Innies did." Before Vivian could say anything, he cracked a bitter smile. "It takes men like me, like all the 89th, to do things that _need_ to be done, no matter how terrible they are. That's the business you and I are in. Doing the hard things, the horrible things, so other people don't have to. If there's one duty I believe in, as a soldier, it's that."

Frost ran a hand over his forehead. "That's as much as I'm willing to say."

"But-"

"Please. Let's just drop it for now. I'd like to leave the tunnel."

Vivian had gotten more than she had in months. Yet something throbbed within her. A familiar pain in her heart. Some entity howled that it wasn't enough. But her mind raced, her heart pounded, and in the darkness she could feel the hands of ghosts pushing her onward. Voices from the past echoed, distorted, like nails being dragged down a chalkboard. Before she could speak, he had turned and was making his way back up the tunnel.

"I wish you'd just speak to me, damn it."

"Perhaps, you ought to learn how to listen first," Frost snapped, whirling around. "Until you hear the gunfire, the cannons booming, and men screaming, you won't get it! I've told you all that you can understand. The rest will be utterly lost on you. Now, let's get out of the tunnel."

In the dim light, she could see his head lower, hands balling into fists. She was getting to him.

"Do you think I'm some ignorant little puppy!? That I can't understand horror? I watched my friends died right in front of me. I _have_ heard the gunfire!" She raged, stomping up and grabbing his shoulder, trying to swivel him around again. Sharply, he smacked her hand away once more.

"Can we just get out of the fucking tunnel!?" he hollered, visibly stressed. "If you're gonna chew me out, at least do it in broad daylight!"

"What's the matter, scared of the dark? The famous Jack the Ripper, killer of teenage girls, torturer of rebels, is terrified of a tunnel! Oh, that's just rich, you fucking walking paradox!

Throwing his good arm upwards in frustration, he proceeded to the exit. Hot on his heels, they came back out into the compound. It was still rather overcast so it wasn't long before her eyes adjusted. Standing around the entrance were the Marine Raiders. All looked tired, but ultimately concerned. Sergeant Steele, who lacked armor and was rather rigid, appeared concerned.

"We heard shouting," he said to Frost, who stopped by him. "She giving you a hard time?" While the other Raiders appeared confused, the majority of his original squad set their eyes on her. They were all glaring and menacing, save for young Grant, and Nora Langley, who was sitting on the ground, appearing despondent. Paying no mind to the consequences, she started up again.

"If I hadn't been shut down at every point, I would have thrown you into the brig. Better yet, I would have tossed you out one the the airlocks! Having to serve alongside a man like you, knowing what you did to my friends, knowing how you changed my life, disgusts me to my very soul!" For emphasis, Vivian thumped her fist on her chest.

"Oh is that right?" Frost asked, speaking with a mocking tone now. Voices ripped and tore and screamed inside Vivian's head. Shadows of faces, silhouettes in a dark fog, wailing and moaning of countless injustices. Blaming her, blaming him. Crying for vengeance, begging for wrongs to be righted. Why did evil thrive, they howled in the reaches of her mind, when innocence lay tattered under sixth feet of earth? Their hands, like claws, dug into her heart, squeezing out all the pain of so many years. Red in the face, fists trembling, practically shaking all over, Vivian bellowed at him.

"You're such an infuriating man! You have no decency, no conscience, not a single shred of what makes you human!"

"What, do you want, me, to do, Vivian!?" Frost yelled, hammering out his words. "I can't bring your friends back to life, I can't undo the past!"

"You can't even apologize for what you did to me!"

"Is that what you want!? Fine, then, I'm sorry! I'm sorry your friends decided to betray the UNSC and join the rebels! I'm sorry that they didn't drop their weapons, I'm sorry that I had to shoot them! _I'm sorry!_ "

"Betray the UNSC? They weren't soldiers!"

"Are we really going to argue over semantics, Ahab!? They were enemies of the state!"

"They didn't want to hurt anyone! They disagreed with all the policies and methods in the Colonies and wanted to live free of their jurisdiction! Is that so wrong!?"

"Joining a terrorist organization is!"

"What's the difference between a man who assassinates government officials and a soldier who murders prisoners of war!?"

"You have no idea what you're talking about, do you?" Frost growled. "You're really going to stand there and defend a collection of murderers, assassins, suicide bombers, traitors, pirates, thieves, and kidnappers who, rather than resist the Covenant, disrupt the UNSC because a few of their members want their _precious_ freedom?" He threw his arm up.

"Of course not, but-"

"Wake up! We are free! We've always been free! You were born free and you'll die free! I wouldn't call leaving civilization for a remote, scrambled-together farming commune living a free and fulfilling life! If we don't keep the Innies at bay and defeat the Covenant, then what's going to happen to that freedom, huh!?"

"Their intentions-"

"Fuck intentions!" shouted Frost, his voice very nearly cracking. "Intentions don't mean shit when you join a terrorist organization! You know what? I ain't sorry-fuck your traitor friends!"

"You really are a monster!" Vivian hollered, her face practically in his. "Everyone else might look at those pictures and see justice, but all I see are the faces of murderers!"

"Gunny, what's she talking about?" Borko asked.

"Quiet, Borko!" Frost shouted, pointing at him. Vivian, smiling cruelly, turned to the Raiders.

"Oh yes, I've seen the photographs. I've seen what you did to the Insurrectionists on Skopje. I know _exactly_ what you all are!"

"You leave my men out of this!" Frost demanded.

"Imagine what I could do with that information! I could send all of you to the stockade!"

"Ahab, we both know that's not going to happen! You-"

"How does it feel, knowing that I can reach and touch your friends? Maybe then you'll finally understand loss!"

"Hey!" Frost and Waters turned, as did all the Raiders, now looking more distressed than confused, to look at Steele. With his hand on his side and anger in his face, he stepped forward. "You can stand there, point and shout, call us all sorts of names. But I won't stand here and listen to you prattle 're crossing the fuckin' line, cap'."

"Steele, shut up," Frost said, turning around and pointing at him.

"No Nate, I'm sick of this fucking cunt getting in your face, talking about shit she doesn't understand. She has no idea what she's fucking talking about and you can stand there and take it all you want, but I won't!" Steele pushed Frost aside and towered over Vivian. "Listen to me you stuck up, entitled, rotten bitch-"

"Lou, you shut your trap right now!" Frost ordered.

"All you ever do is wail about your friends! My dead friends this, my dead friends that! You're like a little baby-we ought to put you in a pram! Wake up, lady! Nobody gives a toss about some dead girls when millions of people are dying every day! Especially when those girls turned traitor!"

"Lou!"

"You ain't been through what we've been through!" Steele continued. "We've seen things, endured things that would make you fall apart! You really want to know why everybody keeps their lips shut about Skopje? Because no matter what we tell you, we'll always be the same to you. Just a mob of dumb, angry leathernecks who enjoy the killing. That's _all_ we'll ever be, eh!?"

"Lou, stand down!"

"Steele's right, Nate!" Bishop added, stepping forward. "Why should we let her tell us off?" he shoved a finger in Vivian's face. "You act all high and mighty, so self-righteous!"

"I have a right! At least I haven't stooped so low as to kill another human being!"

"You think you're better because of that? We've all had to kill people here-we never wanted to, but we have. You won't understand anything we have to say unless you been through that, so until you do, we don't need you skulking around and judging us!"

Vivian steeled herself for the next barrage when Bishop suddenly fell to one knee. Standing on his lowered calf was Frost, and with his one good arm put Steele into a headlock and forced him to hunch over. With fury in his eyes, he looked at the other Raiders.

"The next man who opens his mouth is going to be eating the heel of my boot and and swallowing their teeth! All of you be quiet and respect the Captain! This is between me and her!"

A dreadful silence hung in the air. Many of the Raiders look furious, baffled, or shook up. No other men from the landings had come close enough to even overhear the shouting match. Vivian felt alone, surrounded, and vulnerable. Defiantly, she met the eyes of all the Raiders around her. A few looked like they were really spoiling for a fight. If they wanted one, she'd give it to them. Somewhere in the argument, her hair had nearly come out of its bun. A gust of wind finally freed it, and her dirty blonde hair spilled onto her shoulders. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. Fists were clenched, feet were planted. Her heart beat. Frost stared at her with a mixture of rage and an urging. He wanted her to leave, was that it? Surely, her presence was throwing his unit off. Did he want her to believe he was the only barrier between her and them, like they were starving wolves ready to devour a meatier compatriot to survive? She would not cow, she would not retreat.

"Captain?" came a quiet voice. Vivian looked over at Nora Langley. She stood up, tears welling in her eyes. Frost glared at her.

"What did I just say, Airman?"

"I heard what you said," Langley said, stepping up to Vivian. "And I'm not a man."

Before Frost could speak, she met with Vivian's emerald eyes. "What you said a moment ago. 'We don't know loss.' How..." Langley shook her head slightly. "How dare you, Captain? Do you think you're the only person in this godforsaken war who has lost somebody? You want loss-" she pointed at the warehouse, "go back in there and look at him." An uneasy, tense moment passed. Langley shook her head. "Don't ever say that we don't know loss again."

It was her words that had cut the deepest. Vivian's eyes widened as she realized her mistake. A line had been crossed. Looking back up at all the men, she could see the truth-the disgust and hurt at hearing her deny them their own feelings. Men who had been at war for six years now, who had seen friends die, watched droves of civilians perish, who had suffered at the hands at numerous enemies. Who knew lose better than they?

Struggling to find words, her lips parted but nothing came out. Vivian looked around, feeling very small at these men. No more angry looks were cast upon her. On the face of each man there was pain. A terrible hurting. These men had fought bravely on their own and one of their friends had paid the ultimate price. Everyone would get medals pinned on their chests, commendations on their career service vitaes. Not the man lying in the warehouse, alone, decaying, deflated. All he would get was a box and a headstone. Nothing more, and these soldiers before her, around her, they all knew it. She, their leader, had slashed at them and betrayed their trust.

"I..." she finally managed. "I didn't mean to...I meant only...I was..."

One by one, they began to look away. Such silence carried more weight than any fury they could lash out at her. Vivian ran a hand over her forehead and turned. "I'm sorry."

She could feel their eyes on her as she left. Keeping her hand on her forehead, she knew Steele was right: she had crossed the line. No, she had done more than cross it. _I fucked up._ Whatever chance there had for a dialogue, for answers, for anything, had been shattered. And who was to blame? Only herself. As soon as she met a roadblock, all that anger flooded out. Self-control dissipated. All it took was one thing, just one thing, one _word_ , to set her off. Perhaps she didn't deserve to know, she thought.

* * *

Frost sighed as Vivian made her way to the landings. He turned to Bishop and Steele, who were staring at him indignantly. Just as the latter was about to speak, Frost held up his hand.

"I appreciate you trying to stick up for me, but I don't need your help. The last thing that I want is for you to get involved in this. I know that's not what you want to hear. Trust me, though, I can handle this on my own."

Reluctantly, the two nodded. The others closed in.

"Are you going to let us know what was going on?" Nebiyev asked.

"That was really intense," Mori added. "No way that was isolated.

"I don't like it when mummy and daddy fight!" joked Borko. Macintosh smacked him on the back of his head, tilting his helmet down over his eyes. Huffily, the engineer fixed it, glared up at the Hellfire trooper, and muttered something in Croatian. Frost raised his hand and smiled generously.

"You all have questions. I have the answers, but now isn't the time. We're emotional, we're tired, we're hungry, and a couple of us are wounded. Let's get ourselves fixed up and when there's a good time, I'll call for you and we can talk."

Everybody looked a little discontented, but they all accepted his answer. In truth, Frost just wasn't in the mood to talk to them about it. Nobody liked to be reminded of Skopje and he'd have to bring it up if he was to talk about the dispute between Vivian and himself. Dispute was putting it lightly, he mused.

A Pelican descended and touched down nearby, turning around as it did. The rear hatch opened revealing only one person: Jasmine. A smile instantly crossed his face. Jasmine jumped out and jogged across the compound, grinning the whole time. As the crowd around him parted to let her through, Frost extended his good arm. "Jas, it's-"

She practically ran into him, throwing her arms around his neck, and kissed him. Just to keep from falling over, Frost wrapped his arm around her. Everyone laughed and a few whistled. When she parted, he couldn't even get a greeting out.

"You're wounded. How bad? Your arm's broken-how'd you do that to yourself?"

"Ha!" Steele snorted. "Yeah mate, you're in trouble for getting wounded in a-"

"Shut up, Louie," Frost growled as his Raiders laughed, not wanting Jasmine to find out he had been in a two-on-one duel with the most dangerous of Brutes classes. He shrugged. "Just got into a bad tussel and was thrown against a tree. Besides that I'm fine."

"Tussle, he says!" Steele laughed. Again, his Raiders snickered. Fed up, Frost pointed at his friend.

"Louie's wounded too!"

Jasmine, quite sharply, turned her attention to Steele. The sniper had the nerve to look surprised. She went over and looked him up and down.  
"Lift your shirt," she ordered. Awkwardly, Steele did, revealing a heavily taped torso. "Your ribs are broken, aren't they?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You two, come with me, we're going up to the _I'm Alone._ "

"Oh no!" Steele yelled, pretending to be distressed, "Not to the doctor's office! Carris, save me, love!"

"You'll go with the doctor if you know what's good for you," Carris said, smiling. Everyone laughed, even Frost.

###

That evening, Frost's forearm was put into a white cast. Not completely white, however. There was a large block of black marker pen right in the center; Steele had said he was just going to write a funny joke on the cast. Frost had consented only to see that Steele had drawn a rather realistic looking set of male genitalia, with little dashes for hairs. Thankfully, it was covered up. Afterwards, his old pal went to the infirmary to get properly taped and set, cackling the whole way. Knowing his track record, though, Jasmine wasn't going to keep Steele in overnight. Frost had assured her that Steele had seen tougher wounds, and had been managing just fine with just the tape job the corpsmen had performed. Keeping the long range sniper cooped up on the ship wouldn't do any good anyways, he assured her. If, somehow, he was persuaded to stay, he'd whine and complain about every little thing that came his way. After their two-man operation several years ago, Frost was subjected to his close friend's bellyaching for months.

After a relaxing shower, he got into a pair of fresh fatigues and joined his squad for a fresh, hot meal. The mess staff had fixed a special meal for the Raiders for a job well done. Seated at a makeshift table in the kitchen they did the squad did their private cooking in, they were served big, juicy steaks. The meat was perfectly browned and seared, and was even served with barbecue sauce. It was a fine treat many of the men hadn't had in a long time. As well, all the fixings were included. Mashed potatoes with a special gravy the head officer whipped up himself, big helpings of steamed vegetables, macaroni and cheese, and freshly baked bread with butter. To top it off, their glasses were filled with whiskey. Everyone cheered and toasted and made a great event of the meal. Old stories were passed around, crass jokes pelted back and forth. It was first rate, Frost told the kind, eye-patch wearing mess hall officer.

During the whole occasion, Frost kept an eye on Nora Langley. She smiled little and said almost nothing at all. Occasionally she would glance over at Borko, who was oblivious to her subtle glares. He knew what was on her mind. Undoubtedly, she was angry with Borko. It was a bit undeserved; the Croatian engineer had just been trying to check her for wounds. In fact, it was he who was leading the charge to join the men in the ditch before Big Hair arrived. Still, Langley was a staunch individual. Being taken away from her friend in those last, few precious moments was painful. While he wanted to side with Borko, Frost sympathized with her as well. He knew all too well that when one's blood was up, that rage could land on the first person in their sights, whether they deserved it or not. Hell, he had been in Vivian's crosshairs for that very strain of logic.

That was another matter dwelling on his mind, keeping him from fully enjoying a kindly cooked meal and the company of good friends. More than ever before, he found Vivian to be perplexing. Before that argument had commenced, she had been a different woman. Instead of demands and accusations, there had been questions. It was almost as if she was seeking to understand, rather than simply know. Telling her was still impossible. Promises had been made long ago; no matter how old or young such a bond was, it had to be kept. Especially when made between soldiers. A soldier's word was an entirely unique entity, something that exceeded the understanding of outsiders. Not to mention she clearly wasn't ready to comprehend the horrors that took place there. To tell her now was to overload her with it all.

Frost stopped himself. Perhaps he was taking this too far. Surely, humanity had been subjected to tragedies just as wicked as those on Skopje. Maybe more. History was filled with genocide, intolerance, abuses of power, murder, war, and countless other tragedies of man. Skopje, he thought, could very well be just another story in the long list of terrible tales that dogged humanity. As profane as the crimes of that planet were, maybe he was taking it too far. Then again, he presumed, feeling his two halves debate as they often did, it was _his_ tragedy to bear. Those crimes of history were not his. This one was. Vivian hadn't been apart of it, not in the way she believed she was. Her entitlement to such evil acts that had been committed and than returned in kind aggravated him.

The poor girl wanted vengeance. So had he, once, and he had been lucky enough to get it. That sixteen year old kid, standing with his bloody knife in a sea of rebel corpses, hadn't realized it though, Frost thought bitterly. Back then he had been a real bastard, taking out his frustrations on people who hadn't been on Skopje either. People, who deserved to be punished, sure, had been killed for something they hadn't done. Was that justice? Not anymore, it seemed. So many actions stung his heart now. He wished Jasmine had joined them. Just reaching out and taking her hand would have settled his traveling mind.

She had declined his offer to join him. " _Hey, this is your victory, Nathaniel. You deserve it, enjoy it."_ What a sweet woman she was, he thought. Although, he knew better. Finding out that Sánchez had been killed had stamped out her good spirit that she had greeted them with. Instead of joining him at the table, she was handling the body's recovery back to the _I'm Alone._ Once it was back on board, she'd see to it that it was stored properly until they could ship him back to Earth in what could be described, politely, as a glorified freezer box. Langley would handle the letter but he felt, for the first time in ages, compelled to write. But he knew better than that. Any attempt would just end with him staring at a blank piece of paper until he felt silly and put it away.

"Want me to make an airplane noise?" Steele asked as he gingerly cut away a piece of Frost's steak.

"I can do it myself," Frost said.

"Oh but I don't want you to hurt yourself, bruv," Steele joked. "I mean, we don't want you to strain those fingers."

"Shut up," Frost said, snatching the fork.

"Don't baby the squad leader," Carris said, half-joking. Frost was glad to see her engaging more in conversation. He couldn't help but smile as he shoveled the hunk of steak into his mouth.

When was the last time he had steak? Home? No, no. It was years ago when they were stuck in that hotel kitchen. What a meal that had been! Ocampo had been with them still. Or was he? Frost couldn't quite remember. Much of that day had been a whirlwind. They had dropped, fought their way through a miasma of Covenant-infested rubble, stumbling over streets paved with the blood, bones, and bodies of countless civilians. As the Army had fallen back, their company had been left out beyond their lines like a sore thumb. Most of the city had fallen, quite literally, as airstrikes, artillery, and MAC blasts leveled entire blocks and knocked over skyscrapers filled with Covenant. That hotel had been one of the last nearby buildings left standing by the end of the afternoon. Retreating up to higher levels on foot had left them winded, but hadn't damaged their resolve. Each stairwell was laced with numerous traps. If the 89th hadn't been known as some of the bravest, aggressive troops on the line, known for singing, shock and awe actions, unorthodox tactics, and clever tricks, they'd be known for the expediency with which they laid traps. As they waited for the Covenant to come up and get them, as well as for the Army to find their courage and come save them, Frost had discovered the food half-prepped. Not finishing the cooking seemed wrong, and all the men were hungry. A smile crossed his face. Sure, it had been hell, but even that memory was sweet now.

Most, if not all, memories became tender as time kneaded and morphed them. When he thought of friends long dead, he couldn't always find something about them that made him smile. Sánchez would join them, sooner than others. He hadn't known the radio operator all that well. Langley and Nebiyev did, so it would take longer, especially for the former.

He longed for Jasmine's company then, and stood up.

"Where you going, bruv?" Steele said, rigidly turning in his seat to face him. It was almost comical to see him so stiff.

"Just going to see Jasmine."

Nebiyev, also sitting beside Frost, took his wrist.

"Hey, I was hoping that at the end of this you could, you know..."

"I'll fill you in when the time is right."

His third in command didn't seem to like that answer, but let go all the same. Frost turned to Steele. "If you need me, I'll probably either be at Jasmine's quarters or somewhere in the medical bay."

Frost left then. After asking around, he found out that Sánchez had already been stowed and Jasmine had returned to her office. When he walked in, he found her sitting at her desk, glasses up on her forehead, typing at her terminal. At first, it didn't seem like she noticed him. Standing in the doorway, he couldn't help but look at her. On the chair opposite of the desk was her white lab coat, which left her in the olive drab turtleneck she always liked to wear. Her brow was furrowed in concentration and she was mouthing the words that she was typing. Whenever she seemed to make a mistake, she would make a little sound, rapidly tap the backspace key, then resume like nothing had happened. Her eyes ran back and forth as she finished line after line. Black hair fell loosely around her ears, having grown a little bit. It seemed so long ago when her black hair, fringed with gold, had cascaded down to the center of her back and was held in a high bun or ponytail. If he looked closely enough, he could see a hint of that natural blonde color beginning to show once more.

He could have stayed there for hours, smiling foolishly and feeling a warmth in his chest. His life in the military had been characterized by segments; lengthy intervals of travel, broken up by short periods of desperate, terrifying combat. For six years now, that montony had not changed. Occasionally a special mission or shore leave stalled it, but the gruelling cycle always resumed. For the first time in his life, he had something to look forward to. Someone. Such a feeling, such a fact, had never graced him before. Every thought, every matter that had plagued him over dinner dissipated at the mere sight of this woman, working diligently at her desk. A certain strength returned to him, although he wasn't sure if strength was the right word. Energy? That didn't seem to work either. Perhaps just a part of himself that he had lost. A boy filled with love, submerged in the comfort of his home and his family. More so, it was a piece of himself that he thought would never come. A painting came to mind, one that his father had shown him. A man and a woman, holding hands, walking on choppy seas. Both wore blue; the man wore a cap, had a blonde beard and flushed cheeks. His arms were out wide and his gray overcoat was billowing in the wind. The tunic had golden buttons, in two vertical rows. And the woman, she wore a dark blue dress which was plain, yet still very elegant. Her purse was billowing from her wrist, and she was holding onto her hat to keep it from flying away. Pink dusts her cheeks. Waves crash all around, water turning tan as the sand roils in the breakers. Behind them, a deep blue sea rises and falls, and white spray flies through the air. Despite the choppy seas, the sky is rather clear, a bright white, like the clouds are about to lift. How he wished he could remember the name of it. Only that picture, etched into his mind, seemed to describe that goldeness, flowing in his chest.

Jasmine looked up and smiled.

"Are you going to come in?"

* * *

Jasmine put a cup of hot coffee into Frost's hand before leaning down and kissing him on the forehead.

"Lots of sugar, lots of cream, just how you like. With a bit of chocolate too."

"I hope I'm not bothering you while you work," he said. Jasmine shook her head as she sat down.

"Oh no, I'm just finishing up. There hasn't been much going on in the time you've been gone."

Frost nodded. He was smiling, quite bashfully. Just looking at him, his beard trimmed up, the mustache shaven away, his light brown hair swept back, made her blush. Even the dark scar that split across his face was healing well, and did little to disturb his handsomeness.

She leaned forward, her elbows on the desk. "I'm happy you stopped by."

"Yeah," he said, nodding, "yeah..." He looked into his cup, watching the steam rise up. "I uh, I missed you."

Jasmine looked down, smiling wider.

"I missed you too."

"I wrote you a letter while I was gone."

Putting aside that it seemed rather pointless to write a letter when there was no way to send it, Jasmine felt flattered.

"Can I read it?"

Frost shrugged, embarrassed.

"Oh. Well, I sort of...misplaced it. When I find it, sure."

Silence fell between the two. It wasn't awkward or stressful. Having him in her office was rather pleasant. Oddly, she could smell him. Despite that sterile standard-issue soap, there was a scent of his own natural husk. His was a woody smell, earthy. Considering his fondness for the outdoors, and his occupation more so, it was expected. She enjoyed it thoroughly.

Frost took a sip from his mug and traced the rim with his index finger from his injured hand. "That the log on Sánchez?"

Jasmine's smile faded. It was. Almost half the Raiders joined them on the ride back. Jasper went to the cockpit to chat with a few of his pilot buddies, Borko teased that foreboding Macintosh, and Steele pretended to be in great distress about heading to the medical bay. Frost had sat next to her while she checked on his arm. His left arm's ulna, which had taken the brunt of the impact, was broken. The radius was partially fractured. As she was telling him this information, he had leaned down and whispered that Sánchez had been killed. It was shocking in its simplicity. " _Sánchez is dead."_ It made her feel hollow. Before she even asked how, he answered that he had been pummeled by a Brute War Chieftain. His body had been placed in one of the warehouse and decomposition hadn't set in because of the cold. Jasmine only nodded and made a short call to the hangar bay.

When she finished treating Frost, she went back to the hangar to greet the Pelican that had recovered the body. Jasmine had been surprised to see an arm and a leg also wrapped up. They had been placed in separate white bins, and the body was covered with a blanket. All the preparations were made, notes taken, the body added to the ship's morgue. Every time she and her personnel placed a body on a metal table and gently slid it into its place, it saddened her greatly. In so many centuries, humanity hadn't been able to find a more graceful way to store the dead. Death lacked grace, anyways. What did it matter, in the end? They were dead and they didn't care; bodies were only cared for because of the person who was inhabited them. Some thought that was still the person, others considered it be just a body-an item, that needed to be store. So they were tagged, noted, and stowed, like putting paperwork in a filing cabinet. Jasmine resolved to never let death become that way for her.

"Yes," she answered. "Part of the ship's overall medical history. We have to catalogue each death, as I'm sure you're aware." She stumbled over the last few words. Frost nodded.

"I think Nora Langley will come to see you in the future. We had to drive back to base and there wasn't much room, so she had to hold his leg all the whole way."

Jasmine winced.

"Please, tell her my door will be open whenever she needs to talk. I encourage it."

"Bishop was also wondering if he could stop in again some time."

"Absolutely." Jasmine was glad Bishop was willing to come back. Soldiers could fall into ruts, just like any person, and sometimes they just needed a helping hand and an open ear to get them out. He was doing better, she knew, although it never hurt to come back and talk more.

"Thanks," he smiled. "I really appreciate you taking care of my people."

"Well, it's my job," she said with a modest shrug.

"You're good at it, that's for sure." Frost motioned to the cast on his arm, which nearly went up to his shoulder. "I was worried this would be bulky but it ain't so bad. Thanks for not bringing it up so high."

Jasmine blushed. She had always taken praise in stride, never paying it much mind. This was her duty and her passion, and she didn't do it for thanks. But when it came from him, she couldn't help but smile and glance away from his eyes. When he said it, her heart did a little jumpstart.

"It'll heal up just fine, just don't fiddle with it too much, alright?" She said, wagging her finger. Before the conversation could turn back to Sánchez, she thought of something to say. Good news, which she had little of. There wasn't any news at all. Then she remembered her conversation with Vivian. "I meant to tell you, I think I made some headway with Vivian. I think the next time you two talk it may go better."

Frost blinked and then pursed his lips, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. Jasmine looked at him quizzically for a moment, then her eyes widened. "Oh no, what did she do?"

"We sort of...got into a screaming match before you touched down..."

Jasmine stood up abruptly, bracing her hands on the desk. She felt her face crinkle with frustration. Frost raised his hand. "Whoa, whoa, easy. It didn't start that way. I lost my temper too."

Letting the brief wave of anger melt away, Jasmine sat back down. Frost explained how she had been more willing to ask questions rather than toss insults at him. He admitted, surprisingly, he wished he could tell her. But there had been pacts made on Skopje and he was sworn to upkeep. Plus there was no telling if this long-running dispute would end even if he told her everything. Knowing Vivian, Jasmine found that to be an appropriate had been clinging to the idea of a ghastly man breaking in and killing her friends, and having built up this monster for over five years, it wasn't going to just disappear after one revelation. Such a change wouldn't come easy; Vivian was stubborn, full of her own ideas, and was cemented in her personage. In so many ways, she was a rock. Immoveable, strong, and went her mind was set to it, she could crush something. Several Covenant fleets, having been reduced to particles, could attest to that. If anything, telling her all that occurred on Skopje would reinforced her perceptions of Frost and the Marines.

The young man across from her took a long gulp of coffee. "Shouting matches between enlisted men and commissioned officers is bad for morale. I'll have to make sure that doesn't happen again." Frost sighed. "I just wish that she understood that it's not easy for me to withhold this all from her. It's not like I really want to. I used to think it was easy but nowadays, having met her, I find it harder."

"What do you mean?"

"I never wanted to do what I did there. How do you think we all felt, after training for three years to fight aliens, when we were told we were going to put down an Insurrectionist cell?"

Frost sounded bitter. "We were reluctant, then after what happened, we took to it with gusto. We fought with that kind of fury, that righteous fury, that only the warriors of old fought with."

"Righteousness and goodness can sometimes be two different things."

Frost scratched the back of his head.

"Look, I'm not the type of man to say that I'm, truly, moral. I couldn't. I don't think I'm good, but I don't think I'm bad either, you know? I think I'm decent and-"

"Nate, you are a good man," Jasmine smiled. "You don't have to justify or prove that to me."

Frost nodded. He seemed a bit sad.

"We waged that campaign as bloody as we could, because we _are_ good. Good men tend to wreak the most havoc upon the human race, don't we?"

Jasmine quirked an eyebrow. Before she could say anything, Frost finished his cup of coffee and smiled. "Sorry. Let's not speak of sad things, shall we?"

"I don't mind."

"I know that, but that's not why I'm here. I came for your company."

"Well I'm certainly glad to give it," Jasmine said. Dwelling on the past wouldn't do any good anyways. This wasn't a therapy session. "All done?" She pointed to his mug and he nodded. Getting up, she went to take it but when Frost handed it to her, he took her wrist with his newly freed hand. It wasn't a quick grasp; it was very gentle. Lovingly, he slid his hand down and wrapped his fingers around hers. When he looked up at her, flashing that reliable, boyish grin, with that missing tooth, for the first time, it didn't have that hint of sadness she always spotted in his face. He brought her hand up and kissed it.

"I really did miss you."

Jasmine didn't say anything. She leaned down and placed a soft kiss on his lips. "It's damned good to see you."

"And I'm glad your back," she laughed. When she stood up, brushed his bearded cheek with her fingers. "Can I fix you another cup?"

She was halfway to the coffee maker when he answered.

"Sure, darling."

Jasmine stopped dead in her tracks. There was a snap, just a little snap, in her heart. A wave washed over. _Darling._ The way it rolled off his tongue, the way he hardly pronounced the 'g.' _Darling._ It came off so easy, and yet it sounded utterly sweet. Just this one word resonated like a heartbeat. _Darling._

Turning around slowly, she walked back to the desk and set the mug down with a sharp _tap._ Frost looked up, a bit confused. He stared at her, and she at him. After a moment, she took her glasses from her forehead and placed them on the desk. In one slow motion, she took his face into her hands and their lips met. Tentative at first, then growing more heated until they hard parted. Jasmine got into his lap, her legs on either side of his. His one good arm wrapped around her, as one of hers went to his neck, gripping him. He pressed her closer. Moments later, their lips finally parted. Both inhaled, but it didn't stop. Frost sat up a little and kissed her up and down her neck. Warm breath on her skin sent chills up her spine. It was impossible not to make any noise. For a while, she let him continue until she couldn't bear it any longer. Taking him by the face again, she returned her lips to his. In that brief moment, she could see how red his cheeks were. To say hers were burning was a vast understatement. As their hands traveled, their bodies grinded together. The heat was growing between them. They continued for some time, their hair growing messy, stopping only to catch a quick breath before returning to one another.

Jasmine stopped suddenly and looked at the door. Frost, his eyes glossy, strained his neck to look also. A full minute ticked by. The door didn't budge.

"What is it?" Frost asked, panting.

"Nothing," Jasmine breathed, smiling. She kissed him quickly then stood up. Frost began to stand but she raised her hand. With one look, she told him it was going to be right here. She unbuttoned her black trousers, pulled the zipper down, and began tugging them off. She removed one leg, but the other pant leg got stuck on her ankle. When she tried to kick it off, she nearly lost her balance and had to snatch the edge of the desk to keep from falling over. Instinctively, Frost reached out and took her arm. They both laughed. Finally, her pants ended up in a pile on the floor. Their chuckling faded. Frost blinked as he stared at her. Jasmine could have just stayed that way, looking at his gray eyes with their shards of blue. A blush like never before seeped across his cheeks. Jasmine smiled shyly.

She hooked her thumbs around the sides of her olive drab underwear and slid them down. Once more, he blinked at her. The air of the room felt cold, but it didn't bother Jasmine. Goosebumps appeared up and down her slender, tan legs. She got back onto his lap and kissed him slowly. Frost's hand travel under her shirt and his fingers breezed up and down her back. His fingers were still warm from holding the coffee mug. After some time, she leaned back and reached down, unzipping his pants. As his breath caught, she reached in.

"Ow. Mind the zipper," he said.

"Oh, sorry."

After a moment, Jasmine smiled slowly and Frost seemed bashful. "What? I've seen you naked before," Jasmine said slowly, teasingly, "I'm your doctor after all."

She raised herself slight, still holding him. Hesitating no longer, she lowered herself down. They both gasped and Frost's one good arm held her very tightly. For what seemed like an eternity, they stayed that way, his arm around her, his face pressed into her neck, her head tucked beside his, her arms coiled around his neck. Both were trembling and their breath shook. Finally, they kissed each other softly and she began to move. The fervor from earlier was gone. They looked into one another's eyes, smiling, their lips barely apart, lovingly meeting each time they rocked. His beard scratched her skin, making an almost electric sound that pleased her very much. The heat between them was pleasant, and they hardly needed to move. Their movements were very slight, very slow, and came naturally.

Jasmine felt her core tighten. Her arms stiffened around him and she moaned into his lips. As relief washed over her, she sat up slightly and took a breath.

"I need a second," she said, not knowing how long they had been going for. She put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not bothering your arm am I?"

Frost chuckled.

"You're still worried about this here?" he said, nodding at it.

"Well, am I?"

"No, but my left leg is dead. Could you just shift a little this...way...there."

Jasmine sighed happily.

"That feels better."

"Want to keep going?"

"Of course," Jasmine said. They kissed again and continued. Several more times Jasmine's body tightened and she sighed into him each time. Sweat began to coat their foreheads. Frost ran his finger up and down her spine, each stroke bringing a new, separate chill. Eventually, he his fingers dug into her skin and he moved a little faster. Jasmine put a hand on his cheek, raising him up so she could see his eyes again. His mouth was open and he let out a few, shaking breaths. Just as he said her name, she kissed him again and felt him freeze. They shuddered together, for a few moments, locked against one another. Some moments later, they sighed together and relaxed, Frost leaning back in his chair, Jasmine slumping over him. She panted into his ear and he kept a hand on her back.

When she sat back up again, she looked at him, and he at her. He smiled, that sweet, boyish smile.

"Where did that come from?" Frost breathed. Jasmine didn't answer, still looking at him. Automatically, she began to lean down for another kiss.

The door opened; Sergeant Steele and Carris walked in, side by side.

"Hey Doc, we've been-whoa!"

Jasmine squeaked, and ducked as best she could. Frost sat up and tried to crane his neck around.

"Lou, what the fuck, get outta here man!"

Jasmine could see in that brief exchange the look of utter shock on Steele's face. His jaw had dropped. Carris's eyes were wide, her pale cheeks were bright red, and her hair seemed to bristle.

"Bruv...I...I..." Steele stammered.

"Lou! Stop standing there and get out!"  
Steele suddenly smiled.

"Bruv you have no idea how proud of you I am right now! Good on you!"

"Carris get him outta here!"

Without skipping a beat, Carris grabbed Steele by the collar of his shirt and dragged him out.

"Very sorry sergeant, very sorry ma'am, very sorry, very sorry..." Carris said quickly as she shut the door behind them. Even with it shut firmly, Jasmine and Frost could hear Steele whooping for joy out in the halls. Frost ran a hand down his face.

"Word is going to spread like wildfire," he muttered.

"Everybody knows we're together," Jasmine shrugged it off. They sat together there for some time. Eventually, she sighed, utterly contented. Frost did so as well.

"Want to go again?" Frost asked.

"Really?" Jasmine giggled, blushing.

"Don't you?"

"Yeah, but maybe back in my quarters."

"Oh, really?" Frost raised a devilish eyebrow. Swiftly, he wrapped his arm around her and stood up. He was strong, even with one arm. Yelping, Jasmine wrapped her arms and legs around him. He sat her down on her desk, then leaned her down. In that same moment, he ran his hand up her side and kissed her again. Jasmine kept her legs wrapped tightly around him.

"Maybe one more time before we head over."

###

When Jasmine woke up the next morning, she was curled into a ball under the sheets. Her abdominal muscles were sore and her legs were aching, although it still felt pleasant. Stretching and wincing, she propped herself up, the sheets falling from her bare frame. Instead of finding Frost beside her, there was just a light impression on the mattress and the stack up pillows he had sat against to sleep. Across the room, she saw a fresh set of clothes folded neatly on her desk. Swinging her legs out of bed, Jasmine felt disappointed that he wasn't there. Last night, she had fallen asleep beside him as he lovingly stared down at her. Standing, she winced again. Everything was quite tender. Still, she didn't mind so much. Before heading to the bathroom, she saw a note on top of the clothes. A smile crept to her lips; now she knew what was going on.

She picked it up and began to read:

 _Jasmine,_

 _I'm sorry but I had to duck out. Business with the Raiders. I would have rather stayed with you. I'm planning a surprise though; come planetside tonight during the celebration and find Knight. He'll take you where you need to go. See you then, darling._

 _Nate._

Still smiling, she folded the note and tucked into the top drawer of her desk, then went to shower.

* * *

 _Earlier..._

Frost woke up to hear someone knocking on the door. Beside him, Jasmine was sleeping soundly. He glanced at his watch. It was mid-morning. Sitting up, he couldn't help but smile. Last night was a wonderful blur of heat. He remembered how hastily they had donned their clothes after their second romp and scurried to her quarters, just to take them off again. They had laughed, they had whispered sweet nothings into each other's ears. Somewhere in the night, they had finally fallen asleep.

It had been very hot and the blanket had been pushed down to their feet. Jasmine's bare body was covered in goosebumps and she seemed very content. Her black hair was messy, and he could see more of the gold peeking out than before. What a beautiful woman, he thought. He had never seen somebody so striking in all his life. And she had been so sweet to him throughout the night. Their combined inexperience gave way to blushes and giggling, but she had made him so comfortable. He could feel her fingers, gently touching his chest, running over his beck, his cheek in the palm of her hand. Reaching, over, he brushed his fingers through her hair and he could see the hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

Again, there was a knock. Sighing, he pulled the blanket up over her, then recovered his pants. Pulling them on, he went to the door.

"Who is it?"

"It's Lou," came the familiar voice.

Witholding a groan, Frost opened the door.

"What is it?" he grunted.

"Congratulations, bruv," Steele said, bumping his fist against Frost's shoulder.

"Thanks. Is that all? I'd like to go back to bed," Frost muttered. Steele shook his head.

"Actually, the Raiders have gathered up in our barracks. Seems like they're all impatient about what happened. I told them to sod off but no one's listening. You gotta come talk to them."

Frost ran a hand down his face. Steele sniffed and snickered. "Smells like sex in there, mate."

Frost turned red.

"Just give me a minute."

He shut the door. Needless to say, he was angry. A perfect night could have melted into an equally wonderful morning. Now he had to deal with his indignant troopers. The responsibility was not lost on him, but for just one night he had been able to focus on nothing else except for the woman he cared about. Maybe he could have had an entire day. Maybe he could salvage the evening, at least. He had a plan.

There was no use fretting now. He dressed, collected her clothes, deposited them neatly on the desk, and wrote a note. With that, he left with Steele.

###

"So how many positions did you try?" asked Steele.

"Would you keep your voice down?" Frost hissed.

"I'm just curious, mate."

"Yeah, well, it ain't none of your business, Louie."

"I tell you all of my sex stories."

"Against my will."

"Ha!"

"Hey, what was going on between you and Carris the other night? You seemed awfully close."

"Huh? Oh, uh, nothing."

"Oh? Nothing? Sure, sure..."

"You getting at something, mate?"

"I think you're all soft."

"You what?"

"All soft."

"Bugger off."

"Something's refining those rough, rough edges of yours."

"You sound like an old grandma."

"Anything you'd like to tell me about that night?"

"...no."

"I thought you enjoyed telling me about your _stories._ "

"There ain't no story."

"Why are you getting pissy all of a sudden?"

"Look, nothing happened. We ended up taking showers and-"

"Together?"

"No! Just at the same time. And I helped her put her armor back on. We had a couple laughs, that's it."

"Sure."

"There ain't nothing going on between us."

"Why not?"

"What?"

"You heard me."

"It...won't be cohesive for the unit."

"That was the most soldierly thing I've ever heard you say. And the lamest excuse."

"Get off my back, alright? Nothing's going on, and it won't. I don't want to be tied down like that."

"Mm, yes, bad for unit cohesion."

"Wanker."

Frost marched up to the door of his barracks and opened it. He stepped in with Steele and was greeted with applause, whistling, and cheering. Before he could turn to leave, Steele put an arm around him and forced him to stay.

"Thatta boy!"

"He's finally become a man!"

"How was it boyo!?"

Frost wished for a battle to fight rather than be subjected to this. When it finally ended, Borko piped up.

"So how many times did you go, Nate?"

"That's none of your business, you sniveling Croat."

"Come on, we gotta know!"

"No, you don't!"

Every was staring at him expectantly. Frost groaned, swallowed, and said, "Five times..."

"Wow!"

"I'm surprised you can even walk."

"If he fucks like he fights, then I don't think the Doc is coming in to work today."

"Alright, that's enough, I'm leaving!" Frost again made to leave but Steele stopped him. After the hooting and hollering creased, Nebiyev spoke. He was in the center of the tightly packed mass of soldiers, crammed into the unaccommodating barracks.

"Sorry brother, we couldn't resist. But we are here for another reason too." The smiles disappeared as they were all seemingly reminded why they had assembled. "Sorry to twist your hand, but none of us want to be kept in the dark. We don't keep secrets in the 89th."

"Please, the 89th has plenty of secrets," Steele said, rolling his eyes.

"Well, we can't have secrets in this unit."

"Fair point," Frost said. "Settle in, this may take a while."

He didn't hold anything back and told them the truth of it. Everybody sat in shocked silence. What were the odds, they all seemed to think, that somebody from Skopje ended up on the ship. Or rather, how they ended up on _her_ ship. A few looked concerned. Was it just Frost in the Captain's crosshairs, or all of them? Would she be sending the 89th on suicide missions? If she saw the photographs, would she sell them out to the press? When he finished, they began to murmur among themselves. Steadily, it grew louder and began to spiral out of control.

"So, why don't you tell her?" Christianson asked.

"No, he can't tell her," Tholane said.

"Why not?" Borko asked, confused.

"Because she won't fucking get it," Mori seethed.

"It's not just that," Nebiyev stated, "she doesn't have the right to know."

"That's right!" Emery declared, standing up, "she wudn't even there, so why should we tell her?"

"Well if we tell her the truth, then she'll understand," Phan suggested. "I mean, she may not agree with it, but at least she'll know."

"Hey, in case you forgot, we made a promise not to tell anyone!"

"We haven't been on Skopje in years!"

"So what? A promise is a promise, we have to keep it!"

"Not if we're going to lose our skins over it!"

"Don't you remember what fucking happened!?"

"Of course I do!"

"Even if we did tell her, she's not going to change!"

"I bet she sympathizes with the rebs!"

"What?"

"You can't go flinging shit like that?"

"Why not! All rebel sympathizers should hang!"

"Waters is the best captain we've served with in years! If we she goes, she'll get replaced by somebody less competent and we'll get killed up here!"

"And if she stays, then what? She'll make us deploy in the heart of a Covenant base and see us get wipe out!"

"Hey, hey, hey, we've got a fucking reporter right here! What if Katz leaks a story about her?"

"Are you fucking serious? You think this is some crime thriller, you wanker?"

"You what?"

"We shouldn't even have Katz in the room!"

"Whoa, guys, I'm not going to publish anything about this."

"How can we trust you?"

"That's enough!" Frost roared. Everybody looked at him. Taking a deep breath and then exhaling slowly, he looked at every face in the room. "Listen, we can't let any of this leave the room. This is something that we will _never_ bring up together as a unit, or ever again, not even with me. We can't let this spread to the other Marines. They won't understand and they'll be calling for her head."

"What makes you so certain of that?" Carris asked. Everyone was surprised to hear her speak. She had been silent the whole time. She went on. "The Marines will be angry, but they won't do anything rash."

"Love, we were trained to be rash," Steele said with a smirk. She grinned as well but kept her eyes on Frost.

"The 89th is a proud unit, Carris. We look out for each other, always. If there's a threat, real or perceived, we'll neutralize it. I can't abide men making such decisions on my behalf. Hayes is right; if word gets out, all cohesion between us and the swabbies will be over. So nobody leaves here until we agree to never bring it outside this room."

In less than a minute, everyone swore. Frost breathed a sigh of relief. "Another thing, Katz is our friend. Anybody who can run into a lake with nothing but a camera and a pistol is somebody we can trust." Everyone looked at Katz, who looked surprised. Frost smiled and gave him an affirming nod. "He's a Raider too and we don't treat each other like that, understand me?"

Everyone nodded, and many apologies were uttered. Satisfied, Frost took a breath.

"Now come with me. We're going to raid the kitchen, and then we're going planetside."

* * *

 _Later..._

"I'm feeling much better Captain, I think I'm ready to get back to work."

Vivian sat on the end of one of the cots in the medical bay. Andy Adams, an able seaman everybody called Double-A, had gotten sick on shore leave and had been confined to a sterile room so it wouldn't spread to the others. Although the contamination period had passed and he was in a more open part of the bay, he was still rather sick with bad fevers debilitating headaches. Vivian knew on his CSV that he had a history of migraines but he didn't take medication for them. Undoubtedly, both issues were compounding one another.

Kindly, she patted his thigh.

"I know you're eager for work but another day or two's rest will do you good. It's alright, there's not much going on right now."

"But Cap', there's _always_ something going on. Plus there's the big celebration tonight."

"I know you'd like to go. I'll have one of your friends bring you back some food from the party..." Vivian leaned forward and whispered. "...and I here there's going to be some booze passed around tonight. A glass may just end up in your hand too, but you didn't hear that from me."

Double-A, a man of thirty with a grizzled beard, weathered features, and jet black hair smiled from ear to ear.

"Thanks, Skipper. That'll be nice."

Vivian stood up.

"Don't worry, you won't be stuck in here for much longer. Rest up for now." Vivian gave a respectful nod and turned to leave. Sheets were being replaced on the cost and other staff members were checking the various machines around the room. At the other end, Jasmine walked in and Vivian stopped.

Jasmine looked different. She wore the same outfit, save for the white lab coat, and her hair was the same. But she was glowing. Everything about her features seemed radiant and warm, and her eyes seemed very relaxed. Everybody who turned to salute here also paused, noticing the same exact aura. The chief doctor strode up to Vivian and sighed.

"Morning Vivian, how are you?"

"I'm fine...how are you?" Vivian said, cautiously.

"Oh, wonderful. Just wonderful." Vivian held up her data pad and tapped at a few keys. Vivian stepped closer.

"You...you sure?"

"Of course!"

"Did something happen?"

Jasmine smirked and quirked an eyebrow. Tucking her data pad under her arm, she leaned forward.

"Something, _indeed_ , happened."

"What?" Vivian whispered, smiling tentatively but ultimately intrigued.

"Oh, nothing...nothing...me and Frost just, you know..." Jasmine teased, rolling her eyes around. It took a moment to sink in, then Vivian stifled a laugh.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"No way," Vivian gave Jasmine a little push on the shoulder, "I didn't think you'd ever get around to it."

"Well, we got around to it more than once."

"Really?"

"Six times."

"Honest?"

"Would I lie about something like this?" Jasmine huffed. Vivian held up her hands.

"Alright, alright. Congrats," Vivian said. Jasmine smiled and nodded. As Vivian turned to leave, knowing she had other pressing issues to attend to, she couldn't help but smile. She was happy for Jasmine.

"I know you and Frost had words."

She stopped and closed her eyes. Caught red-handed, almost as if by her mother. She didn't dare turn around. "I ask you to speak to him like an adult and instead you make a scene in front of his men. Not only did you embarrass him, you embarrassed yourself. That won't do, Viv. You need to start acting like an officer, and a grown up."

Those words cut very deep. More hurt than angry, Vivian left, unable to find words.

###

In her youth, when she was troubled, Vivian had never really brought her grief to her friends or family. Even as a young child, she had kept her problems to herself. She didn't think it befitting of close relationships to just complain and whine whenever the slightest bump in the road caused her trouble. Yet, that didn't mean she ever sulked. Letting problem after problem sink in and control her was unhealthy. After her friends were killed, she had practically decayed because she had broken her own maxim. Instead of carrying it, she let the pain fester and grow until it dominated her. That year, she had hardly been able to lift herself out of bed. Sometimes she only managed to attend school twice or three times a week. One year, she had to attend summer school, much to her parents' disappointment. Luckily, she had gotten back on track soon enough. Getting lost in essays, reading assignments, and other work was a good way to push past it. Even after she began attending OCS, she tried to find as much work to do as possible. Distraction was a lifesaver.

As such, Vivian was now on the bridge, looking at the large tactical screen. She stood right beside the AI pedestal, where Decatur stood attentively, rubbed his chin. Around her, the officers continued their work.

"Ma'am, Rear Admiral Travers has requested that you send a finalized copy of your list of materials for the construction project, just in case there's anything you've missed."

Vivian had spent the slipspace jump back to the planet planning the new base. She had made her command staff aware and they were all for it. Travers believed it be audacious, but perfect. This wasn't going to be a simple naval base on the edge of UNSC space. This plant would become a stronghold on the doorstep of humanity. The grounds would be completed, yes. But added on would be an entire shipyard, with the means to produce starships as well as repair them. She and Delaney had been going over the planet's natural resources. Some scanning revealed that there was a titanium deposit beneath the surface, the core ingredient for a starship. Working through the proper channels, she would have civilian contractors and military engineers construct a stable mine there to harvest the minerals.

As well, the base and its yards wouldn't be nestled in the corner of Ridge L. It would span the entire length, and incorporate the ridge itself. The tunneling would continued until the ridge had become an fortress-the Anthill-with reinforced concrete bunkers filled with heavy guns, automated turrets, and firing ports. Elevator systems would see men and ammunition easily passed through the interior. There would be massive concrete walls plated with titanium guarding the rear of the base, complete with turrets and firing ports for heavy vehicles. A large anti-air array would be installed and interconnecting tunnels for the varying facilities. There would be rows of supply depots, motor pools, and barracks for the troops. Mess halls and large hospital quarter would be added. Turret control centered, supply pads, a pair of massive airstrips for Pelicans, VTOLs, and other aircraft.

Ships wouldn't be the only staple the fortress would produce. Factories churning out weapons, ammunition, equipment, and vehicles would be added. This planet was going to be entirely self-sufficient. No more would they have to return to friendly systems to restock and rearm. Everything they could possibly need they could build. Extra generators would be added to support the new facilities. Underground, they'd build massive storage bunkers so they could stockpile. A surplus of materials never hurt. Perhaps they could even send some excess back to other planets. Of course, that was a bridge they'd cross when they came to it.

The base would have to be manned. She wanted elite Army units to defend it. Rangers and Airborne, with accompanying line troops, mechanized and armored units, artillery batteries, and plenty of Falcons. Air cavalry would be a key to eliminating landing forces before they massed. Regular patrols by both land and air would be conducted, to ensure that no Covenant infiltration units managed to land on the surface. With a substantial force garrisoning the planet, she and her task force could come and go freely without having to worry over security. A new garrison fleet, with _Winter's Keep_ as its flagship, would stay in orbit, permanently.

Food was going to be an issue but Vivian had already come up with an idea. She planned to start an agricultural program; anyone with farming experience would be paid a stipend to start and manage a farm on the planet. They would work for a period of cycles, get paid, and a new wave of refugees would be drafted in to repeat the cycle. There would be diverse crops and facilities for animals. The effect would be threefold; she'd have a local supply of fresh food for her troops, aid poor Outer Colony refugees who had little money, and give a large boost to public morale. People who saw the UNSC provide work and compensation for refugees would be encouraged to renew the war effort, Maybe even spark some enlistment rates.

With her engineers already studying the map and deciding where the best locations for farmsteads would be, she knew an accessible road system was necessary. Vehicles and people would have to move quickly to ensure high production rates and to seek shelter within the base if the enemy attacked. A horde of workers would be required to build the base itself, many more to facilitate to construct the mines and the farms. She decided the road network would be facilitated by military engineers commanding a contingent of civilian workers. Like with the farms, she would gain the advantage of infrastructure while civilians could walk away with some cash in their pockets.

Those who would come, she knew, would have families. She had made the decision to build a school within the base as well. Some of her officers disagreed; they were concerned that they were biting off more than they could. The planet was to be a bulwark on the doorstep of humanity, not a daycare. Vivian understood the argument-it was quite sound. Yet, if humanity had to change, alter itself to win, then the war was already lost. It was a principle that none of the other officers seemed to understand, or agree with, but Vivian stood her ground. At the end of the day, she was the task force commander, and her word was final. For the first time, she could start making a real difference in people's lives. Give them opportunity and hope; things that were beyond mere protection.

She had entertained the idea of adding an orbital dock for ships but she decided not to ask for one. Those were better used in systems far from the frontlines. If the Covenant attacked, it would be exposed and the first to go. It would be better to centralize resources and defense on the surface. Though, she did have one new idea.

"Decatur, request a surface-based MAC cannon."

"Pardon me, ma'am?"

"You heard me, Commodore," Vivian smiled. "I want a MAC. Any Covenant ship that attempts to glass our base will be torn apart."

"Yes, ma'am. Is that it?"

Vivian thought for a moment.

"We're renaming the planet as well."

"To what, madam?"

"Port Sánchez."

Everyone on the bridge stole a glance, then returned to their work. Decatur smiled faintly and nodded.

"A fitting name, madam. This is a very ambitious project and it will take some time."

"Yes, it will. For the time being, we're going to suspend operations until a sufficient garrison is present on the planet. Then, we'll start hunting."

"Very good," Decatur hummed, then said, "Oh, yes. The celebration tonight. All the volunteers for a skeleton crew have come forth and preparations have been made. Admiral Travers requested that we wait a few more days so the press could document it."

"I'm sure Katz will film a short piece on it. It was our ships and our crew that destroyed the Covenant ships and our Marines who took it back. This victory is ours and ours alone."

"Yes, ma'am," Decatur said approvingly. He seemed to freeze for a moment, registering something. "Ah, madam. Captain Rundstrom is requesting permission to come aboard. He'd like to meet, but was asking if he could take a tour of the ship first."

Vivian felt her mood darken. She hadn't been looking forward to meeting this ONI officer. In the pocket of her tunic she had the external drive with the obscure data Petty Officer Carris and Private Grant had extracted from that unfinished satellite facility. Going against her better judgement, she had quietly ordered Delaney to make a copy of the data. He had assured her that anybody who accessed the drive wouldn't be able to tell that there had been a copy, but she was still reluctant to hand it over. Nobody had been given explicit instructions to avoid looking at the data, although nobody had stated it was sanctioned to tamper with it. Either way, it didn't seem to matter. The data was almost unreadable to Delaney and the analysts from Intelligence. All they could conclude was that the numbers represented some kind of energy reading. From what, from where, she couldn't tell, although she could guess it was that strange star map projects in the bowels of Ridge L.

"Permission granted. Have Captain De Vos guide him through the ship and when they're finished, bring them here."

"Right away, madam."

"Also, send for Frost."

"Yes, ma'am."

It wasn't long before he arrived. Frost was in his cast, not a bulky thing, but still rigid and white. He looked apprehensive. Knowing what kind of night he had last night, she could have made a joke. Part of her wanted to. But she didn't.

"Captain," he said, nodding his head. Some of the bridge officers looked up and saw that he didn't salute or come to attention. Vivian could have disciplined him, told him to shape up, respect the rank. But she didn't.

"Sergeant," she greeted in response. She could have called him Jack the Ripper. But she didn't.

Frost shifted uneasily on his feet.

"Why am I here," he asked, "I was just...gathering some supplies."

"The ONI Prowler captain, Rundstrom, is on board. I'm going to speak to him about what happened. I'd like you to be present. He shouldn't be too long."

Frost pursed his lips, then nodded. Vivian didn't have anymore work to do at that moment, and he rarely, if ever, came to the bridge. They stood there, facing one another for some time. Their eyes did not meet.

Vivian finally stepped a bit closer. "Could you tell your men that...I apologize for what I said yesterday. It was unbefitting of me as an officer."

"Why don't you tell them yourself?" He hissed, sharply. "If you think that I-" He cut himself short, noticing the eyes of the officers. After a moment, he exhaled and looked away. "Maybe it'd be better if I told them for you. I don't think any of them would like to see you right away."

"I agree," Vivian said quietly.

"It won't mean much to my comrades, but it's better than nothing."

Vivian's eyebrow quirked.

"Comrades? Why do you say that? I've heard Marines call each other that. It seems so strange, especially after the Koslovics."

"It's not just an expression of friendship," he explained, "it's an acknowledgement that they've been through the same as we. Fought the same fights, seen the same sights, endured the same trials. It's a way of saying, 'I know.'"

Vivian nodded.

Eventually, the door slid open. Vivian turned around. Captain Rikard Rundstrom sauntered in. He had short, pale blonde hair and a tuft of hair on his chin. A grin remained plastered to his face. He had striking hazel eyes, a perfect golden brown. Lingering behind him was Captain De Vos. She was frowning; Vivian noticed her make a short series of hand signals to Frost as Rundstrom approached.

"What's that mean?" Vivian whispered.

"Keep an eye on him," Frost muttered.

"The Dread Pirate Waters!" Runstrom bellowed. "The greatest pirate of the age! Or should I say corsair?"

He walked up and shook her hand.

"Welcome to the _I'm Alone_ , Captain Rundstrom," Vivian greeted.

"Such a sad name for a ship," he said, his voice possessing a strong Nordic accent.

"So is _River Styx._ Does that make you Charon?"

"I see you're versed in Greek mythology; fitting, given your Macedonian heritage."

"Well enough. Although, why does a Scandinavian fashion himself as the ferryman?"

"I'd rather ferry the dead than stand at the doorstep of heaven, waiting for the deaths of many gods. Who would you rather be?"

"Neither," Vivian smiled. "I'd like to be Alexander."

Frost snorted approvingly.

"The conqueror?" Rundstrom asked.

"He was flesh and blood, just like you and me." Vivian shrugged. "Besides, I'm Macedonian, after all."

Captain Rundstrom smiled then, a rather crooked smile, and laughed. It was slow at first then built up to a loud sort of booming. When he was done he wagged a finger at her.

"I like you."

The sparring was done.

"Welcome to the task force," Vivian said. "Your services will be more than welcome in a mission like ours."

He took a bow.

"Your eyes and ears, yes ma'am!" he said.

"Let's make one thing very clear, though," Vivian said, making her tone stoney. "You're not working for ONI anymore, you're working for me. When you're out scouting for us, do as you please, but when you're working in coordination with ground forces, you're to drop whatever they taught you."

He seemed perplexed for a moment. Then he laughed a little.

"Oh! Oh, oh, I see. Yes, the two soldiers-"

"Raiders," Frost corrected.

"-Raiders, yes, who fell out and had to go on foot...yes, yes. Well I assure you that isn't too out of the ordinary."

"Maybe for ONI," Frost said again. Runstrom looked at him sideways.

"You're one to talk, Jack the Ripper."

Frost blinked.

"You know-"

"Half the military knows who you are," Runstrom said nonchalantly, "and I've monitored enough rebel backchannels to figure out who keeps them up at night."

"Two of my personnel were out on the field with no support. You had the ability to extract them and you didn't. Why?"

"Captain Waters, let me teach you a lesson," Rundstrom said slyly. "Unless an operative is dead, they're a...chess piece. And if you can use a lesser piece instead of a major one, you should do so."

"Unlike you, I don't equate the lives of my soldiers as board game pieces."

"Ah, but didn't the Sassanids of old play to understand war matters?" He asked grandly. "Besides, I had to extract my own team from that site when they were nearly compromised by Brutes. Somebody had to extract the intel."

"What?" Frost stepped forward. "You had boots on the grounds and you didn't tell us?"

"So that's why there was a drive already there," Vivian said, shaking her head. Rundstrom nodded.

"Yes. Let's just say, that sat-array, was not a sat-array. And your two Raiders are alive all the same, with the intel secured, so I don't see that I've done anything wrong."

"I lose a man extracting those two," Frost growled, "you could have just launched your Pelican and plucked them from the surface and you didn't."

Rundstrom was grim for a moment.

"The drive, please."

Vivian exchanged a glance with Frost, then procured it from her pocket. She placed it in Rundstrom's hand. He then proceeded to drop it and crush it under his boot."

Frost bared his teeth and took a step forward, as if he were about to lunge. Vivian put her arm out, holding him back. After a few stamps, the drive was in pieces.

"Two of my Raiders almost died for that intel, and one did," Frost seethed.

"Lesson two: intelligence is often more critical than a life. I've already taken the liberty of seizing all the files about what you're hiding in Ridge L. It wasn't easy, but having contacts help. If you want to keep ONI from turning this planet into its next playground, I suggest you scrub the data from your own database as well, as a precaution."

Vivian and Frost backed down. They looked at each other. Vivian felt like she had been out-maneuvered. Rundstrom, smiling politely, began to turn. She stepped forward and grabbed his shoulder.

"Listen to me. I am the leader of this task force. The supreme commander of each ship and every soul on board. You are a part of it now. My word is law and I expect you to obey. My first order to you is, _never_ , use my men like that again. If you do, you'll be answering to him," Vivian jerked her thumb to Frost. "And you'll be the one kept up at night."

Rundstrom chuckled and left the bridge. Everyone had been watching. The door slid shut.

"Captain Waters?" Bassot asked. "Permission to speak freely?"

"Granted."

"Fuck that guy."

* * *

That evening, Jasmine followed the instructions on the note and went planetside. The celebration was already in process. Much of the scattered concrete and wreckage had been towed away by heavy vehicles. Now, completely cleared of rubble, thousands of men and women sang, drank, ate, and danced. Someone had repaired the loudspeaker and music was playing over it. Traditional Russian music was playing instead of hearing anything modern. Hundreds upon hundreds of Marines, many of the Russian Cossacks, arm in arm, danced in the middle of the compound. Around them, Air Force, Naval, and Marine personnel cheered and clapped. The smell of barbecue filled the night and large bonfires burned in the midsts of the celebrating troops. Despite having to look for Knight, Jasmine couldn't help but listen to the dancing troops twirl, pivot, clap, stamp, and sing. It was quite a sight.

Someone tapped her shoulder. It was Knight.

"Come with me, Doc. I'll take you to Frost."

She followed him to a Warthog. He jumped in the driver's seat and she got into the passenger's side. It rumbled to life and he began driving at a comfortable speed away from the base.

"Where are we going?" Jasmine asked, fixing the collar of her turtleneck.

"To the lake. The Raiders are having a little party of their own there," Knight said over the mild wind. Jasmine could guess why. Perhaps the Raiders felt snubbed that the others could enjoy the fruits of their labor. Or rather, it seemed wrong to join in a festival when a good friend had died.

Knight must have seen her apprehensive look. "It'll be fun. You'll see." Jasmine nodded. A few minutes passed. The grasslands rolled by. "Unfortunately it won't be so pretty, seeing as we burned a good part of the forest down." He laughed. Jasmine didn't know what he meant; Frost hadn't mentioned that last night. He had mentioned, as they took a moment of rest, most of what happened on the planet. If she closed her eyes, she could picture it quite clearly. Not what he described, but that moment between them. Both covered with sweat, staring into one another's eyes. She had seen a great sorrow in him, guilt. His words were almost poetic as he related to her their grim mission and the last ditch fight between them and the Brutes.

Knight took them over a small bump which roused her from her thoughts. "I gotta say, Doc, it's nice having you around."

"It is?"

"Yeah. You do a lot for our Nate, and for us too. You two get along just fine, and we all feel better for seeing you two that way." Jasmine blushed. "When you showed up yesterday, Captain Waters and Frost had been arguing and everybody was wrapped up, all angry. Then you came in, fussing over him. Made us all smile." Knight chuckled. "You've got a magic in you, Jasmine. People trust you. When we see you, we know we'll be okay."

It was quite difficult not feel proud.

When they finally arrived at the lake, Jasmine was already smiling. Just at the edge of the water was another Pelican, a pair of ATV's and another pair of dirt bikes, and even a Pelican. A large fire crackled and a few of the Raiders were seated around it. At the water's edge, Borko, Frost, and a few others were fishing. Borko was helping Frost; they cast a line while Bishop and Isha drew in a large fish. A few yards away, the remaining Raiders were placing a game of football. They battled for the black and white checkered ball in between two sets of sticks, representing the goals, a short distance away from the center. As Knight pulled up and killed the engine, she could hear their feet smacking the ball and the men shouting.

"How many points does a goal in soccer count?" Grant asked.

"It's called football!"

"Bloody Yank!"

"Football my ass!" shouted Emery as he went for a wide kick.

"You idiot, you missed!"

"Get it back in, let's get going again!"

Jasmine laughed as they approached the fire. Carris and Steele were sitting side by side close to the flames. A few headless, tailless, skinned fish on sticks were roasting on the fire. The pair were watching them. A small table had been set nearby with various spices, herbs, and salt were ready. Sitting in the grass as well were the brothers Konstantin and Nikodim, the former playing a guitar while the latter sang.

"Hey Nate, I think these ones are ready!" Steele called, looking rigid from all the tape under his shirt. Frost came over just as Jasmine stepped into the light. Everyone present saw her and cheered.

"Hey!" they all said, "It's the Doc!"

"Thanks for joining us!"

"Glad you could make it!"

Jasmine waved shyly as Frost came over and hugged her with his good arm. He kissed her on the cheek, which made her blush.

"Good to see you, darling," he said. Then he whispered, "Don't worry, they know, but they won't tease you. Unlike me, they actually respect you." He said this sarcastically.

"I didn't know there was fish in the lake."

"Freshwater fish, yeah," Frost said as he sat down at the little table. She knelt beside him. Carris brought over the cooked fish and set it down. "Chinook salmon; damn good fish. I'm not going to doctor it up too much. I had some once when I visited the Great Lakes as a boy." He spread a white substance and then took out a pouch of breadcrumbs and sprinkled it on the fish in front of him. He than tapped dill and salt on it. "There."

He reached under the little table and produced a simple tray from the mess hall. Sliding the hunk of pink meat onto the tray, he handed it to Jasmine, along with a knife and forth. Sitting back, she cut a piece off, blew on it, and downed it. It was delicious.

"Wow," she said, her mouth filled with food.

"Ah, it's good then!" he said. Borko and the others came up with more fish and began setting them up near the flames. It wasn't long before tray after tray was filled with fish. Frost eventually called the others over. Despite the cool, lazy wind, a few of them weren't wearing shirts. They wore watch caps and soft covers, or nothing atop their heads at all. Some had rolled their sleeves up, wore tank tops or t-shirts, or had rolled their pant legs up. Their kits and armor were set aside below the Pelican. A few flicked away cigarettes and they drank from canteens. Someone offered her one; she smelled the whiskey and declined, preferring water. At their urging, she gave in and had a few sips. She didn't like the taste but liked how it settled in her stomach. Everyone joked and laughed and talked, with the two brothers continuing to play music, stopping briefly only to eat and drink. The entire group of Raiders, with the Pelican crew, Katz, and even Tane, sat in a circle around the fire. Once everyone sat down, it was proposed by Steele that they say thank you to their host in their respective languages. A host of different words, followed by a number of phrases declaring that they should start eating.

Time passed. They burped and sighed in satisfaction. A few had a little too much to drink, although they were behaving themselves just fine. Some sat back in the grass, while others began to lay down entirely. Jasmine felt warm and comfortable; she was full, she was contented, and she pressed into Frost's side. He had his arm wrapped around her and was leaning back in. It all felt right, to be among these people, enjoying their company. Each had had their fill and was happy. There was no war for them at that moment, and she was glad for it. She laughed along and gasped as they told frightening or embarrassing stories.

Eventually they began to quiet down. The heat felt good on Jasmine's face and she could feel her eyelids become droopy. Trays with fishbones sat around the fire and somebody fell asleep. Konstantin played a somber tune on the guitar, something distin

"So the top of this skyscraper is falling down, and I mean just _coming_ down, like in slow-mo. I turned to Nate and he's got this look on his face like, 'I've been through too much shit today,' and we start booking it. We almost didn't make it," Steele chuckled, taking a drag on a newly lit cigarette.

" _You_ almost didn't make it," Frost chuckled. "I was fine."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah..."

Everyone was quiet for a time. The guitar stopped, as did the stories and the joking. Jasmine gazed at the phases as they stared into the fire. The jovial nature in their faces disappeared. Each face now bore a certain, familiar sadness. She understood. Their minds wandered to a missing friend, who could have been, should have been, sitting with them, enjoying the starry night out in the open. She had not been privy to his friendships, nor his death, and yet she felt a pang of sorrow for the loss of the poor boy. A certain air hung over the Raiders as they silently mourned his death.

Then, Grant raised his head.

"There's this poem I've been thinking about. One I read a long time ago in school. I memorized it."

"Say it," somebody said. And Grant did so:

" _Dear Madam,_

 _I am a soldier, and my speech is rough and plain._

 _I'm not much used to writing, and I hate to give you pain,_

 _But I promised I would do it, and he thought it might be so_

 _If it came from one that loved him, perhaps it would ease the blow._

 _By this time, you must surely guess the truth I feign would hide,_

 _And you'll pardon me for rough soldier words, while I tell you how he died._

 _It was in the maw of battle. Fast rained the shot and shell._

 _I was standing close beside him, and I saw him when he fell._

 _So I took him in my arms, and laid him on the grass._

 _It was going against orders, but I think they let it pass._

' _Twas a minne ball that struck him. It entered at his side._

 _But we didn't think it fatal 'til this morning, when he died._

" _Last night, I wanted so to live. I seemed so young to go._

 _Last week I passed my birthday. I was just 19, you know._

 _When I thought of all I planned to do, it seemed so hard to die._

 _But now I pray to God for Grace, and all my cares gone by."_

 _And here his voice grew weaker, as he paused and raised his head._

 _And whispered, "Goodbye, Mother." And your soldier boy was dead._

 _I carved him out a headboard, as skillful as I could_

 _And if you wish to find it, I can tell you where it stood._

 _I send you back his hymnbook, the cap he used to wear,_

 _The lock I cut the night before, of his bright, curly hair._

 _I send you back his Bible; The night before he died,_

 _I turned its leaves together, and read it by his side._

 _I keep the belt he was wearing; He told me so to do._

 _It has a hole upon the side, just where the ball went through._

 _So now I've done his bidding. I've nothing more to tell._

 _But I shall always mourn with you the boy we loved so well."_

Jasmine's eyes had been drawn to Nora Langley, sitting across from her on the other side of the fire. As the flames snapped and danced, she could see tears rolling down her cheeks. Everybody seemed to nod, move in a way that showed they thought the poem fitting.

"Who wrote it?" someone asked.

"Nobody knows," Grant answered.

"That's sad," said another.

"It's from our civil war, fought long ago," he went on.

Frost raised his head.

"If any of us should fall in the days, weeks, months, and years to come, it's that poem we shall read."

Everyone nodded. Frost looked down at Jasmine, and she smiled up at him. He looked very much like a boy then, kind, gentle of heart, good natured. He had a boy's sadness in his gray eyes, but when she reached up and touched his cheek, she saw it disappear.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Sorry there's no end quote. I couldn't find one that fits without disrupting the ending tone.**

 **That poem was written anonymously during the American Civil War. Type in 'Dear Madam,' and you should find it just fine.**

 **The painting I mentioned earlier, with the two individuals walking on water, is called 'What Freedom!' by Ilya Repin, and is one of my most favorite paintings. If you love 19th Century and early 20th Century artwork, you'll like him.**

 **Yes, Jasmine and Frost did the thing. Was it five or six? We'll never know.**

 **Exciting news! I've posted two new original pieces from my writing class on Deviantart! Yay! If you want to see them, go to the site and look up RadiationSoap, visit the profile, and you'll fine them just fine. They're titled, "End of the Line Mill," and "B-". But go to Fail4Fun's first to see the pieces she posted.**

 **And finally, where have I been? Well, finishing school. That's right! I just graduated from college, it's over and done with! I didn't do the ceremony, though; I've never been one for such celebrations and pomp and circumstance. I live as quietly, peacefully, simply, and unobtrusively as I can. But I'm out, which means it's time to take a couple weeks to relax, and then go out and get my big boy job. And get a house...and a car...and a lotta other things. *sigh***

 **But, all the same, I'll have more time which means more chapters on the way! I'm starting work on the next one tomorrow, and I have some good times planned out. We'll be adding a new ship, another secondary character, more dilemmas, more good times, and of course, some good old battle scenes. Stick with me, folks!**

 **Now, let's get to the really good part! COMMENT RESPONSES YAY! (Just read the 'yay' part like it's Kermit the Frog)**

 **Hellsing450: Thanks for reading and I really appreciate your feedback. I know my editing isn't always solid but knowing that my style is working out is good to know. Thanks, brother. And you're hitting the nose on the head with Vivian. As much as she strives to be a good officer and do the best thing for her personnel, she's willfully trying to be out of her element, to think in a non-military way. We have the capability look outside ourselves but she can't; as much as she tries to distract herself, she's wallowing in that anger, in the past. She can't move on. We'll see more on that soon. As for the Headhunters, it's actually an aspect of Halo that I'm rather unfamiliar with. From what I've read so far, it's an interesting concept, and considering the tension between ONI and our main characters, it might help make that aspect of the story more intriguing. We'll see though! And if you're looking to write, definitely send me a message, I'd be happy to talk with you my friend!**

 **Qzak501: I'm certainly glad you made that very eloquent observation about Frost. Yes, he's an interesting character and I actually worry about him a lot. I've worried that he's too perfect and is universally adored by his peers, but this is what I've been building up to. Frost is a man of extremes; he's either extremely gentle or extremely inhumane. He has no middle ground, no ability to synthesize his environment and his person, as much as he believes he can. The absence of war is a very real fear, because he can't remember a life without it. And it's something that people like Vivian can't understand. And thanks for being a firm reader, brother; I know I take a while to post and knowing you and others have been with me for a long time does a lot for my confidence. Thank you.**

 **AlphaPrimaris:**

 **Macintosh was actually a recent inspiration. I never originally planned to have him in the story until I read a book about 18th Century Boston, Massachusetts. There used to be these sort of...structured riots, where two different groups would essentially rampage through town and fight with each other. It was a weird celebration; one of the meanest, baddest, fightingest leaders of the pack was a man named Macintosh. So I took the name and a bit of the real man and molded this Hellfire trooper around him. We'll be seeing more of him in the future.**

 **Yeah, I think I know which seen you're talking about. I thought it very fitting to put something like that in for Carris, who has no friggin' social skills. And yes, Vivian held it together; we're entering a new stage with Vivian. I don't have a name for it, but I'd describe it almost as a coworker relationship, in which you hate that person you work with but you know them well enough, so you basically end up putting up with their bullshit and you occasionally have some decent moments with them. More of that, inbound! I hope that shouting match did it for you too; I didn't want it to be completely about the arguing, but this moment, an almost quiet moment where the better part of Vivian is revealed and Frost is able to meet her halfway, but they both end up failing. A quiet moment that deteriorates quickly.**

 **Uh...let's just keep it Vox. I'm no lord; I'm your pal! We're all pals here! And I did read about the Legion of the Damned, they're pretty cool, but I've actually found the Imperial Guard and the Adepta Sororitas to be very interesting out of everything I've read. I wasn't going to say anything, because I wanted to comment on your story first, buuuut...**

 **Ah what the heck. You got me hooked on WH40K lore! Turns out there was a massive sale on Steam for the WH40K: Dawn of War series, so I loaded myself up with a bunch of games and expansions for cheap and I've been playing those. I know it's not the same as the actual game and doesn't shoot so much for lore, but there's a style to it that's very intriguing and easy to like. Your fic's really got me hooked on it, brother.**

 **And again, I wasn't gonna say anything buuuuut...ah what the heck, I've been thinking of starting a short WH40K fic on the side while folks are waiting for chapters here. Who knows, we'll see! But thanks for reading my friend!**

 **MightBeGone: Well, it's mighty humbling to receive praise like, MBG. Really, I appreciate your kind words. You've described very well many things that I wanted to occur with this story. Above all, I wanted to entertain, so I'm glad just to be able to do that. And yeah, the current word count without this chapter is** **597,696. I recently saw the other day that the total words for the Lord of the Rings trilogy amounted to 455,125 words, which means I've got over a 100,000 words on Tolkien (unless we include The Hobbit). Granted, we'll probably have to take 50,000 or more considering how much words I devote to comment responses, and Tolkien was a master with words; honestly, the less words you can use to tell a story the better. I'm happy you're enjoying everything, although I wouldn't hold out hopes for a character with an afro. Now that I look at my roster of mentionable characters, I've got nobody with an afro. Sorry buddy...but hey, as much as you think I've done for this story, it's you and the readers that have brought this story to prominence. Without you and everyone else, this story wouldn't be where it is now. Your support and your patience and your faith in me is what makes this story. So thank you very much.**

 **KxAforever: You're not the first to remark on Vivian's character, which I'm glad for. Let's me know she's doing exactly what I want her to! Vivian isn't a cut and dry character; as we can see she's got a, relatively, high moral standing, to a point she's altruistic. But when it comes to Frost, her perception of the UNSC, she feels anger and ends up dropping the qualities we would deem positive. Which is the sad, and aggravating part of the character. We want to see her take steps forward, but just as she does, she fails. And you make a good point: her friends were in the wrong, no disputing that. Whatever redeeming qualities they had are overshadowed by the fact they are indeed defectors. She hasn't forgotten that, and it's not lost on her, but what makes her angry is that they were her friends. Defectors or not, they were her childhood friends and they were killed. It's enough to make anyone mad, at least in my opinion, and that anger causes her to be irrational. It's tough to see a capable, rather intelligent, and essentially good individual plagued by that anger and irrationality, but trust me my friend, there will be a payoff. Stick with me, you'll see! But thanks for taking the time to read and write, I really appreciate that!**

 **UNSC-HellJumper: Well, to be honest, I didn't come up with the name just purely out of my mind. I was actually looking through a book of shipwrecks (because that's what I do for fun) and found a small yacht or simple private boat of some kind that got wrecked on a beach. It was abandoned in the surf, and it's name was** _ **I'm Alone.**_ **I thought what a unique, strange name for a boat, however small. You could argue that this story began with my witnessing that photograph. Have I put some thematic or significance on it? While I don't think there's been enough to full capitalize on the thematic use of the title, I've always interpreted as that in one's convictions, ideals, personality, and actions, they are alone, even among like-minded individuals, and when all of those aspects culminate in a decision, they make that decision alone, and they have to suffer the consequences alone. I dunno if it works but that's what I take away. What do you think, now that I've told you my side?**

 **Ah, the triangle. Well, I wouldn't say there's a triangle. Look at in the way I explained to Alpha: you go to a job, and your coworker is an asshole. You hate them, but you put up with their bullshit long enough to get through the day. You become so adept at ignoring their bullshit that occasionally you can overlook them and have a good time together. As soon as you part you'll go back to hating them, but in those moments, it's not so bad. That's the point they're at now, as Vivian shifts tactics and starts to a show a truer self, while Frost is beginning to give in slightly while also getting more fed up.**

 **Tsundere. Hm, perhaps. Again, I'm writing it more in the way of what I just said previously, but humans are emotional, irrational things. At certain times, you can forget certain things, forget how you feel, and your mood can swing and things can be different. It's very natural, at least in my own eyes. For Vivian in particular, you can tell that there's a decent person in her, somebody is actually very altruistic and has her own perceptions of a 'greater good,' just as Frost does. But her anger is a very acidic think, acting like a choke chain that yanks her back when she starts to make any progress.**

 **Thanks for the encouraging words my friend, it helps me in more ways than one. I'm quite grateful for yours and everyone else's patience. Hopefully, this chapter delivers. Thanks pal.**

 **Now go on, get outta here, scram, I've got work to do! Well right now it's time for bed but TOMORROW I have work to do! And don't forget to visit Fail4Fun on DeviantArt; she worked very hard and devoted a lot of time and effort to make some stellar art pieces of this story!**


	46. Chapter 46: Progress

**Hey folks, just wanted to say thanks for checking out Fail4Fun's work. If you haven't, what are you still doing here? Be sure to go to Deviantart and look her up! I've also posted two new original pieces of writing on the site; if you'd like to read, head over to my profile, RadiationSoap, and check'em out! I've got two more announcements to make in the Author's Note, so until then, read on!**

* * *

Chapter 46: Progress

* * *

Four months passed. Construction continued at a record pace. Tower after tower had been raised. High walls connected them, reinforced with titanium. Workers toiled inside. Hammers fell, drills whirred, and clouds of sparks flew all about. Heavy dropships descended with cargo containers. Men unloaded all manner of building materials with cranes, forklifts, and heavy vehicles. Albatrosses and Pelicans created a constant stream from the surface of the planet to the massive fleet above. It never stopped; day and night, the dropships delivered their loads and return for more. From the flagship of the supply fleet, a Phoenix-class colony ship, D20 Heron's descended, deploying hordes of workers, troops, and supplies rather than laying firebases. Men and vehicles paved the tarmacs for multiple runways. Underground, workers tunneled; they dug and picked, expanding the rudimentary tunnel system that had been devised long ago. Shifts changed and changed; men blackened with soot and dust and dirt, stooped, weary, shuffled by clean, robust-looking fellows, ready to take over. Lines and lines of workers milled over the walls, in and out of the bowels of Ridge L, all over the compounds and compounds, on the airfields, and inside the many structures rising up.

All over Ridge L, men dug and hammer and swung their pickaxes. Bunkers were molded and shaped. Those already completed were now being equipped with heavy guns, the barrels now protruding from the bunkers, now being concealed with camouflage netting and bushes, reinforced by logs. From below, it appeared like swarms of ants were clambering, pulsing, and scuttling all over the ridge. Mixers funneled cement into their casings, and workmen, clad in boiler suits, coveralls, and overalls, hard hats atop their heads, breathing masks upon their faces, their legs gray with cement dust, kept working. Slabs were lowered from the winches of so many aircraft buzzing and hovering above their heads. Machines of great size, destroying, digging, grinding, rose between the ranks of men, lifting great swaths of earth and rock. Gigantic brown clouds blew in the cold breeze from from the east. Voices rose high, shouting orders, communicating intentions. In some places among Port Sanchez, the name of the planet now extending to the base, sprawling north and east in the shadow of Ridge L, men sang old work songs.

North along the ridge, the mammoth berths for various ships were being established. Already, the pair of frigates, _Lion's Den_ and _Determined Guardian_ , were nestled in two completed drydocks, being upgraded with extra armor and firepower. Rows of aircraft-VTOL's, dropships, and more-occupied the completed portions of the airfields. It seemed as though with each newly complete section of the port, it was immediately filled with men, vehicles, and supplies. With each new component, came a tunnel system underneath. With the burrowing going inside Ridge L, the ground beneath the port had become a vast honeycomb. Incredible stores of ammunition, clothing, armor, and fuel were being stowed away. Even vehicles, unable to find a place in the motor pools above, were lining the brightly lit tunnels. Some were even suggesting creating some barracks within the tunnels.

Above, heavy artillery pointed in every direction. Extensive, reinforced batteries were located among the grounds, in the walls, in the forward positions. On the lower parts of the walls were many bulwarks, hardpoints, pillboxes, bristling with light and heavy machine guns. Automated turrets swiveled and turned, the standard tri-barrel machine guns augmented with gauss cannons, rocket pods, and mortars that launched bolts of napalm. Sentries stood watch, patrolling the complete portions, looking out among the grasslands. No Covenant were present, but the Army garrison were immediately taking to their duties. Officers and noncommissioned officers, in the towers and turrets of the base, scowled over maps, pointing out terrain, devising multiple plans of defense. Inside the command center, holographic projections of the planet, both its glassed half and the habitable half. Ranking officers pointed and took notes on their data pads. Adjutants and strategists filed from different rooms on different levels of the command center.

The grand tower had been expanded into an imposing spire. Butting out from it were its own hardpoints, reinforced bunkers. Gun barrels, ranging from heavy artillery to anti-tank guns to machine guns of all types, made it more than the port's headquarters. It was its true bastion. Covered, armored bridges connected it with buildings at its sides, allowing troops to ferry into it in the event of a siege. At the top was an anti-aircraft battery, made up of multiple rocket launcher pods, manned by viliglant troopers. Within, it had been outfitted with a variety of operational suites; turret control, fleet operations, ground operations, planetary defense, meteorology, intelligence, logistics, electronic warfare, engineering, operational systems, and more. All of the units from the Marine, Army, Navy, and Air Force elements on the planet had offices in the building, with their own separate headquarters. Even military police units from the Army had been transported and had their headquarters in the compound. And not far from the command center, the great MAC cannon was still being built, but its main body and barrel were already nearing completion, and served as an imposing sight.

Outside the base, with its many lights and towers, new roads stretched out into the grasslands. There were three main highways; the North Road, the South Road, and the East Road. Each led to a forward operating base occupied by an Army regiment. Each was bristling with vehicles, highpowers, and their own high walls, towers, and firepower. The bases were tertiary defenses in case the Covenant decided to attack, but the wide highways facilitated easy movement and quick reinforcement. What's more, tunneling projects between the Port and the three bases, would ensure protection in case of orbital bombardment. Falcons ascended and descended from all three forward bases; Warthogs escorted heavy trucks back and forth along the highways. And workmen were still extending them further.

In between the highways were numerous farmsteads. Already, vast irrigation systems had been installed and the high grasses cleared away. Brown fields now dotted the lands; workers and machines toiled over them. Animals of all kind could be seen on the farms as well. The North road branched further, beyond the base, past the lake, and to a distant ridge, where a heavily defended mining complex had been developed. Already, the natural titanium deposits were being tapped and harvested.

Dark clouds rolled in overhead. Cold rain began to fall. Standing at the top of the command tower, Vivian surveyed the base. She didn't feel the wind nor the rain beginning to mat her dirty blonde hair, loosely tied in a bun. Below, Army troopers drilled in the courtyard of the compound. Sergeants barked orders and berated the men and women. Columns of hundreds upon hundreds of olive-drab colored soldiers marched in and out of the base, within its separate compounds. Looking down at the now reinforced tunnel entrance, she could see the four military police officers standing guard. None of them knew what was down there; nobody but her, Jasmine, Frost and his men, and the science team from _I'm Alone_ knew of its contents.

She gazed at the towers, the lights brimming on every building, the barbed wire lining the walls and tops of each structure. Wind swirled the white smoke rising from the factories, already producing some of their basic equipment. Although her face was grim, she was proud of the work the combined branches and the civilian workers had accomplished in just four months. A report sent by the master builder indicated that the development was ahead of schedule. It was a small slice of of the UNSC; even though the number of men and women on the planet, both military and civilian, was nearing twenty-thousand, it was nothing compared to the likes of Great Bear, Reach, and other worlds that might as well have been fortresses in themselves. Once the building was complete finally complete, the last wave of construction workers would leave with their pockets filled with credits. That was good, Vivian thought. Anything to give back to the people who had lost their homes and livelihoods. Looking at the main hospital in the next compound over, she thought of Jasmine. It was an Army hospital, but Jasmine was the chief medical authority on the planet and had oversaw their design. One of the barracks for the 89th MEU was seated nearby as well. She hoped that Jasmine would visit there after her shift was over; she had been quite stressed with the project and now she finally had some time to relax.

"Captain Waters!"

Vivian turned. Coming up out of the hatch was a face she was glad to see. It was Colonel Lily Amsterdam, now a Major General, whom she had helped during a siege some time ago. Amsterdam had been promoted to Brigadier General after that successful defense, and she had continued to distinguish herself well on several other planets in the time being. Now a Major General, she was assuming command of all Army units on the planet.

Smiling, Vivian clicked her heels together and saluted. Amsterdam outranked her, but she could tell by the general's saunter, full armor, big grin, jagged scars on the right side of her face and temple, and her messy auburn hair, that it wasn't going to be a saluting situation between them.

Amsterdam scoffed and the two shook hands. "I'm surprised they haven't promoted you to Rear Admiral."

"Rear Admiral Travers had tossed the idea around some, but I'd like to get some more experience under my belt first before I taken on a larger command role."

"Pah!" Amsterdam waved her hand. "We need new blood, like you, stirring the pot round' here." She strolled up to the edge, placing her hand on the concrete railing reinforced by sandbags. "When you get used to the enemy, you become complacent. Complacency is the death of strategy. People stop thinking outside the box, the training becomes white noise, and the officer corps stagnates. If we want to win, we need to start seizing the initiative and changing the game."

Vivian couldn't agree more.

Amsterdam cooly surveyed the base, the outlying highways, the farms, and the bases beyond. "It's why I'm here now. I'd rather be here on front of the front, then waiting on some backwater planet for the Covvies to show up." She inhaled deeply, then exhaled. It was cold, and a cloud of white blew from her mouth, and just as quickly dissipated. "This is where I'd like to be," she said, almost mystically. She clapped Vivian on the back. "So, thanks, for selecting me. It's quite the show you're running here."

"Well, seeing as you're here, it's your show now," Vivian said, walking up beside her.

Amsterdam grinned and looked at her sideways.

"Listen, Cap', I might have seniority but you're the head of the Navy round' here. You took this planet back, so as far as I'm concerned, you're in charge just as much as I am. You'll find that the more success you have, the more people will begin to defer to your judgment."

"Why's that?" Vivian asked.

"Because they trust you," Amsterdam said. "I trust you, so let's not rank get in the way of progress, huh?" She jerked a thumb towards the base, stretch north along the ridge. "What's say you gather your operations team and we do a flyover, get a lay of the land?"

Vivian nodded. As Amsterdam began to head back towards the hatch, Vivian took one last look out over the Port. Men, material, vehicles, and aircraft marched and moved, almost as if in tandem. Among the towering armored buildings, the barrels of so many heavy guns, the smokestacks, sandbag checkpoints, barbed wire, and tank traps, the base seemed to move as if a singular machine. Even through the rain, she could hear the the mechanical-sound of hundreds of men, drilling in the rain, stop to salute their commanding officer. It seemed to be a dark world, a world of concrete and metal, and the men constructed just as much. Yet she knew it wasn't true. From her perch she could see the pride in the men as the marched and drilled, the sharpness and accuracy of each turn and movement in the aircraft above, the precision of the convoys rumbling through the roads. Morale was high, the troops were rejuvenated. It was progress.

 _A world of my own design._

###

Vivian joined Amsterdam at the bottom of the ladder. Together, they began walking down the winding stairs of the spire. On their way, they passed bustling officers, adjutants, and specialists. Administrative officers buzzed with conversation and activity. Data pads and folders of paperwork were under the arm of everyone walking by. All stopped to salute both the general and the captain.

As they walked, still soaked from the rain, Amsterdam outlined her plans. "Travers sent me a copy of the defensive plans and orders of battle you developed with your ground commanders in case of an invasion. They look solid, but I was hoping to tweak them myself. By the time this base is finished and the main body of civilians have left, I'll have a full division on the planet, complemented with Rangers and Airborne units. I'll need some more flexibility with the plans."

"By all means. I just wanted to have some templates ready for your arrival."

"And I appreciate that. It's good to keep multi-unit patrols going-men, vehicles, and aircraft, working together. If we keep them moving around, the more familiar they'll become with the land, making defense more tenable. One advantage that we'll always have over the Covenant is knowing the lay of the land. If we don't orientate ourselves then we'll lose our greatest advantage. I'll develop a few plans of action myself. Having more than one plan is good, in case the Covenant render one untenable. I'll be reinforcing the mine though, it's our most distant facility. We need a clear and quick route of evacuation for the miners. Perhaps a tunnel from the complex leading here. Speaking of the tunnels, cap', I took a look at the layouts and found that they don't really have any means of defense. Let's assume the Covvies get in there; they have clear highways into our bases. If it's alright with you, can I devote some of the workforce to start constructing automated defenses and heavy doors that can be closed in case a tunnel is compromised. And! And, and-and-and..."

Vivian liked General Amsterdam. Already it was known that she was a fierce fighter; she had boldly led her men from the front, battling the Covenant side by side with the Marines. But she had hardly been on the planet for an hour and she was already mulling over tactical design and strategies for the troops. By her own words, Vivian mused, she knew how to stir the pot. Amsterdam was boiling over with ideas, spitting them out rapid-fire, and Vivian approved each one. It was easy to conclude that choosing from the pool of candidates that Amsterdam was the right choice. In her absence, the general would ensure that nothing would happen to the Port. Their working relationship would be simple and cordial.

On the way down to the operational center, called Central by some of the more experienced officers, they passed by a small office. Vivian stopped and poked her head in. Within was a tight room with a large window at the rear. In the center was a desk; sitting there was Katz, tapping quickly at his terminal. On his right was a lamp and a pile of paperwork, and to his left a mug of steaming coffee and a data pad. He was wearing his glasses and his hair was messy; his features were tugged by concentration. In the room as well were a few chairs, a stand for a coffee maker, and a couch. A standard Army blanket and a white pillow were splayed across the cushions.

Knocking on the frame of the door, Vivian chuckled as Katz looked up. Stubble grew on his cheeks; it was obvious he hadn't showered that morning.

"How goes it, reporter?" she asked.

"Great. The last article was well received; lot of positive feedback on the quote you gave me. Thanks for that, by the way."

"Have you eaten?"

"Nah."

"Well, do try."

"Yes, ma'am, I will."

On the desk was a small circle platform with a blue bulb in the center. It flash and Decatur appeared.

"Mr. Katz," he greeted, removing his hat and bowing like a gentleman, "I just thought you'd like to know that the miners just discovered the largest titanium vein recorded in the last ten years."

"Ah, thank you Decatur," Katz said, taking a pencil from behind his ear and scribbling a note on a small pad of paper. "That'll make for a good blurb in the next article."

"Glad to be of service."

"You in the news business now, Decatur?" Vivian asked.

"Just helping our newsman, madam!" Decatur said happily before disappearing.

"Katz, try and eat something, and clean up, why don't you? You can take a break, from time to time."

Katz nodded and returned to his typing. Shaking her head, but smiling all the same, Vivian rejoined Amsterdam, who had stopped to confer with an intelligence officer.

Since construction began, Rear Admiral Travers had been badgering her to allow large press teams to embed themselves at the Port. Adamantly, Vivian refused. The last thing she needed were troupes from the biggest news outlets traipsing around the planet. Besides, all they would produce was propagandic garbage the civilian population had been subjected for the past few decades. What they needed was a real depiction of the frontline and the efforts of the UNSC to steam the Covenant tide, and Katz was doing a fine job of that. Every article he sent came across Vivian's desk as well. Each was a simple, short piece, explaining the development and progress of the farms, the mining industry, and some non-classified information about the base. He had done some interviews, talking to Vivian on one occasion, some of the military personnel, and many of the farmers, miners, and construction workers. With permission from his boss back on Earth, he had begun doing weekly video logs and posting them to the extranet. He was very careful not to reveal anything too important, but was providing an insight into the lives of the soldiers and people living there. Some of the officers complained that it was breaching security, but Vivian had reviewed his work and trusted him. Katz, as aloof as he could be, often standing out like a sore thumb in the ranks of troopers, he was meticulous with his work. Besides, it was good for people to see an honest depiction of military life. From what she knew, it was quite popular. Some even joked he was becoming an extranet personality.

Chatting all the way to the center of the spire, they strolled into the massive room. Large screens and monitors were mounted all along the walls of the cylindrical room. Two tiers of desks, one higher than the other, were against the walls, occupied by dozens of specialists. Right in the center were was an enormous square-shaped monitor, showing a two-dimensional image of the planet, the fleet, and the various ground forces. Officers from all branches were gathered around, tapping at their data pads. Among them was Colonel Hayes, conferring with Major Holst and Captain De Vos. All three were dressed in their respective armors, rather than their plain fatigues.

As Vivian and Amsterdam entered the room, everyone stood up, turned in their direction, and saluted.

"As you were," Vivian said loudly when Amsterdam didn't.

"Good to see you again, General Amsterdam," Hayes greeted, shaking her hand.

"Likewise, COlonel."

Vivian explained the situation to the trio, who all agreed. As seconds were dispatched to handle things in their absence, with Captain Kelly in overall command, Hayes cleared his throat.

"Might be prudent to bring along Gunny Frost."

Vivian pursed her lips, but nodded all the same. Amsterdam seemed surprised.

"He's been promoted has he? I remember him quite well. It'll be good to see him."

* * *

"Do it inside..."

Together, they gasped together and their bodies went limp. Frost's weight was comfortable on top of her. His head was tucked next to her's, his face buried in the pillow. Jasmine smiled, contented, and held him tightly. When he raised his head, he was smiling as well. He kissed her on the cheek-a very tender, soft kiss. Then on the nose, on the forehead, and then finally on her lips. A sheen of sweat coated his forehead, as did Jasmine's. Briefly, they closed their eyes and pressed their foreheads together, their noses nuzzling side by side.

After another kiss, Frost rolled over and settled in beside her. Laying side by side, Jasmine and Frost continued to pant. Both were sweating, blushing, smiling, and thoroughly spent. After a moment, they looked at one another and kissed, before turn onto their sides to look at one another.

"I thought you would have have wanted to sleep after a long shift," Frost said to ehr.

Jasmine shrugged. It had been a long night. A slight collapse at the mine had caused a few broken legs and arms. As well, new settlers for the farms were being brought in by the day. To ensure they weren't bringing any contagious diseases with them, Jasmine had to screen every single one. The roster ranged from the elderly to newborns. In fact, a baby had been born just the other day. People were desperate for work, any kind of work, no matter what shape they were in. Despite being rotated to and from the planet to work the fields, a medical profile had to be established for each person. Being the chief medical officer, it was her job to work alongside the head Army doctor to see the task accomplished.

More than anything, it was a tedious, thorough process. Person after person after person; the sheer number was enough to wear everybody down. It was her duty and Jasmine was glad to do it. What truly affected her was seeing so many refugees with the scars of war. Seeing soldiers maimed by combat was one thing. Civilians who had no way of defending themselves was entirely different. Children as young as eight, missing an arm, bound to wheelchairs, or blinded by plasma. Adults with robotic prosthetics, terrible scarring, and restructured faces. Some who had been hit by Covenant carbine rounds who had been immediately treated for the radiation now had cancer. Others had other kinds of sickness resulting from wounds that had been hastily patched up on ill-prepared evacuation ships. Knowing that there still weren't decent infirmary suites on those ships was infuriating to the likes of Jasmine. What's more, having lost their homes, jobs, belongings, and money, refugees often couldn't afford to pay for medicine. The UNSC distributed as much supplies as they could offer, and planetary governors often started housing projects, providing financial stipends, space, work, or at the very least food. But the burden was too much to bear and not only planets could provide only one service. Refugees often had to be forced off-world, hopping from planet to planet until all help was exhausted. Those who could afford traveling to Earth were better off.

Had it occurred, Jasmine though, to anyone in HIGHCOM that a proper refugee transportation and care system ought to be established? It was 2542; the war had been going on for nearly two decades. Still, there was no set system. Focus was on the military, and it had to be. But leaving refugees to fend for themselves with limited government help? It wasn't right.

Jasmine sighed. She didn't want to feel unhappy. Frost seemed to understand. He reached over and brushed her cheek with his hand. Wrapping his now healed arm around her, he brought her close, so her face was against his chest and her head was tucked under his chin. Whenever he did that, Jasmine would sigh happily. Her hand traveled along his back, feeling the marks from countless wounds. Slowly, she traced them, circled around them. Laying there in Frost's quarters, the world outside was nonexistent. Even the rain which had been pleting the window ceased to make any noise. Or perhaps it was just letting up. She didn't know, and she didn't care. Being able to detach was wonderful.

His hand traversed the curve of her body. It made her skin tingle and send pleasant chills up her spine. Nothing was more peaceful than being there together, their bare bodies entangled in one another, the blanket hardly on them, their hair absolutely messy. All of their clothes were scattered on the floor, save for their black boots, placed in a neat road by the end of the bed. Nestling into his chest, Jasmine breathed him in, that wood smell of his.

He readjusted and kissed her on the forehead. "Why don't you try to get some sleep? I don't have to be anywhere for awhile."

"No," Jasmine whispered, "I don't want to sleep."

"What do you want to do, then?"

Jasmine smirked and climbed on top of him.

"Again?" he laughed.

She folded her arms, letting her hands sit upon one another on his chest, and rested her chin on her knuckles.

"No, I'd like to talk."

"About what?" He reached forward and began playing with her black hair, which had grown back more than ever. It was now coming down to her shoulders again.

"I was thinking about your Albatross, for the raids. They're very large dropships, and can serve as command centers if deployed on the ground."

"A temporary CP isn't much good on a raid."

"What about during a raid like the first one, when you're on your own without support? Wouldn't it make sense to have one?"

"I'd have to leave a team to defend it, leaving us understrength in whatever op we're pulling."

"Add more men."

"I've already got around thirty, I think that's enough."

"It might be worth adding a security team, especially if your Albatross can house critical casualties."

Frost's eyebrows rose. Something about him twitched, as if he were dog, sniffing for some good thing on the wind. He raised his head and looked at her quizzically. Jasmine smiled. "Why don't we outfit your Albatross with a special medical suite, outfitted with advanced life support systems. If you sustain a casualty that can't be treated by the corpsmen, then they can be housed there until further notice."

The sergeant pursed his lips as Jasmine continued. "Of course, you'd need a small medical team, no more than four or five people. Very skilled people. You'd need really good doctors, and I could drum up a roster for you to-"

"You're not coming with us on raids."

"I didn't say-"

"You were getting around to it," Frost sighed. "I appreciate you wanting to pitch in, but it wouldn't be fitting for the chief doctor in the whole fleet to be gone for days, or even weeks, on a high risk op. You're too important to the Corsairs." He took a long, melancholy breath. "And to me."

Jasmine straightened herself, straddling him. She look at him sternly.

"I'm an adult and officer, Nathaniel. I can make my own decisions. Besides, I outrank you."

"Experience means a hell of a lot more than rank, darling," he said, folding his hands behind his head. He smiled as his eyes traveled up and down her slender frame. Jasmine grinned wryly. She reached to the small metal stand beside the desk and grabbed her glasses. Pushing them up her nose, she then grabbed her data pad.

"See here," she said, pulling up a photo of a drawing she had done. "I did some basic designs on my own time. With some modifications, some of the space in the Albatross could be used for the medical outlet."

"Space that could be otherwise used for supplies, men, or vehicles..." Frost said, rubbing his forehead.

"It could save lives," Jasmine said, firmly. Frost groaned. He looked at her, somewhat plainly.

"Is it enough to save some poor kid missing an army and a leg?" Before Jasmine could speak, Frost continued. "I'm not taking you on raids, Jas. You could end up being that poor kid, torn and maimed, bleeding and mewling his last in the dirt."

"So could you," Jasmine said, sadly.

Frost blinked, then chuckled.

"I knew an American once. He told to me a quote from one of his presidents, from long ago, talking to his main general. When the general said he worried his army was too green, that president said they were, and so was he-they were all green."

"What happened to him?"

"Don't know."

Jasmine put her data pad down on the stand, heaved a sigh, and rubbed her arms.

"I may be a doctor, but I'm a soldier too, you know."

Frost smiled kindly and had her lay down upon his chest once more.

"I know you are. I remember seeing you on the firing line at Camp Havens. Seems like centuries ago, doesn't it? What a fight. I'm moving up and down the lines, in out of firing pits and foxholes, over and back across the sandbags. Suddenly I see you, cycling that pistol, dressed in my shirt, your hair wild. You looked more like a warrior than a soldier," he laughed. "That was a good fight." He looked up, concerned. "I don't mean to be insensitive, I know that's when you were wounded.

Jasmine smiled and shook her head, then traced a circle around his chest.

"That was a horrible night, though."

"We came out alright."

"I think about what you said to me sometimes." A shiver ran through her, piercing her center like an icy sword. _You get surrounded, you put the barrel of that pistol in your mouth and shoot yourself._ "That night I realized I was actually in a war. It wasn't some far off thing in the distance, not a series of communiques coming from planetside. I was right there, looking at it. If everybody back home could see what I saw that night, everybody would be in uniform."

Frost grimaced. His arms tightened around her. Gently, his fingers felt the blotchy scars from the burns. Jasmine propped herself up once more and looked at him. "You told me that as if it were all business. So coolly, emotionless. Have you seen that before?"

He nodded.

"Once, we were at a forward operating base. The position was falling. We were all racing back to a convoy waiting for us at the end of the camp. It was a mad dash through tents and prefab buildings. I ended up going through a one-story hospital. The doctors there knew they couldn't get the wounded out in time, so they were..." he chewed his bottom lip. "...they were putting them to sleep. I ran through. The Covenant were right behind me. When I got out through the other side, I could here sidearms going off. I could see through the windows, the docs shooting their patients and then themselves."

"I'd die before I'd do such a thing to my patients," Jasmine said, her voice stoney. Frost cupped her cheek.

"It won't come to that, as long as you're not on the ground. Leave the fighting to me." He grinned, exposing that missing tooth. "It's what I'm made for, after all."

"You were made for many things," Jasmine said, touching his cheek. Frost had grown his beard back in full. She had decided to live with that mustache of his, no matter how much it tickled. "Fighting's just one."

"What else then?" Frost smirked. Jasmine kissed him, gently at first. Then, as their hands began to grip one another's hair and cheeks, it became more heated and intense. Eventually, Jasmine, staring into his eyes, broke away, and reached down. Just as they began to sigh, there was a knock on the door. Frustrated, Jasmine dropped down and groaned into Frost's neck, while he turned red with anger.

He sat up. "Who the hell is it!?"

"Captain Waters," came the slow response. Jasmine and Frost both sat up then, exchanging a surprised glance. Before he could speak, the captain continued. "General Amsterdam has arrived and is requesting presence of the primary commanders for a flyover of the surrounding area. Gather your gear and meet us at pad two."

"Yes, ma'am," Frost muttered. They heard a few footsteps drawing away, then they returned.

"You're invited too, Jasmine." And then she departed. Jasmine blushed and Frost scratched the top of his head.

###

After dressing, Jasmine and Frost headed down the corridor. She had donned her turtleneck sweater and white lab coat, which was buttoned up. Frost was in his fatigues and armor. The barracks was a rather plain attraction. Gray walls, gray floors, artificial sunlight fixtures above. A few boards were hung up at the entrances to the common rooms. Some notices were pinned to them, but mostly it was just pictures of naked women. Walking, they found Frost's squad, all dress comfortably in their fatigues or in black shorts and green t-shirts. A couple smoked, others drank coffee, Moser was reading from his Bible, Grant from a _STARS_ magazine, and Carris and Knight were cooking in the small kitchen.

"So just flip it...nice. Need to make sure both sides cook properly," he was saying.

Everyone looked up and said their hellos.

"Morning. Where's Steele?" asked Frost.

"In his room, I think," Bishop answered, puffing on a cigarette. Frost talked with them a little bit. Jasmine's attention was drawn to Nora Langley, sitting in an armchair by the window. Her legs were drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them, and she rested her chin on her knees. Looking out the window, she had a certain absence in her appearance. Distance from the crowd. It brought back memories of school. She remembered rainy days like this one when she was younger. Everyone in class would complain that they couldn't go outside and play except for her. She easily content herself with a book or an assignment. Nobody bothered her, which was fine by her. Although no one ever joined her either, which was disheartening. Still, it wasn't surprising; on good days she retreated to the library anyways.

As Frost spoke with his squad, she went over and knelt in front of Langley.

"Good morning," she said. "How are you?"

After releasing a sigh, Langley looked at her.

"I'm alright, doc."

"You don't look it."

"I'm just thinking."

"Has coming to my office been helping you?"

"I guess."

"Then why don't you come by again tomorrow? Let's say ten-hundred hours?"

"Sure."

Jasmine patted her on the knee then went back over to Frost. The others glanced in their airman's direction uneasily.

"Reminds me of me after the blockhouse," Bishop grunted as he removed his cigarette and took a gulp of coffee. He had come back for office visits too. Even now he was still processing the nightmare he was in. Hiding oneself in a pile of bodies, human, alien, or otherwise, was enough to damage the nerves. All the same, he was making good progress, fantastic progress. The fact that after only a few visits he was functioning at full capacity in the team again was excellent. Flashbacks were still a problem, as they were for any soldier who had been in combat for as long as he. Jasmine was glad that instead of turning to drink-she knew they had their stockpile of whiskey somewhere-he would come visit her or try to orientate himself. Drinking, he had joked, was for down time only.

Nora Langley was processing everything well but her bleakness resulted not just from her close friend's death. Borko was still singled out as a point of anger. While the others in the team were staying relatively neutral in this minor conflict, which she was glad for, Jasmine understood Langley's side of it. Her days as PJ in training weren't lost on her. Training to become an operator who parachuted into enemy territory to evacuate and operate on wounded personnel didn't just go away. Not to mention she had a peculiar notion of care. It was easy to see. Being taken away from somebody in need was enough to make anybody like that furious. As such, she and Borko often couldn't be in the same room without her dirty glares or some remarks on his character. Some of her rough comrades said it was unjustified, but that was irrelevant to Jasmine. What mattered was how the radio operator felt, not whether she was right or wrong. Dealing with emotion came first.

Frost motioned for her to follow and they exited the common room. He left Carris and Knight in charge, much to the exaggerated chagrin of the others. Those two, he would joke, were the only grown ups in the squad. Everyone would jeer or laugh, including Jasmine. She wondered what it was like for a man like Knight, the oldest of his squad. Only a fraction of the 89th Marines had wives or sweethearts back home. Fewer still had children. Leaving one's family-parents and siblings-was one thing. Having to part from one's spouse and children was entirely different. In her eyes, Knight's kind nature and level-headedness was a product of his family. He had something to lose, by losing himself. Being smart was the only way he was going to escape from the war with his life.

As they approached Steele's door, it suddenly opened. A young woman in Army fatigues walked out, turned slightly, winked, and went on her way. The door closed behind her. Frost and Jasmine watched her disappear down the hall.

"He doesn't waste much time," Jasmine remarked.

"Trust me, she wasn't his first while we were here," Frost mumbled, rolling his eyes. But he rapped his knuckles on the door and then began to sing:

" _Oliver Cromwell,_

 _Lord Protector of England,_

 _And-his-warts!_

 _Born 1599 and_

 _Died in 1658_

 _Sept-em-ber!"_

The door swung open and Steele, clad in nothing but Marine-issue boxers, appeared. He had one hand planted on the door, the other clenched into a fist.

" _What!?_ " He hollered.

"We're doing a flyover of the planet for the general. You're my second in command, so hop to it."

"Why do I have to come?"

"Because I said so," Frost answered pleasantly. Steele rubbed his forehead, groaning.

"But it's been such a pleasant morning," he whined.

"You should get tested," Jasmine muttered.

"We need to make a good impression on the general," Frost said.

"I'd recommend _not_ taking me," Steele said, trying to close the door. Frost wedged his foot in between the frame and the corner of the door, then put a hand on the side.

"Today you have to act like a Marine. Get your gear and let's go."

Groaning like a grumpy teenager, Steele shrank back in. A few minutes later, he returned in his fatigues and armor, his thick blonde hair neatly combed. He glared at his old friend with his vibrant blue eyes and bean leading the way.

"You get her name?" Frost teased. Steele slapped his shoulder.

"Sod off."

"I'll take that as a no," Frost laughed, as did Jasmine. Walking in between her and Steele, Frost put an arm around both of them as they went down the hall.

* * *

Down on the airfield, Vivian tugged the collar over tunic tighter. The rain finally let up, although the air still held the moisture. Air was so peculiar before and after a rain. It was one thing for the ground and pavement to be soaked and glistening, but the very air was heavy, thick, and damp. Such a sensation wasn't so much as feeling a wet rag pressed against the cheek. Rather, it was more like a cool breath. As the wind came, slow and soothing, she was reminded of Skopje. After the snows, the rainy season came. Dark clouds would roll in from over the mountain, casting a tremendous shadow over the flatlands beyond Lionel City, and then would reach the limits. Many of the more traditional inhabitants of the city perceived bad luck or poor omens accompanying the rains and clouds. Sure, it was a downer she and her friends couldn't go out bike riding or skateboarding, unless someone wanted to have their face pelted with rain. But she appreciated the time.

Those rainy months were for staying in doors with the family. As a young child, she would stay by her window and read voraciously. Books of history, philosophy, science, mathematics, and more. Sometimes she set those aside for stories of fantasy and adventure. On rare occasions, she would accept the young adult novels; those coming of age stories. One very old story stood out in her mind; a girl from the Balkans, caught in civil war, was forced to become a child soldier. During this time she saw many atrocities, and lost many friends. Her parents had been executed, and her younger sister sent away. Such a thought made her shiver.

Would the Covenant chance upon Skopje one day? If they didn't stop the Covenant, it was only inevitable. Could they find every single human world out there? The answer was an obvious yes, but it be a slow, agonizing process. Humanity's strict observance of the Cole Protocol had prevented the location of Earth and her colonies from falling into the hands of the enemy. Or, perhaps it was mere luck. Either way, the Covenant would have to spend decades scouring the galaxy if they hoped to extinguish every bastion of humanity. Centuries of exploration had carried them to countless, countless systems.

Still, it was a bitter pill to swallow. No matter how many armies were destroyed and fleets burned, the Covenant seemed infinite. At the moment, so did humanity. Attrition warfare was the most brutal ever waged. Both sides would throttle each other until the other had no more men, materials, and spirit left. Who would drop first? Vivian put her bet on humanity, but it was difficult not to be pessimistic. The Covenant had time on their side, and their interest into the galaxy map below Ridge L gave her suspicion that they were not solely hell-bent on genocide. Were they searching for more instruments like that? Were there different kinds out there, not just maps, but weapons? Vivian couldn't be sure, although in the end, she didn't quite care. Her business wasn't searching for shiny toys in the dark. It was with the Covenant she desired to meet, match, and check.

She turned her gaze to General Amsterdam. The middle-aged senior officer seemed quite spritely. With one foot braced on the floor of the Falcon, she swapped war stories with Colonel Hayes, Major Holst, and Captain De Vos. Vivian was unsure if she wanted to divulge the details of the map inside Ridge L to her. Was concealing the item of interest breaking any rules, conducts, or codes? Rundstrom had assured her she wasn't, though she didn't trust all he had to say. ONI operators could never be considered trustworthy, even one so praised by Travers. Just the other day, Captain Kelly had warned him of his character. _The only thing that man enjoys more than women and drink is sifting through the dark contents of this galaxy._ He wouldn't leak the secret, that could be sure, because he enjoyed playing his handlers. But Vivian couldn't risk having her base taken over by ONI as a dig site or some kind of science lab. If they caught wind of it, she would have her base of operations stripped away from her and they would lose their autonomy. All of their work would be for nothing. Amsterdam was a good soldier and a good leader, but would she report the finding to the proper authorities? Vivian hoped she wouldn't, and wondered if someone else, someone more soldiery, could break the news and assure her of the importance of the map.

"Here they come," somebody said. Three figured crossed the tarmac, which was shiny in lights on either side. Frost was accompanied by his second, Steele. Both were clad in their armor, save for their helmets, and carried their weapons. The former held his assault rifle equipped with an ACOG scope, and the other his trademark sniper rifle. Jasmine was there as well, she was wearing her olive drab turtleneck sweater underneath her lab coat. Vivian, clad in her heavy gray tunic, hoped her friend would be warm enough on the trip.

As soon as General Amsterdam spotted the trio, a big grin tugged at her lips, and she stepped away from the others. Like a proper soldier, Frost stopped and saluted. Disinterested as he was, Sergeant Steele also followed his lead, as did Jasmine. Amsterdam saluted while she marched over.

"Comrade," she greeted, extended her hand. Frost took it, and they brought each other, bumping shoulders whilst giving the other a firm pat. Vivian was reminded of what Frost said to her several months earlier on the bridge.

"General, glad to see you're still kicking ass."

"Sam to you," Amsterdam said, then brushed the stripes and bars on his shoulder pauldron. "I see you've been promoted. Hayes tells me you're bringing the Raiders back to life."

"Nothing official yet, but maybe one day," Frost shrugged modestly.

"Well, you've done a hell of thing. You ought to be proud of your men."

"It's good you're here. We need someone like you."

Amsterdam chuckled. Vivian watched a small movement take place between them. Each had curled their hand into a loose fist and bumped it against the other's chest plate, just above the abdomen. It was a quick, though seemingly tender motion. An acknowledgement of comradeship and capabilities.

The general glanced at Steele, who had started smoking a cigarette. She jerked a thumb at him.

"This leatherneck make a good sergeant?"

"Sure does, though he won't admit it," Frost said. Steele shrugged, smirking. Then Amsterdam looked at Jasmine curiously.

"I don't think I've met you before."

"Lieutenant Commander Jasmine Ebrahimi, chief medical officer of the _I'm Alone_ ," Jasmine greeted professionally. They shook hands.

"I've distributed your textbook to my medical corps before. For someone as young as you, you hit the ground running."

"Thank you, ma'am."

General Amsterdam, arms akimbo, looked at the individuals around her. Her eyes were very sharp and they had a studious appearance. After a few moments, not particularly tense ones, she inhaled slowly and smiled. She seemed impressed and satisfied.

"Well, why don't we get this show on the road?" she announced. With that, everyone clambered into the two Falcons. Hayes and Holst piled into the second Falcon with some of Amsterdam's command staff, while Amsterdam herself got into the first VTOL with Vivian, Frost, Steele, Jasmine, and De Vos. Taking the two rear seats, Vivian and Amsterdam sat side by side. Jasmine took the single seat behind the cockpit. With the side-guns removed, De Vos took the left side, and Steele the right. There was enough room for Frost to sit on the floor on the right side, next to Jasmine. As he settled in, he drew one leg up but kept the other flat. His black boot was now between Vivian's feet. Slowly, she looked down at him. Frost didn't seem to notice as he put on a headset, then gave one to Jasmine, then to Steele. Lastly, he handed one to Vivian.

"Here, Captain," he grunted just as the propellers of the Falcon began to turn and the engines began to hum.

###

The Falcons swooped over grassy fields, ridges, and forests. Over the huge tracts of land, the sound of their engines were carried. To a distant observer, they were just two specks, banking, ascending, descending, over the landscape.

In the leading Falcon, Vivian looked out and studied the terrain as she had done for four months. Amsterdam was doing the same on the left side, taking notes on a pad of paper as if she were a detective.

It felt good to get out of the base. Having to oversee the massive building operation, as rewarding as it was, was extremely tedious. There was always another report, another update, another request for manpower and materials. Waves of workers coming in, waves leaving. The process was well-oiled and there had been no snags since the first ships arrived. But it was only due to the diligent nature of everyone involved. As a result, many officers had little time to sit down for proper meals or get enough sleep. Many military matters had fallen to second-in-commands and other lower ranks. If it weren't for the excellent organization capacity of the officers throughout her task force, she would have had to micro-manage everything. Unlike the armies of history, they did not require a single, strong, personality to lead them.

Vivian felt something bump against her book. She looked down and saw it was Frost's own boot. The Falcon was banking again; each time, his foot would slide to the left side. It an annoying reminder of the man sitting across from her.

Frost's thick, brown hair was billowing in the wind as his eyes scanned the terrain. Occasionally, he would raise his assault rifle and gaze through the scope. There was no Covenant presence on the surface; orbital scans and constant patrolling had seen to that. Everyone was wary, however. Why the Covenant hadn't come back, no one knew. Hopefully, their ruse had done the job. But if the alien menace was attempting to burn humanity from the Milky Way, why hadn't they come back? They knew there was a UNSC presence on the planet. Did they not care? Were they biding their time, building up a massive fleet? It didn't matter; when they came, they'd meet stiff opposition.

Again, the Falcon banked, this time to the right. Frost's foot bumped against her ankle. She shut her eyes for a moment. He was just used to being packed into various aircraft with other Marines. Falcons were Army birds but during a planetary defense, soldiers utilized whatever transport was available.

When she opened her eyes again, she caught Frost looking back at her. His eyes were a metal gray. Vivian looked away, but it was impossible not to look back. He was still looking at her. Mixed emotions began to fill her chest. Curiosity roiled with anger. Suddenly, she felt very insecure, vulnerable. Folding her arms over her chest, she looked away and shut her eyes. All sound and thought drifted away until she could hear the five, screeching voices. White eyes, black forms, splashed with blood-they tugged, shoved, dug their nails, wrapped their hands around her arms, legs, and neck. Five different voices, begging for the same reason. No, not begging: demanding. Blood for blood, an eye for an eye, one life that equaled five.

Somebody's hand grabbed her knee and gave it a jostle. Vivian opened her eyes and saw Jasmine leaning over. The doctor appeared concerned. It was bad if they could tell, Vivian thought. She gave her a thumbs-up all the same. When she turned her gaze to Frost again, he tapped the side of his headset, then held up four fingers. After a moment, she realized what he was asking.

Switching to channel four-a private channel-she kept her eyes on him.

"What is it, Ripper?" she asked him.

"You don't look well."

"Why do you care?" she snapped, secure that no one else could hear them over the roar of the propellers and their private connection.

"You ain't looked good since we showed up. There something you want to say to me?" he asked.

She and Frost had been staying clear of one another since their meeting with Rundstrom. Practically, there had been little reason for it. Despite his prominence within the 89th, now leading the unofficial Marine Raiders, she had little use for a gunnery sergeant. Hayes had been pushing for a promotion to master sergeant to lead him up the track to master gunnery sergeant, which would see him in the command center more often, but Frost had been adamant that he didn't want the rank. It was only a matter of time that Hayes got his way, Vivian knew. Frost had served for a long time but he had jumped up the ladder rather quickly thanks to his commanding officer's insistence. In peacetime, it would have been considered unorthodox, even a breach of conduct to promote a young man so quickly. However, the 89th was not the typical line unit and humanity had never fought a war such as this. Bending or overlooking some hierarchical rules was acceptable if it served a purpose. Experienced non-commissioned officers were always needed; they were the backbone of the infantry.

Vivian was about to switch to the common channel when she glanced over at Amsterdam. Her earlier concern returned. Swallowing her pride, she looked back at him.

"I need your help."

She waited for a mocking tone. _Oh? The great and powerful Captain Ahab needs my help?_

"With what?  
"General Amsterdam is assuming command of overall operations of the Port so we can get back out there. I've left strict orders for the military police to prevent all unauthorized personnel from entering the map chamber. I must inform her of what's in there, but I don't think she'll understand the effects it will have if it comes from the likes of me. I'm asking that you speak to her, soldier to soldier, and explain the significance of keeping it hidden for the time being is more beneficial than sharing it with ONI."

Frost pursed his lips.

"It might reflect poorly on your personage if you don't tell her yourself."

"I trust her, and she trusts me, but I'm worried that this might fracture our firm footing. You're both infantrymen, and can understand one another better than I ever could."

Frost thought for a moment, looking out at the passing landscape below them. Eventually, he nodded. Relieved, albeit somewhat, Vivian nodded in return. The rest of the flyover passed without incident.

###

Later that day, Vivian found herself inside the map chamber. She had activated it once more, illuminating the chamber in bright light. The science team was away for the moment, having gone back up to the _I'm Alone_ to check on the experimental reactors. Nearly sitting in the middle of the projection, she gazed up at the stars and planets.

More and more, she found herself drawn to this mysterious room. Despite their best efforts, the science team were rather unsure of what its purpose was or who built it. Then again, they were more machinists and engineers, than experts on non-human equipment. Even Tane, the Covenant expert, couldn't make heads or tales of it. It mattered little to Vivian. There was a calming aura in the lights and the projection. Immersing herself in detached her from the outside world. Deep within Ridge L, she didn't hear anything military. No drilling soldiers, no rumbling vehicles, no buzzing VTOL's. A strange, pleasant quiet was to be found in the chamber. A quiet, electric hum resonated throughout the room. Blue lights coursed throughout the smooth, metal panels of the walls. When she sat on the floor, pressing her hands to the cool metal, she could feel a certain energy. It was as if the whole chamber were subtly pulsing. Not so much as if it were alive, but that it was coursing with some kind of power. Yet, a power that was not intense or overbearing.

She came here to think, to ponder, to wonder. If the war ever came to a close, she would spend the rest of her days finding these unmarked planets. Frost was wrong: it would be quite the adventure. Traversing the stars without fear of hostile fleets and planets bristling with plasma weaponry. Wasn't that any captain's dream? Uneasily, she laid back on the metal flooring and folded her hands on her center. As much as she desired to go on such voyages, the lack of risk disappointed her, and she found that quite strange. Who would enjoy looking for a fight? Certainly, she did. She was itching to return to the voids of space, searching for juicy targets to attack and plunder. Everyone was. Recalling what Travers had said bothered her thought. The challenge of warfare, intoxicating though it was, was off-put by what would come after the war. If they won, there'd still be rebels and splinter factions left to fight. Vivian couldn't stomach bringing harm to other people. The _Best of the Best_ had been a lucky series of events. Through tact, bluff, and stalling, they had been able to dispel the mutineers and restore the loyal crew without loss of life. If it happened again, she couldn't be sure events would unfold the same way.

Would she handle it different? Was she the same person that stepped onto the _Best of the Best_? Was she the same woman who had left Skopje? What she knew for sure was that the girl who had lived happily before that terrible night, six years ago on a rainy winter night, was certainly gone. Gone was goodness, bliss, and joy, replaced by anger, hate, and pain. It saddened her that she couldn't work past it. In fact, it was infuriating. How much better would life be, she wondered, if she could just let go. She could sleep through the night, dain to smile at the footsoldiers under her command, and finally focus on the tasks she set for herself. But when she entertained such an idea, they came back, clawing and prodding and screeching.

"Captain Waters?" a gruff voice said in her earpiece. She sat up. It was one of the MP's providing security at the entrance.

"Yes? Go ahead."

"I've got a Captain Kelly here, requesting permission to enter so he can speak with you. He's unauthorized but he's insistent."

Vivian was surprised. Kelly? What did he want?"

"Let him come in. I grant him authorization."

"Yes, ma'am."

It wasn't along before he walked into the chamber. By this time, Vivian stood up, the light behind her. Wide-eyed, Kelly slowly approached. Vivian explained everything; the crucial Covenant asset, the cover-up, the importance of why it had to remain hidden. A part of her was anxious to tell him, but she trusted Kelly even more than Amsterdam.

Kelly's shock was overcome by amazement. A smile split his calm face as he walked into the thick of the projection. He marveled at the accuracy, pointed out the same undiscovered worlds and systems she had. Vivian smiled as he walked around, exploring. The usual cool, contained emotion and posture of the veteran captain dissipated as his own love for navigation surfaced. He pulled out his data pad, began running a program on the screen, and began setting up trajectories for slipspace travel, entertaining coordinates, planning journey's. Vivian began to grin, then laugh, at the captain's giddiness.

Eventually, he slowed down and tucked set his data pad down on the floor. Vivian retook her seat on the floor, her knees pulled close to her chest, and watched.

"This is incredible," Kelly said. "Hell, if we were ever in danger of losing Earth, we could just pack everybody up and move to a whole new system."

"I wish it were that easy," Vivian chuckled. She had run him through the method of manipulating the star map. With a few swift hand gestures, he pulled up Earth. He blew up the projection of green and blue planet, then turned until he was looking at the continent of Australia. After staring longingly for a few moments, he sighed.

"One day soon I hope to visit home again. Shore leave is nice but it doesn't come up to home, in my eyes."

"Agreed."

Vivian was beginning to enjoy and rely upon this man more and more. Reserved as he was, Kelly was an excellent starship captain, an able officer, and a capable administrator. Throughout the past four months, they had worked side by side to see the plans she created fulfilled. Whenever she found herself getting groggy, he'd be there with a mug of coffee. Black. At times when she was driven to stress and annoyance by the construction bosses, he'd be there to act as a voice of reason. And when her strength finally dissipated, he brought a blanket and pillow to her office and took over operations. She trusted him.

He was a reliable, reliable man. He was a doer, able to complete any task set before him. When she had first selected him for a promotion, she was certain he was the right man for the job. Solak, when he was brought aboard, voiced misgivings about Kelly. As a commander, he did not press his previous captain into action during the Battle of Ambition. Vivian didn't see that as a smear on his record; Kelly had done his best and his commanding officer had still refused. His persistence in a lesser position meant a lot more to Vivian than anything else.

Kelly smiled at her.

"Tell me about your home, Captain."

"Well, Skopje's sort of like this one. It's a bit cold, very green, there's lots of snow and rain. Despite being an Inner Colony world it's still pretty unsettled. Lionel City is the most industrious city and there's a lot of rail lines connecting what few cities there are. All of them hug the coast. Inland, you'll find very thick forests and mountains. Some people try farming but it's tough, because it snows and rains for a good part of the year. Summer and spring are very short."

By this time, Kelly had pulled up Skopje. The mostly dark green world turned slowly. He gazed at it intently.

"Your world has a dark charm about it," he said. Vivian couldn't help but agree with that as well. "Your planet's named after the city in Macedonia, right?'

"Mhm."

"That where your elders come from?"

"Yes. They always told me about the grand bazaars, all the fine restaurants, the vibrant nightlife in the old city."

"Ever think you might go there?"

"Maybe. I've never had much inclination to visit Earth."

"Go to the old cities, find the small towns, you'll see what makes the planet the heart of humanity." He pulled Earth up again, sighed sadly, then came over and sat beside Vivian. "I hope I can see it again someday."

"I'll make sure you do," Vivian said quietly, though she smiled to lighten the weight of such words. Kelly chuckled.

"I know you will. Maybe one day we'll have a drink on your world, and another on mine."

"As long as it's a strong drink."

"Where I'm from, it's always strong."

Sitting together, they were quiet for some time. Vivian glanced over at him as he looked over the planets before them. A thought crossed her mind, and before she could even process it, she voiced it.

"Kelly, have you ever hated someone for something they did that...may not have, necessarily, been totally wrong?"

The question felt awkward, silly, and stupid in her mouth. Nonetheless, he seemed rather surprised by the question. Furrowing his brow and chewing his bottom lip, he took some time to think it over. He may have been the wrong man to ask; he was too calm, too collected, to stoop to her kind of anger. She could admit such a thing. Level-headedness was something she strived to keep and she failed just as many times as she succeeded, even before she became an officer. Kelly didn't seem to have that problem from what she could see.

"No one really comes to mind," he said.

"What about the girl you were going to marry? The man she left you for?"

He shrugged.

"Honestly, that's my fault. That girl didn't want to be a Navy officer's wife and I told her she wouldn't have to be. And look what happened." He shook his head. "My fault."

"She should have waited."

"Who are we to say what another should or shouldn't do when it comes to our emotions? You can tell someone you oughtn't feel this, you shouldn't feel this way, but more often than that, they're going to feel that way. I wanted her to wait, but in the end, I had no control. I made my choice, and she made her's. Now she's better off for it."

"Are you sure about that?"

"At least now she doesn't run the risk of getting a letter explaining how her husband so valiantly gave his life for humanity and her colonies. Saves her some heartache." He nodded a little, then glanced at her. "Hate's strong, but it can be fleeting. I'm sure whoever's troubling you won't trouble you for much longer."

Vivian highly doubted that.

* * *

"So you see, General, if we don't want ONI coming here and fucking us, it's better to keep it underground for the time being," Frost said with the wave of his cigarette. Amsterdam, sitting behind her desk, stubbed her cigarette out.

Frost cleared his throat as he waited for her response. The general folded her hands together and stared at him, sternly. Despite her hardened gaze she had a civil posture about her, rather than the cocksure way she rocked and swayed when she walked. She was a soldier's soldier, a fighting general, that much was very clear. To see her behind that desk was quite the shock. All the same, Frost felt nervous, and he was never one to feel such a way. Staring down the maws of a thousand aliens was preferable at that moment than withstanding her eyes.

Sitting up a bit more, her expression finally softened.

"I'm in agreement, Gunny."

Frost would have breathed a sigh of relief but he simply nodded. He thought he was about to be dismissed, but she didn't say the words. "Although, I'm wondering why Waters isn't here right now and you are."

 _Fuck me._

"To be honest, general, she thought it'd make more sense if I told you. A proper soldier's talk."

Amsterdam laughed loudly.

"Then the young captain knows what she's about then!"

Frost blinked. The general got up and went to her large duffel bag, sitting on the brown leather couch on the left side of the room. Like most of the offices in the command spire, it was a gun-metal gray color, with a few windows overlooking the base, complemented by some framed photographs and paintings, the odd plant, a few chairs. Unlike the metal desks in most of the other officers, Amsterdam had apparently insisted on a polished oak desk.

Out of the duffel, she pulled a bottle of whiskey. Taking off the cap, she took a swig, and handed it to Frost. Still confused, Frost took a swig himself, then handed it back. "Waters knows we have our own way of speaking. That's good. Means she trusts us to handle things on our own."

"I suppose so...yes, ma'am," Frost said slowly.

"I like Waters, she's young but she's got fire in her belly. I can't think of anybody else besides Admiral Cole himself of pulling off something like this." She motioned up and around them. "This is the biggest military movement I've seen in some time. It'll be a game-changer, I know it."

Frost scratched his bearded chin.

"You're not insulted?"

"Insulted? Fucking hell, boy, why would I be insulted? I'm rather complimented she sent you up here. Not too often you get to have words with a _living_ Medal of Honor recipient, these days."

"Oh, well, that medal belongs to the Corps, not to me," Frost said, looking off. Camp Havens and the battle for the turret control center came back in vivid flashes. Jasmine's burned back, the Jackal phalanx, the bareknuckle slugging in the rifle pits, fighting with gun and blade in the basement. How strange, he thought, that soldiers who had fought like rats, desperately clawing for survival, should be awarded such prestigious medals.

"Spoken like a true soldier," Amsterdam said, taking another swig as she sat down on the edge of her desk, still clad in her armor. "Did you hear a motion to allow soldiers to receive high awards multiple times got denied?"

"No, I didn't."

Frost took the bottle from her and took another drink, sitting in the chair in front of her desk.

"Yeah...Waters will go far. Very far, I think. It'll be a long war."

"We won't get out until twenty-five-hundred-and-seventy-four," Frost chuckled, remembering a song the kids from the program used to sing on the march. Amsterdam snickered. Then she leaned in.

"Although, there's one thing I do want to know. What's there between you and Waters?"

Frost's smile disappeared.

"What?"

"Don't _what_ me, boy. It quite clear to my eyes that you and her don't have much affection towards one another, just as plain as you and the good doctor do have."

Frost blushed. Amsterdam grinned. "I see all, sergeant. She's quite the catch, that Dr. Ebrahimi. Pretty, good-natured, and she can out-think you and I any day of the week. Never mind the frat-regs. But Waters...she doesn't like you much."

"Nor I her," Frost admitted, "but I respect her well enough."

"She and the doc are good friends. Some kind of lover's quarrel I need to know about?"

"No, nothing of the sort."

"Then why don't you enlighten me on this."

Frost looked ahead. Here he had the chance to explain his predicament. A captain who wanted him dead and gave him no rest. With each passing day she consumed his thoughts. _What will she do next? What will she do to my men? Will she come between me and Jasmine? One day, will she abandon me on some planet? When would she no longer care for the consequences? When will she snap and draw that sidearm from the holster, and shoot me down?_ Then a part of him thought otherwise. _What will happen to us if she was gone and another officer took over? Someone foolhardy, unintelligent, uncaring for the lives of everyone? Will we be able to die in combat like proper soldiers, or will we die in the fires of a burning starship because our captain was too inept?_

"It's really nothing, General."

"Didn't look like nothing."

"The captain and I don't see eye to eye on some things, but it's nothing that gets in the way of a mission."

Amsterdam narrowed her eyes and leaned back a bit. She was wary of his answer, that much was clear. But her posture relaxed and she seemed to let it go.

"Well, I suppose then it's not that important. I suppose you'll be wanting to get back to your team, or to the good doctor."

"A little bit of both, I suppose," he smiled. He got up, exchanged a casual salute, and made for the door. Just as he opened, he heard her whistle. Looking back, he saw that stern expression.

"You and I had a soldier's talk," she said. "Though the next time you speak to the captain, you might want to talk person to person. Understand?"

Frost grimaced.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Out with ya."

###

Frost walked up the stairs to the level their squad inhabited in the barracks. It was quite a large building; the very fact that each individual soldier could have a private room proved it. Living at the Port wasn't so much a posting as it was a vacation. Everybody was well-rested, but there was no loafing to be had in the 89th. Or in his squad, especially. Sure, they grumbled, but the early morning PT runs, the weapons training, and other exercise kept them sharp. It kept them a bit unhappy, but they were Marines: they were always supposed to be a little pissed off.

He was troubled by what Amsterdam had said. She saw a great deal, too much for his liking. In a way, he liked her for that. It was good to have a senior officer around, even if she was in another branch, who understood the going-on's of a unit. At least she wouldn't push things. The last thing anyone needed was this odd conflict entering the light of day. Telling the Marine Raiders was as far as he was going to take it. Period.

A loud _crash_ broke him from his thoughts.

"Don't speak to me like nothing happened!" Langley shouted. Frost hurried to the common room the squad had planted themselves in earlier to find Nora Langley being restrained by Knight and Carris. On the other side of the room, Maddox and Bishop were holding Borko, who was in his fatigues and seemed very upset.

"All I did was say good afternoon you temperamental pain in the...pain...what's the goddamn expression!?"

"Pain in the ass," Steele answered, clenching a cigarette between his lips.

"You temperamental pain in the ass!"

"I told you to stay the hell away from me!"

"We live on the same floor you strange woman! I did nothing wrong!"

"Nothing wrong!?" Nora Langley cried. "You took me away from a wounded man!"

"I was trying to help you, damn it! I thought you were hurt!"

"I wasn't!"

"How could I know!? We were covered in muck and you were hardly moving!"

"I was stunned!"

"So was I! Sorry that I cared enough to help you!"  
Both broke away from their respective restrainers and marched into each other's faces. Poking, prodding, pushing, they lashed at one another. Insult, after insult, Langley's voice rising every second, Borko's carefree, generous demeanour entirely gone. In moments, she began to yell in German and he in Croatian, making the conversation entirely unintelligible to everyone and to each other. Frost watched, rather shocked, while the others looked on in annoyance or amusement. Finally, when the two seemed ready to pummel one another, he forced his way in between them and pushed them away.

"That's enough!" he shouted. "Both of you stop...shut up...Borko shut up!" When the two finally ceased, they glared menacingly back at one another, hands curled into fists. They looked like two linebackers about to smash into one another. "What's this about?"

"All I did was say hello and she starts yelling at me," Borko accused.

"I told you not to come near me!"

"We're in the same unit!"

"Not the same squad!"

"That's enough!" Frost shouted, causing everyone in the room to flinch. "I won't tolerate this behavior! Disagreement and bickering _here_ will lead us to disaster on the battlefield. If you two won't come to terms with what happened, then consider it a standing order directly from me to remain cordial on and off the field. Understood?"

Neither spoke. Frost snatched each by the collar of their shirts. "Is that understood?" he seethed.

"Yes, Gunny," Langley said through clenched teeth.

"Fine," Borko spat.

Frost let them go, yet remained between them.

"Both of you need to accept that he's dead. Everybody needs to accept that he's gone." He pointed at Langley. "I know you wanted to help him, but you need to wake up and realize he was a dead man from the moment they took his leg an arm. There was nothing _anyone_ could do. Let it go! His death is not your's, or Borko's fault."

Just as Borko opened his mouth to throw another insult, Frost turned to him. "And you listen to me, Sergeant Borko. Understand this fine woman right here," he pointed at Langley, "she comes from a different stock of people, far stronger and compassionate than the likes of you or me. You've no right to judge her for that. You may not agree, but understand her, and respect her. That is most certainly an order, sergeant."

Taking a breath, he straightened up. "Now scram, both of you. I don't want to see either of you until mess tonight."

Grudgingly, both left the common room. Frost was left standing in the middle of the room. The others stared at him. It was Steele who broke the silence.

"Those two ought to go on a date."

Carris smacked him upside the head. "Ow! What?"

Everyone laughed, except Frost. Quite troubled, he left to find Jasmine.

###

Frost stood on a grassy field. Piles of snow still remained, but they were beginning to melt. Dark heaps were everywhere. Upon inspection, he found them to be bodies. Pools of blood were everywhere, some shallow, some deep. When he tried to call out, his voice did not carry. There was no sound. Suddenly, he heard another man's cry. Shrill and pitiful it was. Turning, he saw a figure clad in olive drab armor fighting a similarly dressed man. Rushing towards them, knife in hand, Frost found that he couldn't get close. Each step he took brought him no closer, yet he seemed to be covering ground all the same. Try as he might, he could not close the distance. Suddenly, he sprung forward and sprinted towards the pair at an alarming rate. Just as he approached, the more wolfish of the two knocked the other around, pulled his head back, and slit his throat. Frost froze as he the terrified man began to gurgle blood. Then, he recognized him. It was young Sanchez, blood running from his opened throat. Slowly, he sank to his knees and fell to the side. The man standing over his body, opposite from Frost, to his horror, was himself.

His eyes snapped open and Frost raised his head. The room was dark. Beside him, Jasmine was sleeping soundly. Inhaling slowly, Frost attempted to regain his composure, and failed. Tears began to roll from his eyes and he found he could not suppress the pitiful sobs that were about to follow. Not wanting to wake Jasmine, he slid out of bed, donned his clothes, and left.

* * *

Vivian opened her eyes. In the darkness of her planetside quarters, she felt something. Something out of place, something that didn't belong, something that was simply not supposed to be there. Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she groggily sat up, then froze. There was a weight on the edge of the bed-her side of the bed. She could feel it right beside her leg. It wasn't some motionless object; it seemed to stir slightly, exhaling, inhaling.

Not quite trembling, she slowly reached over to the bedside lamp and turned it on. In the dim yellow light, she was quite shocked to see Nathaniel Frost, clad in his fatigues, sitting there. His face was stained with tears, and his eyes were red from apparent sobbing. Vivian, eyes wide, stared at him. He looked ahead at the wall. His hands rested on his lap; in his right was a pistol.

Finally finding her voice, Vivian nodded at it.

"What's that's for?"

"Just in case you tried to draw on me," he said quiet, his voice still choked. He glanced at her, then motioned to the stand. On it was Vivian's personal sidearm. "Will you?"

Her hand was propped up on the edge of the bed, right beside the stand. One quick grab and she could have it in her hand. But he was faster, and she was determined to keep her cool as best she could. Tensely, Vivian shook her head. Frost holstered his pistol.

"Why are you in my quarters? How did you even get in?"

"I've been in this Corps long enough to figure out how to get in and out of somewhere without being seen," Frost said, wiping his nose on his sleeve and sniffing soundly.

"What do you want?" she asked, sitting up more and rubbing her exposed arms. She was only in a tank top Navy-issue shorts.

Frost didn't say anything for a while. For a long while.

"Dream," he whispered.

"Aw," Vivian mocked. "Did the poor baby have a nightmare? Here, why you just crawl under the fucking blanket with me and I'll read you a bedtime story? You're a grown man. Get over it."

"The nightmare was me" he said. Vivian held her tongue for a few moments. "I killed Sanchez. It's my fault he's dead."

Vivian sighed sadly and ran a hand through her messy dirty blonde hair, fixing it some.

"You should talk to Jasmine."

"I don't want to worry her," he said. "I can send my men in to her office to talk, but I would never be able to go in there myself." Before she could ask why, he could continued. "I'm afraid of what I would say, what I would _have_ to say." He shook his head. "Too much, it's all too much."

Vivian stared at him intently.

"It goes way back," she said.

He nodded slowly, tears falling from his eyes. "To Skopje?" Again, he nodded. This time, though, he closed his eyes.

"I can stand people getting killed, but not when they suffered. But every since Skopje, I just can't bear it to see'em suffer. That poor kid didn't deserve to go out like that, bleeding out, in so much pain he could hardly talk." He shook his head, his lips pursed to hold back a sob, and tears rolled down into his beard.

"What happened there? Tell me what happened."

"A lotta folks suffered when they shouldn't have, and it's our fault."

"Our?"

"The 89th's."

"What was it? What happened?"

Frost shook his head. Vivian sat up. "You said to me once that you saw the end of the world. What does that mean?"

"It means I saw the end of human thought and kindness."

Vivian almost smiled, remembering a similar conversation she and her officers once had on the bridge. Frost shook his head. "I never thought people could be so cruel. And when folks get to suffering, it makes me angry. But I've got nobody to be angry at except myself."

"You need to move past it, sergeant, for your men."

Frost glared at her suddenly.

"What would you know about losing men under your command?"

"I know something," Vivian said quietly. "You may be Marines, but you're a part of my task force. You're all under my command. If your actions caused his death, then mine did as well; I sent you all down there after all. It was my idea, my mission. Air Force, Navy, Marines; you're all under my command alike."

"It's not the same, Captain. You weren't down there."

"You're right, it's not the same. But you and I both have the unfortunate job of sending people into hellfire for the sake of an objective. We have to bear whatever losses there are as much as they come. You need to finally accept that."

He looked confused, and Vivian shrugged. "Jasmine tells me just about everything. I knew you were apprehensive as about leading more men, that you wanted somebody else in charge, but I wouldn't have allowed you to to create such a unit if I didn't think you could manage it."

Frost blinked, then nodded. Vivian sighed. "It's your job to tell other people it wasn't there fault. There's nobody else who can say the same for you. That's what happens when you become a leader."

He took this in stride, nodding, as if he were a student being lectured by his teacher. In that moment, she pitied him. Years of war had turned him into a weathered old soldier but death still had its weight. Even the toughest soldiers had their breaking points. She could tell he hadn't reached his, not by a longshot, but this hurt him all the same. That's when she heard voices, dark voices, demanding voices, ordering her to exploit that pain. Rub salt in the wounds. Taunt. Diminish. Insult. Make him suffer. She could feel their hands wrapping around her throat, around her arms, clinging to her legs. Laughing, laughing at his suffering. Push him to the limit, push him to the breaking point, force him to make a great fool of himself. It would be satisfying.

Vivian shut her eyes briefly. "Sergeant, what happened that day wasn't your fault. Any blame resides with the supreme commander. _I_ am the supreme commander. His death is on my hands, not yours. You did everything you could to complete the mission and get your people out alive. In the end, that's all a good soldier can do."

Frost looked at her, completely taken aback. Vivian looked at him, tiredly. "Go back to Jasmine before she wakes, otherwise we'll both have hell to pay for."

He stared at her for some time, his gray eyes flashing to a radiant, ocean blue for a moment. His lips moved, as if he wanted to speak. Then the gray returned. He got up, the tears finally finished, and disappeared out the door. It shut firmly behind him.

Vivian sat there for some time, just staring at the door, wondering just what the hell happened. When she finally rested her head on the pillow, her blonde hair spilling over it, she covered her face with her hands. She could hear them, as if they were screaming directly into her ear. Angry at her, disappointed, deprived. They had desired humiliation and blood, and got neither. So they took out their frustration upon her. It was as if their fingers dug into her sides, her arms, and legs. All five black shrouds, white of eyes, reddened by blood, pulled at her, demanded she get up and follow him. But Vivian was very tired and did not want to move. When they realized they could not move her, they began to scream even higher at her, pointing, accusing. Vivian slid her hands over her ears and closed her eyes. Two tears silently rolled down from the corners of her eyes.

 _Leave me alone, just for tonight. Please._

* * *

"In matters of war, Waters moved like a flash of lightning. In matters of the heart and mind, she stood firm and stout like a boulder. Especially when it came to Frost. But there would occasions-occasions-where she would turn things on their head. So you see, the woman _does_ move."

-Major General Lily Amsterdam

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Not a super long chapter, but it's sort of a transition into another phase of the story. I was hoping to get it up two days ago but, you know, sometimes you just can't get the words.**

 **Anyways, time for the announcements!**

 **A few days ago, TheCarlosInferno pitched an idea to me that I thought was really cool. He established a singular PM thread that the two of us could use to chit-chat about the story and other stuff, so we don't always have to start new messages. I think this is a great idea, and I extend it to the rest of you: if any of you are uncomfortable posting public comments or would like to communicate with me directly about anything, send me a PM devoted to that and we can communicate that way. I considered some community or forum things, but I don't honestly have the time to manage such things, so I think this will be the better alternative. Just be aware that I may not always get back to you right away; I'll be aware of your messages, but I have a lot on my plate with writing, finding a job, posting work on DA, and there will be days where I just want to kick back, relax, plays some games. So don't take my silence as me ignoring you, I WILL get back to you. And if people like the idea of a forum or a community or something, tell me what you think, and I'll think about it and come to a conclusion later on.**

 **I'm happy to announce that within the next two days I will be posting a new story based in the Warhammer 40K universe. It'll be called _Marsh Silas: Cadia._ It'll follow First Sergeant "Marsh" Silas Cooke in what I'll politely call an episodic series, with some comedic, dramatic, hurt/comfort, and adventure themes. I've decided upon this for two reasons. One, AlphaPrimaris recently got me hooked on Warhammer 40K lore thanks to his story (It's called _Smallhammer 40K_ , check it out, it's a lot of fun!). Two, I wanted to provide a shorter story format while they wait for longer chapters here in _I'm Alone._ It'll mean I'll be working a bit more but I think this will help with long waiting periods. Let me know what you guys think!**

 **Okay, I've hemmed and hawed enough, let's get to the comment responses!**

 **Qzak501: Fail4Fun did a hell of a job indeed! She really outdid herself, and to have her devote that kind of time and effort to my story, not just because we're friends but because she also enjoys it, is immensely humbling. She's on a tight schedule too but she'll make some more art for us in the future, so I'll keep you guys updated on that! And man, I know exactly what you mean. When you get hooked to a good story on here and the updates are slow, it's a pain in the ass, and you try to be patient but it's tough. I get it; I've been reading stories on this site for about...ah geez...twelve years, give or take? That's why I try to be as transparent here in the AN with you guys to keep you posted and why I want to make this side story too.**

 **I found that poem through the Ken Burn's documentary** _ **The Civil War**_ **, which is a comprehensive history on the American Civil War. It's a very sad poem and it very much captures the emotion and sadness of the common soldier from that era. It's sensitive, emotional, and touching, and when I began writing the death scene I thought of it, and realized I had to incorporate it somehow. I think it hits the proper notes despite the length it takes up. But hey, I appreciate you always coming back my friend, it's always good to see your name in the comments. Thanks for reading!**

 **MightBeGone: Whoa whoa whoa! I'm no way NEAR Tolkien. He was a master writer, and the amount of time and effort to create a complete history for his story was absolutely incredible and far exceeds anything I could ever do. I've got it easy with this story: all the lore has been established through books, comics, and games. I don't have to do much but research and write the prose. Not to mention that a skilled writer can tell a complete story in shorter words. In my defense, I've dedicated to making a long story here because I think it'll be fun to have a series like this, but to write a long story and still achieve the same effects with shorter wordage is more skillful.**

 **Oh no, I'd never get tired of hearing you talk about Steele and Carris. Seriously! The fact that you're so invested tells me that I'm doing something right with my character writing! I'd never kill anybody off unless it served a higher purpose for others' character developments/arcs. Shows like** _ **The Walking Dead**_ **get a little too kill-happy with characters, ever since** _ **Game of Thrones**_ **set the bar with its first season, so I'm doing my best to give named characters meaningful, story-aiding/relevant deaths. So there won't be any needless deaths, I assure you. Will there be? Of course-this is WAR, man-but who will it be? I'll never tell.**

 **And I have to disagree with you; my prose is my prose, but my story isn't much without people to read it. Your's and everybody's enthusiasm and honest feedback helps keep me and this story going. I never thought I'd have this many readers-I never thought my story could jump five hundred, eight hundred, or a thousand views just by ONE chapter posting. I may right it, but this story's continuation is because of you and everybody else, and I'll always be thankful to you for that.**

 **UNSC-HellJumper: Thank you for commenting my friend. Yeah, there were a lot of shifts in this chapter. It's something I actually don't really like to do, because I think it has a detrimental effect on tone. I'm always worried that it's jarring when in one scene there's a who shouting match, followed by a somewhat light-hearted scene, then a romantic scene, followed by comedy, etc. I don't transitions to be jarring (unless I need them to be) because it may derail the pace of the story for the reader. But if that works for you and other folks, I guess I don't have to pull my hair too much over it.**

 **Frost still ordering his troops to respect Vivian's authority I thought was very necessary to his type of character. I've created him to be a very stark character, in that he's either incredibly gentle or incredibly brazen/aggressive. He's a man of extremes, I guess you could say. So when they began to join in, he just as angrily dealt with them, because he doesn't want things to spiral out of control. Again, control is a very important aspect to Frost, not in a power-mongering sort of way, but rather so that he can keep folks alive and out of trouble. So I thought it would be interesting and dynamic to be arguing with Viv at one turn, and in the next keeping his mates from chastising her. And yeah, I wanted the scene between Frost and Jas to be important and sensual for them, a spur of the moment deal, but to still be tender and also funny, I thought it was important for them to have a couple laughs.**

 **Ah brother, you don't have to worry about trying to articulate yourself. When you talk to me, you can talk as plain as you want. The comment section is a place for you and other readers to talk to me person to person, so to peak, with the barrier of author/reader. You know, a place to hear out feedback, shoot the shit, observe ideas, and have some laughs. So don't worry about that my man!**

 **AlphaPrimaris: I'd like you take that scene with Travers, fold it up neatly, and slip it into your back pocket. I won't tell you why, but just...hang on to it for now.** _ **Trust me.**_

 **The scene between Frost and Jasmine I wanted to draw readers in to be like. "Well this is different...way different...oh my god...this is...oh...OH NO COME ON. Goddammit Viv." Mission accomplished? I think so. That's the hard part about Viv; as soon as she can make some progress, she gets a yank on the choke chain. It's actually a little hard, personally, to write a protagonist that way. Because you want to see your protagonist grow, succeed, so when they fail, and purposefully refuse to grow, it's tough. That's why the ending of this chapter was rather nice.**

 **I was thinking about orbital assets, but I think at this point we're pretty solid on base management. I'm operating by the mindset that a few more successes will get more of HIGHCOM's investment. We'll add on later.**

 **Thanks brother. It's good to be out school, finally. And yeah, I'm taking things slow right now. Just recharging, enjoying some time with the family, sending out some job apps. I'll get a tug on the line soon enough. And yeah, it was a pretty brutal celebration that, I think, ended somewhere during or after the American Revolution. I can't be sure, I read it some time ago. I have to admit, the Colonial Period and the Age of Revolution aren't really my strong-suits, I'm a 19th Century history up sorta guy. But hey, I wouldn't put it past Americans; it was almost illegal to celebrate Christmas in 18th Century Boston. They'd rather have brawls in the street, then celebrate Christmas...**

 **Ah, I'm a little worried that it might be generic. That's why I'm going to be focusing on the Guardsman first in an episodic way before introducing the Sister of Battle. I might have to bend one or two rules in terms of lore, but I'll mostly be playing around with the lore surrounding** _ **Dawn of War: Winter Assault**_ **and** _ **Dawn of War: Dark Crusade**_ **expansions. I've been playing the heck out of them. Er, I hope that's not much of a spoiler. But if it's alright with you, if I have some questions about lore, mind if I ask you? I've been doing a lot of reading and watching some extensive lore videos, but I think you're better acquainted than eye. But all the same, thanks for stopping by. Always good to hear from you!**

 **Alright, I'm off...to join the Sorrow. (any MGS3 fans out there?) Expect the first chapter to my WH40K story in a couple of days, and keep your eyes open next week for the next chapter of** _ **I'm Alone**_ **!**


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